#to drop the flowers a bit - she considered jumping off a balcony to catch a falling man to dimension door him back up

[isaacathom]

on naielle odelia, florian de kasimir, and the idea of sacrifice

naielle is a celestial warlock. she's a backliner, a combination support and damage.

florian is a man at arms, a soldier, armed with sword and shield. a front liner, a tank, a consistent damage dealer.

being in the front lines means risk is always present. and florian considers it his duty, his obligation, to remain. he considers the idea of fleeing first to be a violation of his job.

he is deeply afraid. he always is. but he has to be the first and final line of defence.

when he was killed, time froze, and he saw the state of his friends, battered and near death. he saw the monster that stood before them.

he had once taken great umbrage with a man who had made an ill-thought out deal with the devil.

and when push came to shove, and the devil held out his hand, florian took it. because if he didnt, his friends would die. it wouldve been a waste.

naielle's devil hangs over her head, a sword of damocles. you are a healer, aren't you? the front line will fall without you. you must run in, and you must help them.

her devil is not her patron. her devil is herself.

florian is constantly aware of the danger he is in, and considers himself illsuited to all of it, and simultaneously suited to nothing else. all he can be is a sharp object pointed at a villain. when mauled near death, watching the party's witcher fall, he ordered the retreat, and unable to stand still tried to protect the party doctor's spirit.

naielle forgets her own risk. she sees the threat posed to someone else, the blood that issues forth, and she sees the solution held in her hands. she would be a failure not to administer it. withholding the cure from the dying would go against everything she tries to believe and hold herself to. she does not balance it with the idea that her premature death might leave things worse. its the now, now, now.

she'll defend the man defending her, even if he says she shouldnt.

when the mission came down to it, and the devil's plans laid bare, florian considered it his moral duty to lay down his life. he could not stomach to kill the woman who had brought him here, to betray her so utterly. but for the party priest, he paused. because to give up himself, to act as Emelia's final defence, he would doom the priest. The two would either die at the traitors hands, or by a devil collecting on unkept promises.

he couldnt sacrifice himself to doom another, to doom a man in service to a woman he hadn't met and owed no alleigance too. florian could not demand that of him, and thus could not give of it himself, much as he wanted to.

he was forced to live, and to see her die, and to know he'd failed.

naielle hasn't reached that crux yet. the mountains peak lies high above, and many descending tracks offer solutions from this vantage, though they may lead simply to deep ravines.

for her to give herself to her patron, to play the numbers game, she would save many. she would damn herself, damn her sister, damn her twin brother, her wife, her mother, her father. all the people she's met and known, ill and well, would be hurt. depending on the relationship, on the timing, she might even kill them.

but naielle would play the numbers game. its an easy game at that scale - a world, or an elf? she'd like both. but maybe her goal, to do good, necessitates giving up the opportunity to see that good done, and only to know it was.

after his betrayal, he heads north. he has loose ends to attend to. peoples lives to try and fix. a war to join. he expected to die in that war, as he expected to die in that manor, as he did in that forest, as he thought the griffin might, like the previous war had thought to.

he doesnt die. the war spits him out, like it had before.

and he stands on a rural farm, holding out tools for the farmer reparing the fence, and he wonders:

why did he always try to throw it away?

[webcricket]

Remember Rio; or, What is Love

Characters: CastielXReader ft. Dean Winchester

Word Count: 1984

Summary: Castiel has some hesitations early on in your relationship. Thankfully Dean is there to kick him in the ass. One confused celestial, non-explicit talk about sex, cowboys, and kisses.

Dean hoists a dry-rot ridden wooden box to waist-level and hurls it unceremoniously at the floor. The container collapses in on itself upon impact, contents skittering amok in a cloudburst of dust.

Several of the larger knickknacks cease their tumble at Castiel’s feet. He doesn’t bother to look down, too absorbed in inner turmoil of thought to pay any heed to them or Dean’s growing frustration.

The hunter isn’t annoyed about the frantic search through someone else’s collection of crap, it’s in the job description. What he is annoyed about is the angel’s brooding. And Cas happens to still be standing in the exact same spot he dallied in the last time Dean turned around from his present task of tossing a storage shelf in this dimly lit basement in search of some a cursed trinket Sam said they absolutely positively needed to destroy to save the world. Dean has as yet unspoken reservations about the merit’s of his brother’s claim and the moping celestial both. He picks up a delicate vase next – an intricate pattern of pink flowers and thin bright green vines laces the rim – and intentionally drops it arching a speculative brow when the angel doesn’t so much as flinch at the tinkle of shattering porcelain.

Boiling impatience pries apart the bite of the hunter’s tongue. “What the hell, man?” he grumbles. “Are you planning to just stand there all night or are you gonna help me find this damn totem?”

Cas blinks, blues resolving into focus on his friend. “Sorry, I was thinking about the other night.” The other night in question being the night of your third official date with the angel and the very same night you jumped his celestially articulated bones only to have him proceed to politely excuse himself mid-makeout session just when things got heated enough to warrant the peeling off of clothing, leaving you winded, wanton, and clutching his trench coat.

“Come on, you’ve been thinking for three days about something that requires zero thought and all the action.” Dean quells a reflexive roll of his greens, stepping over the glittering shards to clasp him roughly by the shoulder. “What are you so worried about anyway? You’ve done the deed before. With that reaper-” Dean scratches at his chin. “Amy, no-”

The angel respires a beleaguered sigh as Dean runs through a list of potential names. Cas has been trying to winnow down the reasons why he fled for days. It’s not because he’s a fully-functional powered-up angel of the Lord again and all the supposed sexlessness that formality entails. He’s equipped to satisfy a partner in every way a human can, and divinely more. He’s definitely physically attracted to you, so his vessel becoming aroused isn’t a barrier. He wants to please you any way he can, and he understands it’s clear you want to take the relationship to the next step in pursuit of that pleasure. No matter how much he thinks about it, he can’t quite pinpoint the source of his hesitation.

“April!” Dean hits on the correct name with an enthusiastic note.

Cas glares – April not being an entirely pleasant memory considering she killed him.

“What?” Dean shrugs, expression wholly unapologetic in amusement. “For Chuck’s sake, what’s there to think about? It’s not a freaking apocalypse. No one’s life is in danger. It’s just sex.”

“It’s different.” Cas’ jaw tenses around the words. “With April, it was just sex. With Y/N, it’s … different.” He repeats himself for lack of a better descriptor.

“Different how?” Dean squints, closely examining the angel’s stymied expression. He interprets therein the folds of his brow a light bulb revelation. “Well smack my ass and call me Sally, you’re in love!” Dean exclaims, overly triumphant in the revelation.

Cas’ gaze startles wide, creating a mountain-like crag of creases across the ridge of his forehead, then narrows precipitously into the softer ill-defined flatland of genuine bewilderment. The part about loving you is the least confusing aspect of the statement and he accepts it without qualm – with a passive wave of relief even in response to the exact sort of different he could not explain a mere moment before – the reason for the rest of the hands-on proposition to slap Dean’s derrière whilst referring to him as Sally is beyond angelic comprehension. “Why would I-”

“Shut up.” Dean interjects, holding up a quieting finger, halting the inevitable query of why Dean would require Cas to do any of the aforementioned buttock spanking and name-calling and whether this is the appropriate time or place for such an activity.

You choose that instant to mosey on into the dank cellar scene. Cas and Dean bickering like an old married couple about what you assume to be utter nonsense is nothing new; you’d be worried if they weren’t verbally sparring, static silence on either of their parts rarely bodes well. “Whatcha guys talkin’ ‘bout?” you ask with vague disinterest, surveying the mess for any sign of the totem.

Cas casts Dean a swimmingly deep blue puppy-eyed plea to say nothing.

Dean ignores the appeal. The hunter’s eyes twinkle more than they have right to in the poorly illumined basement; a confident smirk creeps across his face. Bulky biceps tighten the fabric of his grey Henley shirt as he crosses his arms in preparation for the unsolicited relational pot stirring in which he is about to partake. “Sex,” he states, louder than necessary; the sharpness of the single syllable slices the humidly heavy atmosphere; the thick foundation of the walls absorbs any attempted reverberation.

“Nothing,” Cas’ simultaneous utterance muddles Dean’s answer; the decibel of his voice sinks to an Earth-quaking grumble. Blues taking on a chagrinned shade, he shoots his friend a betrayed glower.

Re-crossing his limbs, Dean scowls in recrimination. “Really? You were feeling different about it minute ago. And now … nothing?”

Your mouth gapes into the shape of an unspoken oh. This, this could explain why Cas bolted the other night and hasn’t been able to look you in the eyes since let alone stay in the same room alone with you for more than an awkward minute. You always had your suspicions about their so-called profound bond and standing on the outside looking in it appears you’ve interrupted the discussion of a secretive tryst half of the liaison isn’t ready to openly chat about. “Maybe I should leave you two alone then,” you mutter, failing to disguise the disillusionment lowering your tone.

“You should really stay for this, sweetheart,” Dean reassures, reaching out to catch you by the wrist before you can turn to leave. “It involves you.”

You glance from his gleaming greens to his clutching fingers to Cas’ averted blues and back. You snort a light laugh, one imbed with false lightness of spirit in affront to the crush of disappointment you feel, and swat Dean’s gentle grip loose. You pursue the path of lashing out in lieu of letting either of them see your pain. “Look Dean-o, I don’t care what you think I said when we split that bottle of tequila last summer in Rio and passed out drunk on the balcony, I’m not interested in a cowboy themed threesome with you, or anyone else for that matter.” You direct the last bit at the angel who seems set on stolidly avoiding the interaction in favor of staring at the dusty-beamed ceiling.

Dean’s mouth mutely opens and closes in a vain attempt to formulate a rebuff; his cheeks warm to a freckled tint of pink. He doesn’t remember sharing that particular frolic of a fantasy with you, but also acknowledges with a bob of his head and a swallowed hmm that it sounds like something he could’ve admitted to in uninhibited drunken fervor. Because his best coping skill for embarrassment involves embracing the injurious fact with bombastic confidence, he accepts your personally revealing slight in Dean-branded stride. “First off little lady, you have no idea what you’re missing out on. And secondly,” he begins to recall several small snippets of detail, “it wasn’t tequila, it was RumChata.”

Your eyebrows lift. “That’s your take away from that night?”

“Yes. That, and your apparent fetish for ass-less chaps.”

It’s your fault for daring him to remember to stage his self-defense. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“Happy to oblige.” Dean takes a swaggering stride backward and bows. “I’ll leave you two to talk.” His pointed glare toward Cas effectively wields the departing verb as a strong suggestion and prompts you to recall the angel of your affection has been standing there wordlessly observing the entire exchange.

Conversationally contagious blush accosting your cheeks now, you cede to a compulsion to fill the weighty silence between you and the seraph with a throaty hum that never quite evolves into intelligible speech.

“I’m sorry.” Cas speaks first.

You peer up from studying your shoes, shod toes poking the sole of the foot opposite, to take in his fondly tempered features. The intensity of tenderness conveyed in his steady regard somersaults your stomach and frees a flock of butterflies whose fluttering wings unfold inside out to caress your skin with a pleasant shiver; these three days past you missed this sensation only he causes and which you hope never to grow accustomed to.

Given he failed to comprehend the bulk of the interaction he just witnessed, he steps nearer and clarifies for both your sakes the part for which he is apologetic. “Sorry about leaving so suddenly the other night when there was, uh, an expectation of” –his hands seek refuge in his pockets “-um, intimacy.”

“Oh, Cas” –you dive into the hooks of his arms, wrapping the rigid pillar of his vessel in a hug while keeping a carefully calculated platonic distance of a little over an inch between the press of your bodies “-there’s no expectation. No pressure. I just thought, I mean, you seemed into it so I-”

Fingers circling your shoulders, he dips you backward in order to meet your gaze as he speaks, “I was – am – ‘into it,’ as you say. I’ve thought of little else since that night except for how I might explain my retreat and earn your forgiveness.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.” You assuage his worry, assuming the explanation is forthcoming.

Broad palms smoothing to your spine, he pulls your pliant body close to banish the cushion of non-romantic space you created solely for his benefit and for which he determines there is no obvious benefit. Kissing first the top of your head, he perches his chin upon your lovingly consecrated crown. Exhaling a heated breath into your scalp, his lips move against the silken locks of your hair. “Dean, in his way, helped me understand a feeling I’ve struggled to identify. When it peaked that night – overwhelming, exhilarating, the height of a foreign precipice I could equate only with a sense of uncontrollable falling – I feared the unknown dangers it posed to you.”

“To us,” you correct. “We’re either together in this, or we’re-”

“Us,” he firmly agrees before you can finish; the hint of a smile touches his stoic pout.

Wriggling in his delightfully confining grasp, you wind your arms around his neck; anchoring your wandering fingers into the chestnut curls overlying his nape, you guide his forehead down to rest against yours. You know the feeling well to which he alluded; the terror, too, of a new love.

“Love,” he echoes the sentiment coloring your mind. “Yes, love.”

You shudder in surprise against the perceived incursion upon your thoughts and scold him with a mock-scowl.

Again seeking absolution, he teases you with the feathery brush of a kiss upon the side of your mouth; gratitude wells in his angelic heart when you give chase to his lips in order to seal and solidify your devotion despite his missteps; missteps of which he is certain there will be many yet to come.

Castiel tag list:  (Closed, if you’d like to be removed please let me know!)    @jeepangel  @sammiesamness  @willowing-love  @roxy-davenport  @blueicevalkyrie   @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11  @thesugargalaxy    @bluetina-blog  @dont-trust-humanity  @afanofmanystuffs  @honeybeetrash  @bucky-thorin-winchester  @superwholockz   @tistai  @wordstothewisereaders  @gill-ons  @mrswhozeewhatsis  @marisayouass  @stone-met   @castiel-savvy18  @samualmortgrim  @trexrambling  @magnificent-mantle  @kdfrqqg  @xdifsx  @moon-and-stars-cas  @mandilion76  @rockfairy  @peaceloveancolor  @unicorntrooper  @anisolatedship  @itsilvermorny  @aditimukul  @kudosia  @goofynerd-67babylove  @uninspirationalsonglyrics  @gray-avidan  @mishascupcake   @mishapanicmeow   @praisecastielamen  @roseyhxnt  @jessikared97  @let-the-imaginationflow  @warriorqueen1991   @sebastianstanslefteyebrow   @hisnameisboobear  @kristendanwayne  @fuschiarulerinthebluebox  @coolpencilpie  @jenabean75  @luciathewinchestergirl  @morganas-pendragons  @heyitscam99  @fangirl-and-stuff  @selahbela  @realgreglestrade  @splendidcas  @pointlesscasey  @i-larb-spooderman  @thewhiterabbit42  @thelostverse  @castieliswatchingoverme  @beccollie18  @dragonett8  @dixie-chick  @jtownraindancer   @carowinsthings  @passionghost  @sherlockedtash88  @futureparent  @gabbie7-11  @myfandomlife-blog  @dreamerkim  @shamelesslydean  @earthtokace  @neaeri  @justanormalangel  @lone-loba  @supernaturalymarvel  @lilrubixx  @wings-and-halo  @thehoneybeecastielfollows  @musiclovinchic93  @81mysteriouslyme  @the-bottom-of-the-abyss  @jaylarkson @pixiedusts  @spookysculderfiles  @laqueus-ludovicus  @missjenniferb @lexininja  @jessiekay2010   @skrratata  @rhiannonj79  @calicat79

[evil-is-relative]

🖊 Darva!

This was meant to be gushing and instead turned into a chapter-long snippet. 

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

    Darva sat on the curving steps of the Solitude BluePalace, watching Queen Elisif trying to shoo the strange man from High Rock outthe door as politely as she could. It was taking a long time, and even Darvacould tell the Queen wanted the man gone, but he didn’t seem to get it. He justkept bowing over her hand and kissing the back of it, starting up her wristuntil she pulled it away.

    Perhaps she wanted some help?

    “Auntie Eli,” she said, as loudly as she could in thattone of voice Blaise used when luring someone into answering an “innocent” question,“You said you’d listen to my new song!”

    Elisif startled, then smiled. “Of course, sweetheart.”Turning to the rude man, she tried to excuse herself again, but he was frowningat Darva, mustache curling down in a frown. Darva wasn’t sure she’d met anyonefrom High Rock before besides Blaise, but she hoped they didn’t all dress likea half-rotting flower arrangement.

    “Dear Elisif, who is this…child?” he said the word as ifhe had wanted to say something else.

    Darva looked at him blandly, then pretended to sneeze, “Iiz!”

    The floor turned to ice between her and the man, nearly catchinghis foot before he jumped out of the way. He yelped in surprise and stared ather a long moment. Smiling winsomely, she chirped, “Excuse me!”

    The man left without any more delay.

    “That was devious, Darva,” Elisif told her sternly. Darva’sface fell, feeling cold at the idea that she’d been Bad again, but then theQueen smiled. “Thank you.”

    Exhaling heavily in relief, she smiled at the prettyqueen and took her hand, skipping along as Elisif returned to her throne room.Court was not officially in session at the moment, and most of the Thanes wereoff conducting business of their own over lunch. Darva’s mother showing up to trulytake her place as Thane had shaken up the power-structure of the Court, Bormahhad explained. Darva was glad Bormah was smart and able to explain these thingsto her, because she wasn’t quiet getting it. The only ones who seemed to followit at all well were Runa, who was almost an adult herself, and–weirdly enough—Blaise.

    “Auntie” Elisif was Queen, and the queen should be incharge, right? Apparently that wasn’t so—the Thanes and advisers held a lot ofpower here as well, and General Tullius was at least as much in charge asElisif. The Court was divided on the war, and the direction Skyrim should goin, and everyone missed the former king that Ulfric had Shouted down. Elisifhadn’t been raised to rule, and had struggled her first few years. Bormah hadexplained it like Shouting: Darva was born Dragonborn, and picked up Shouts easily,but Alesan wasn’t born with the ability, and was taking a long time and puttinga lot of effort into learning.

    Darva glanced up at the woman, who had welcomed hermother with such relief that Court had stopped for the day. Ysmir and Elisifhad “caught up” with each other the rest of the day, which sounded nice until Darvalearned the Queen had basically collapsed into tears because everyone wastrying to force her into picking a spouse, desperate to have a strong leaderthey could point to again, and not a grieving young woman with no experience ruling,forced into the role by her husband’s untimely demise.

    Elisif didn’t want to marry again. She had loved herhusband dearly, and the thought of replacing him with a stranger made her ill. She’dbegged Ysmir to move back to Solitude so she’d have someone on her side, andanother young woman around to remind her Court that a delicate face and builddid not mean a weak mind.

    Darva didn’t know anything about ruling, but she did knowthat Elisif needed to have some fun, so she made it a point to go to Court withher mother sometimes and sing the Queen the new songs she was learning at theBard’s College, or play the pretty harp Bormah had given her, which had apparentlybelonged to his mother. Since Bormah had been trapped in A-pocky-fa for so longDarva didn’t know the numbers yet, she guessed the harp was really old. The bardshad gone into a strange, excited sort of panic when they had seen it.

    “Auntie Eli?” she started hesitantly, climbing up ontothe chair in Elisif’s room where the Queen’s lunch had been set out, “Do youthink you’d want to marry again someday? Aren’t you lonely?”

    Elisif froze, then looked down, her expression quiet and sad. “Yes,”she replied softly, “I am a little lonely. I miss Torygg every day, and I tryto rule the way he’d want. But it’s because I miss him so much that I don’tthink I’ll marry again. Some of the people who have come to meet me have beenlovely, friendly people, but…” she sat, then just gazed at the girl as ifwondering how to explain. Shrugging, she finally said, “It will be a long timeuntil I can even think of marrying again, Darva, and if that happens, I have tothink of Skyrim, too. Even if I somehow fall madly in love again, I must be surethe person would help me care for my country before I’d consider giving them acrown. And I’m not giving them my crown,”she added vehemently, “no matter how much some of my Court might wish!”

    Shrugging, Darva bit into some soft bread and cheese. “Mommasays she’s never getting married,” she told the queen matter-of-factly. “Shewon’t tell me why yet, but she’s very sure about it. I was wondering if youwere sure the same way she was sure. Momma has Bormah and Papa Farkas, though, andshe used to have Papa Vilkas, even though she won’t marry them. I hope you canfind someone to not-marry too, so you won’t be lonely anymore.”

    Smile lighting her eyes, Elisif leaned over and pattedDarva’s hand. “You’re a sweet girl, Darva. I’ll never be really lonely withfriends like you and your mother around.”

    Beaming, Darva finished her lunch and happily explainedsome of the romantic ballads she was learning about. She thought them all verysilly, but Elisif looked as goopy as some of the older bards at the lyrics.When she was sure her throat was clear of food, Darva sang a few verses forher, but then it was time for Court to start again, and that was boring, so thegirl skipped up to the large balcony-roof at the back of the Palace, where Odahviingsunned sometimes whenever Elisif was expecting a suitor to drop by. If theywere too bad, she’d suggest a walk out here, and the suitor would usually runaway in fright.

    “Odahviing!” she sing-songed, skipping over and cuddlingup right behind his head, where the scales were small and soft and warm.

    “Drem yol lok,Kulaas,” he breathed, careful not to turn his head until she was clear ofhis spines. “Is he gone?”

    “He’s gone,” Darva confirmed cheerfully. “I sneezed iceat his shoe and he left.”

    Odahviing snorted a laugh, steam coming out of hisnostrils. Darva noticed a lot of dragons did that when they felt an emotionstrongly, though some of them laughed or growled ice instead of fire. One olderone hissed out lightning when he saw Bormah, who had crossed his arms andglared at him until Momma had told them both to knock it off.

    “Are you still taking Runa to Whiterun today?” she askedcuriously. She wanted to go to Whiterun, too, but Runa was training with the Companionsand didn’t have time to babysit her, she said. Darva thought she just didn’twant anyone seeing how much time she was spending with Frothar and telling thePapas—or worse, Blaise.

    “Her favorite sparring partner is leaving for the Legionsoon,” Odahviing explained patiently, nudging her with his nose. “He is going farSouth, for many summers.”

    “At least he’s not mean anymore,” Darva wrinkled hernose. The Brats of Whiterun had undergone a miraculous shift in behavior the yearbefore after being kidnapped by a Hagraven that stole naughty children. Manywere still waiting for her to come back for Nelkir.

    “Naak rok. I’deat him,” Odahviing said shortly, and she gaped at him.

    “You can’t eat Frothar!” she burst out. “He’s a people!”

    The dragon lifted and dipped his wings in the draconic equivalentof a careless shrug. Darva huffed at him, and he hissed laughter. “Runa is the kiir of my thur,” he explained remorselessly. “I cannot let one unfit to beher ronit go unchallenged.”

    Fluffing her curls so the wind could steal some of theheat building in them, she gazed up at him curiously. “Everyone is talkingabout love and courting lately,” she complained.

    “It is almost Heart’s Day,” he reminded her.

    Darva brightened, “My birthday!” she enthused. “Odahviing,does that mean when I get annoying people bothering me like Auntie Eli, I haveto worry about you eating them?”

    He snorted again. “I’ve eaten people for less.”

    Stamping her foot, she cried, “Odahviing!” and huffed when his laughter rumbled across the roof. “You’rebeing mean.”

    “It is the truth, Kulaas,” he told her, shifting hiswings to catch the sun better. “One day you will find a ronit, and they will be strong and loyal, your friend and yourconfidant. They will never betray your trust and seek always to protect you.Only then will those who care about you support the mating.”

    Thinking about this, she plopped onto the bench, watchinghim. “You promised to protect me,” she pointed out musingly.

     Odahviing’s eyes popped back open from where he’d beendrowsing, narrowing at her suspiciously. “Geh,”he agreed, dragging out the word as if wondering where she was going with this.

     “You’re my friend, and I talk to you about everything,”she continued, finger tapping her chin like Lydia did when she was thinkingthings through. “You won’t betray me.”

     “Darva…” Odahviing lifted his head, tilting it in a wayshe’d never seen him do before and thus didn’t know how to interpret. Hereminded her of a wary goose.

     “You’ll be my mate,” she decided.

     The dragon coughed fire, something else she’d never seenbefore and took great interest to note.

     “Well, it’s perfect!” she enthused, warming to hersubject. “You’d never show up with half-dead flowers and slobber all over me.You’re strong and already my friend and protector. Momma likes you and Bormahputs up with you, and every other person coming to court me will run awayrather than fight you!”

      “That part at least has merit,” he conceded, shaking hishead as little bits of ash crumbled out his nostrils, “but Darva, Zu’u dovah.”

     “I’m Dovahkiin,”she argued, crossing her arms belligerently.

     He sighed, “I cannot…give you everything you’d want frommate.”

     “I don’t mind that we can’t get married,” Darva shrugged,hopping off the bench. “You’d look silly trying to fit into a Temple anyway.”

     “Where are you going?” he wondered, watching her skipoff.

     “Oh! Right,” she pivoted on one foot and flounced back tohim, giving him a smacking kiss on the muzzle before heading right back to thedoorway into the Blue Palace. “Talk to you later, dear. I have to tell Mommayou’re my husband now.”

     The red dragon stared at the door in utter bemusement fora long moment, wondering what exactly just happened. At least, until the buildingshook and the sky rumbled with the angry thu’umof his name being hurtled into the air by his Thur, raining gravel from the entire stone arch and stealing thewarmth from the sun.

     Proud dragon generals did not hide from their Thur, Odahviing reminded himself, launchinginto the air reluctantly. Still, it might be a good time to see if the ice had recededfrom Atmora yet.

Drem yol lok=greetingskulass=princessNaak rok=consume himkiir=childthur/thuri=overlord/my overlordronit=equal, mategeh=yesZu'u dovah=I’m a dragon

[artificialqueens]

Something Borrowed 1/? (Witney) - Miss Bianca & jazz

Summary: This was going to be Courtney’s first visit to her childhood home in five years, and she’d made a lot of plans. Obviously, none of them had included falling into a whirlwind, summer love affair with her father’s 28-year-old fiancée, just three months before the planned wedding. But sometimes, things just happened.

Miss Bianca’s A/N: So. This is an idea I came up with after the revelation that Willam’s kind of like your dad’s second wife, who’s only a few years older than you and is really funny and likeable, even though you want to hate her. Doing this collab was jazz’s idea, and I am so fucking happy she came up with it, because it turns out we’re the dream team and we churned this out real damn fast (thank god for Google Docs). This is obviously a multichap, and we’d both love feedback. No, seriously, please, tell us what you thought.

jazz’s A/N: Miss Bianca relayed this prompt to me and I immediately died & then revived myself to write this fic, which is probably the longest thing I’ve written without devolving into pure smut!!! But just you wait LMAO <3

Courtney sat on her palms in the backseat of the cab, impatiently counting the passing mailboxes in an attempt to calm her nerves. The streets seemed cleaner here than they’d been downtown, and the carefully manicured front yards were all starting to blend together in a slightly nauseating mixture of brightly colored azaleas and overwatered grass.

Her flight had left at 6 AM, but she wasn’t the least bit tired – being a morning person really paid off. Regardless, Courtney was pretty sure she was too anxious to even consider sleep.

Coming back to Los Angeles after so much time away felt almost like a tangible step backwards. When she’d left, she’d still been practically a child, and leaving behind her father’s big, beautiful mansion and all of her friends had felt like the end of her universe.

Now, she knew that the world was a hell of a lot bigger than her pricey private school and the saltwater pool in her backyard.

Granted, she’d ended up going to a new private school in San Francisco, and then to a small, far-too-expensive liberal arts college, trading in rich high school friends for equally as rich college friends. But at least she’d graduated. With honors. And an utterly useless degree in fashion design.

Some of her friends had opted to go to grad school, and some had internships lined up. Courtney, for her part, had spent all of senior year looking for ways to avoid returning to her mom’s apartment, and after a failed job search, the answer had come in a phone call from her father – the first non-birthday call in five years – inviting her to “come home for the summer.”

And so, here she was, in the part of town where you could practically smell the wealth – in other words, right back where she’d started. She’d spent so long trying in vain to escape it all, and now found herself praying that somehow, she’d still fit in.

The driver turned the corner, and Courtney let out a breath, long and heavy.

It had been about five years since she’d last seen it, but the block she grew up on still looked almost exactly how she remembered it, which was oddly comforting.

The cab started to slow, and Courtney could see the Japanese maple tree on the next-door neighbor’s lawn, only a little bit bigger than it’d been when she was a child. She’d always wanted to hide underneath the branches, but she’d only made it into the neighbor’s lawn once without getting scolded by her mom. Her father would’ve disapproved of the trespassing.

“Right here, miss?”

“Yeah, this is it,” Courtney replied, smiling politely in the direction of the rearview mirror as the cab pulled up to the curb. She fumbled in her purse, pulling out her credit card to pay.

The dry heat hit her as soon as she stepped outside, and she was five years old again, admiring the huge house from the sidewalk: its white stucco exterior, spattered with tall windows that connected to ornate, wrought-iron balconies.

She was home.

It felt important, this moment, the first step towards reclaiming this place as her own. Maybe her father had seen the yellow car from his office window. As the afternoon sun warmed her face, she let herself imagine that he might even be waiting for her in the foyer.

The trunk of the taxi slammed shut, and Courtney pulled her gaze away from the house to see her assortment of bags resting on the pavement beside her.

“Thank you,” she said, managing to flash a final smile at the taxi driver.

“No problem.”

Courtney crouched to gather her belongings into her outstretched arms, wobbling slightly as she tried to stand and regain her balance.

“Probably should’ve just shipped it all,” she murmured. She was anxious and impatient, a thin layer of sweat forming on her lower back. “What, did I think the driver would want to carry everything inside for me? I’m such an idiot.”

After a few more moments of struggle, Courtney took a deep breath and began to shuffle awkwardly up the concrete path that lead to the front doors.

The sprinklers were on, drops of water making the grass sparkle as if someone had spilled diamonds all over the lawn. Courtney smiled, remembering how she’d run through it barefoot hundreds of times as a little girl to catch the ice cream truck before it pulled away. She never used to walk on the path, except for the few times when her father had been home.

He’d leave the door ajar, watching her from just inside the entryway, and she would put on her shoes and walk down to the street as quickly as she could, keeping her shoulders back and her chin up as young ladies like her were supposed to.

She could still picture the fond smile on his face when she paraded back to the house with a popsicle, careful not to let any of it drip onto her hands or her dress and make the smile go away.

The house towered above her now, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears as she took the steps one by one. She tried the door handle, finding it unlocked, and closed her eyes for a moment, collecting herself.

The door swung open, and she stepped over the threshold into the huge, sunlit foyer.

As soon as she tugged the door closed behind her, the hours of build-up to this moment began to seem pointless. Her father probably wasn’t home, and even if he was, he certainly wouldn’t take the time to come down and greet her. He was, as he’d told her so many times, “a very busy man.”

She shook her head, feeling foolish and naive, and let her bags fall to the ground with an echoing thud.

After a moment, Courtney realized that there was music playing somewhere in the house. It was upbeat, and sounded like something she might hear in a club around 1 AM – not in the home of an aging, wealthy businessman in the middle of the day.

She glanced around, wondering where it was coming from, and began to notice changes that had been made to the inside of the house. The foyer was just as big and airy as it had always been, but the aesthetic was distinctly different, and definitely not at all like her father.

There were vases of blooming flowers on the side tables, a set of dark brown plush rugs in the middle of the floor, and various fluffy pillows balanced on the ottoman. As she took a step closer, Courtney noticed that one of the pillows, a pink one, had fringe. Her eyes widened in alarm.

It was all wrong.

“What in the name of…”

Her brow furrowed, Courtney blindly followed the sound of the music, walking past the ottoman and through one of the open arched doorways that led to the smaller dining room and kitchen. There were, impossibly, more flowers on the dining room table, and a trio of Warhol’s Marilyn Monroe prints taking up most of the wall directly behind it.

She turned to scan the kitchen, and nearly jumped out of her skin. There was a strange woman there, perched on a barstool at the island.

Courtney looked her up and down, her lips parting involuntarily. The woman was leaning on the counter lazily, flipping through a magazine.  One toned leg was folded underneath her body, making her already sinfully short dress creep up even higher. She was sipping on a clear cocktail – a vodka soda, Courtney thought, or maybe a gin and tonic – which, really, didn’t matter at all in the grand scheme of things, not when there were more obviously more pressing questions at hand.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?”

To Courtney’s annoyance, the woman didn’t seem startled at all by Courtney’s outburst. In fact, she didn’t even bother to look up from her magazine.

“Oh, hey,” she said, taking another long sip of her drink. “You must be Courtney.”

“How do you know my name?”

“I’m Willam,” the woman drawled by way of response, setting her glass down on the island and finally glancing over at Courtney. “I live here.”

Courtney whipped her head around to look over her shoulder, as if there might be some explanation behind her as to what the hell was going on. She dug her fingernails into her palms in an attempt to keep from legitimately losing it.

“Am I being fucking Punk’d right now?”

Willam directed her attention back to the glossy pages of Cosmopolitan. “Oh, please, girl,” she scoffed. “As if you’re that important.”

Courtney gaped at her, unable to find the words to properly express her outrage at Willam – for being so pretentious, for her apparent lack of humanity, and for daring to look like that in the middle of the goddamn kitchen on a Tuesday afternoon.

A smirk crept across Willam’s face as Courtney stared at her blankly for a moment too long before managing to speak again.

“So, you live here,” Courtney said slowly.

“Ooh, she knows how to listen,” Willam cooed sarcastically.

Courtney gritted her teeth.

“Um, how?”

Willam set down her drink, and turned her left hand around, waggling her fingers with a cocky grin plastered to her face.

The giant, princess-cut diamond caught the light, and Courtney felt the balance of the world shift slightly.  

“Is that…”

“Wedding date’s set for August,” Willam said, admiring the ring on her own finger. “Better get used to me quick, princess.”

“Don’t call me that!” Courtney snapped. “You’re like, my age! Jesus Christ, are you even fucking legal?”

“I’m 28, actually,” Willam replied. “But you’re off to a great start, flattery will get you anywhere.”

“That wasn’t a compliment!”

Courtney felt herself spiraling. Everything about her father’s new fiancée rubbed her the wrong way, from her quick retorts to her attitude to her tousled blonde hair that forced Courtney to imagine running her hands through it and making it even messier.

“Run along now,” Willam said with a noncommittal flick of her manicured fingers.

Courtney’s cheeks flushed pink. She wanted to disappear, wanted to punch Willam in the face and melt into a puddle at her feet. She wanted Willam to call her ‘princess’ again, just to hear the way it rolled off her tongue.

Leaving now, after Willam had practically ordered her to like some sort of child, felt like letting the other woman win – but Courtney didn’t think she could stand to be around her any longer, either.

Turning around with a huff, she strode out of the kitchen, her heels clicking aggressively on the tiled floor. Behind her, she thought she could hear Willam laughing.

She scooped up as many bags as she trusted herself to carry, and hurried up the impressive, dark-paneled staircase, wanting to put as much distance in between herself and Willam as possible. The sound of Willam’s music faded as Courtney reached the top and made her way down the hall to her right until she reached her old bedroom.

There was still a hook screwed into the top of the door, but the sign that had previously hung there, labeling it “Courtney’s Kingdom”, was absent. She ran a gentle hand over the wood, the scratch marks from the edge of the sign still present, as if it had been removed recently.

“Willam,” she muttered angrily.

She pushed her way into her room, relieved to see that Willam hadn’t totally remodeled in there as well. Her collection of suitcases was scattered on the floor, having shipped successfully earlier that week, the light blue print matching that of her other bags.

Dropping her things on the floor, Courtney walked over to the bed and sat down with a sigh. She could feel the beginnings of a headache forming in her temples, and she rubbed at them in a futile attempt dispel it.

She wished her father were home to clear everything up, maybe even reveal that “It’s all just a misunderstanding, Courtney, Willam’s actually just a cheap hooker who overstayed her welcome and stole some jewelry.”

If she couldn’t deal with the issue at hand right now, though, Courtney figured she could at least distract herself by unpacking some of her things. As she remembered, her closet had lots of room to fill up.

Bending down to grab a suitcase, she dragged it over to the closet with difficulty. The door slid open, and Courtney’s newly regained serenity shot straight out the window.

The bottom of the closet was covered with shoes. And not just any shoes – expensive designer pumps, by the looks of them, none of which belonged to her. She started to count the red bottoms, and stopped after reaching ten, her blood boiling. She closed the closet door as quickly as she could, and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force the hot tears threatening to break the surface back down.

When Courtney got frustrated, her body’s natural reaction was to cry, and she hated it, hated how it made her seem irrational and overly sensitive.

It just wasn’t supposed to be like this.

It’s not that she wasn’t used to her father bringing girls home after her parents’ divorce. It was the opposite, really: there were the Sarahs and the Samanthas, the Heathers and the Haileys, each of them sauntering in and out of Courtney’s early life in quick succession.

She’d since reasoned that her father wasn’t the type to settle down, and had chosen instead to pay little mind to the semi-annual rotation of girlfriends during the few weekends she actually got to spend at her father’s house thanks to the joint custody agreement in place.

They’d all tried to relate to Courtney, too, which was hilarious and infuriating in its own right. She was nice about it, let each woman believe that they could be the one for her father, but Courtney knew better. They’d be gone by the end of the month, and Courtney could go back to deepening her tan, calling her childhood best friend Alaska over to watch trashy reality TV and to paint each other’s nails.

But now there was Willam, and she had a shiny rock on her ring finger, and Courtney didn’t know how to cope with that.

She violently shoved handfuls of underwear from her luggage into the antique bureau she’d loved so much growing up, taking out her irritation on the tiny lacy garments and mismatched socks.

When was her father planning on telling her, anyway? Had he hoped that Courtney would just waltz right in and figure it out for herself, that she’d think it was a cute surprise? She nearly snorted aloud. Her father was more than twice Willam’s age.

Her stomach churned, and she tried to determine if she was most mad at her father, for putting her in this godawful situation;his new fiancée, for her stupid outfit and face and voice;or herself, for seemingly being unable to get Willam out of her head, no matter how hard she tried.

With no more underwear left to unpack, Courtney found herself staring down her closet door, her hands fidgeting in her lap. There had to be something she could do, some way to regain control over the situation, shift the balance of power at least a little.

After a few more long moments of indecisiveness, Courtney tentatively returned to her closet. She had to make at least one room in the house entirely her own. The shoes had to go.

With renewed determination, Courtney started to gather the shoes, picking up as many pairs as she could, until her arms were full. She got to her feet, shuffled over to the door, and bumped it open with her hip. The master bedroom was on the opposite side of the house, which meant Courtney had to make her way down the long hall and past the stairs, hoping that Willam wouldn’t hear her moving around and come up to bother her.

Finally, Courtney reached the paneled wood door, and dumped the entire armful of shoes unceremoniously in front. There was a loud clattering noise as the pumps hit the floor, and Courtney grinned victoriously. She brushed her hands off on her jeans, surveying the scene.

Struck with inspiration, she leaned over, plucking a pair of clear, blue and red plastic Louboutins from the heap. Pink and silver sparkles caught her eye, and she reached further, grabbing that pair as well. It wasn’t like Willam didn’t have a few sets to spare, Courtney reasoned. Satisfied with herself, she stood and turned on her heel, marching back down the hall to her room.

She didn’t want – no, she refused – to allow some glorified stripper with a superiority complex ruin her entire summer, or her chances at reconnecting with her father.

Willam might be living in the house now, but it sure as hell wasn’t her home. In fact, Courtney was positive that she wouldn’t even be there another month, much less till the wedding.

She slammed the bedroom door shut behind her, and decided with a burst of conviction that she would still reclaim the house as her own, whether Willam was there to distract her or not.

She would do what she pleased, and Willam could go fuck herself.

And what Courtney wanted right now, more than anything, was to dig out her bathing suit, go lay by the pool, and hopefully avoid having to interact with her father’s new fiancée for a few hours. She deserved at least that much.

Fifteen minutes later, Courtney was striding out the back doors and towards the pool in her red bikini and one of the stolen pairs of Willam’s Louboutins, her light hair pulled messily into a topknot.

She felt like a model, camera-ready and confident. It was almost like being sixteen again, getting ready to lay out at the pool with Alaska and Adore, except now, the tables were turned: she was prettier, but far less happy.  

While her father had worked, holed up in his office alongside stacks of legal documents and bills, Courtney had spent most of her free time on visiting weekends out here. She’d quickly learned to enjoy her own company, which was fine by her. It wasn’t as if teenage Courtney had wanted anything to do with the man who’d cheated on her mom over and over, and then denied it so convincingly that her mom had thought it was all in her head.

She’d gained some distance from her emotions surrounding that particular situation as the years passed, and so it wasn’t too much of a struggle to decide to give her father another chance. He might’ve changed, she figured – and there was always the possibility that her perception of what had happened between her parents was distorted.

And anyways, even if her father was just as bad as she remembered, it couldn’t hurt to secure her cut of his wealth in the will.

“Couldn’t stay away?” Willam’s voice pulled Courtney out of her thoughts, and she stopped in her tracks, unable to believe her terrible luck.  

The other woman was stretched out on one of the long chairs beside the pool, round sunglasses covering most of her face. She’d discarded the dress from earlier, exchanging it for what had to be the skimpiest bikini Courtney had ever seen – not that she was staring, or anything.

It was just that the tanning oil was making Willam’s flat stomach and the tops of her breasts glisten so temptingly, and she couldn’t seem to stop looking.

Willam turned, lowering her shades and surveying Courtney as if she were an item with a price tag, like a dress that she was considering trying on. Courtney blushed, feeling the sudden urge to cover up under her scrutiny, and Willam’s lips tilted upwards in a smirk.

“Love the shoes,” she commented, meeting Courtney’s gaze. “I have great taste, don’t I?”

“I dunno,” Courtney said. She glanced down at her feet. “I think they’re kinda tacky.”

Willam’s eyes narrowed in annoyance, and Courtney pumped her fist internally at her success in finally getting a reaction out of the other woman.

“It’s a pool party shoe,” she said dismissively. “Not my best.”

Rolling her eyes, Courtney headed for her favorite of the chairs by the pool – thankfully, the one farthest away from Willam. She swore she could feel Willam watching her in that same commodifying way as she walked past, which was surprisingly exhilarating.

With some effort and a lot of willpower, Courtney managed to avoid looking back at Willam as she relaxed into the chair. They weren’t exactly seated near each other, but Courtney still felt hyper-aware of her presence. It was as if she was finely tuned to pick up on the sounds of Willam’s breathing, the subtle way she shifted her weight on the chair.

So, when the other woman suddenly began to make a lot more noise, Courtney couldn’t help but turn her head to see what was going on. Willam had stood up, and was tying her hair back into a low ponytail, heading over towards the edge of the pool.

Without meaning to, Courtney found herself following Willam with her eyes, like in one of those cliched movie scenes where the camera panned up over the perfect body of the female lead. She might as well be naked, Courtney thought. Which wasn’t a terrible mental image, she had to admit. Particularly since she was now unable to get the picture out of her head.

“It’s rude to stare,” Willam announced as she sat down, legs dangling over the edge of the pool. “I usually charge money for that.”

Courtney nearly choked on air. Had she really been that obvious?

“Cat got your tongue, sweetie?” Willam looked over her shoulder, her mocking smile taunting Courtney.

“I probably still have a dollar or two left in my phone case,” Courtney finally managed to say. “Isn’t that your usual going rate?”

The smile widened into a more genuine grin, and Willam chuckled, swinging her feet so water splashed up her legs. She had nice teeth, Courtney noted. And a nice smile, too – the kind that made you want to take notice, study her for a really long time.

Clearing her throat, Courtney looked down at her hands. For a second there, she could almost see why her father must’ve been drawn to Willam in the first place.

“Yeah, by the way, I used some of your closet space,” Willam commented. “Forgot to mention that.”

“Oh, I saw.”

“I mean, it’s all my closet space, if you wanna get official about it,” she added after a moment, a cocky tilt to her head. “Cause, y’know… my house.”

“But that’s my room,” Courtney argued, frowning. Whatever glimmer of likeability she thought she’d seen from Willam was quickly vanishing, replaced by the same intense irritation that had already ruined her day once.

“Sure, for now.”

“What the fuck is that, some kind of threat?”

“Ooh, language,” Willam replied, clicking her tongue disapprovingly.

“You’re such a bitch,” Courtney burst out.

“You kiss your daddy with that mouth?”

Courtney groaned. She crossed her arms, looking away pointedly.

Willam chuckled again, splashing water out of the pool. Courtney clenched her jaw. Why did Willam insist on being so difficult? It was like she’d been placed on the planet specifically to drive Courtney up the wall.

Courtney prided herself on her ability to get along with almost anyone. The problem here was clearly on Willam’s side, not on hers. She was a perfectly nice person – it wasn’t her fault that Willam had no manners, no common courtesy, and seemed to get a kick out of being an utter pain in the ass.

“You know, as soon as my dad gets home, I’m gonna tell him exactly what kind of person you really are,” Courtney called, still refusing to look at Willam.

“And what kinda person is that, kitten?”

“A bad one,” Courtney replied quickly, flinching slightly at the lame response.

“Ooh, savage,” Willam snorted.

“And don’t call me that!”

“Whatever you say, princess.”

Courtney huffed out a sigh, feeling like a pouty child with her arms crossed and her lower lip sticking out.

“You can tell your dad everything at family dinner tonight,” Willam added. “Not that it’ll change anything. Dave knew he wasn’t proposing to America’s sweetheart.”

“Wait, family dinner?”

—–

“So, how are you girls getting along?” Dave asked finally, attempting to break through the uncomfortable silence that filled the dining room.

Courtney looked up from her plate to see Willam smirking around a forkful of salad across the table. She opened her mouth, ready to inform her father of what a nightmare Willam really was, and closed it again.

“Um, fine,” she said instead, watching Willam’s eyebrows raise in amusement. She didn’t know what compelled her to lie, but suspected that Willam had known all along that she wouldn’t go through with it.

“Courtney borrowed a pair of my shoes,” Willam added.

“Oh, how… nice,” Dave said.

The room quickly fell into silence again, disturbed only by the irritatingly loud sounds of Dave occasionally clearing his throat and of Willam chewing.

Courtney wanted to scream.

Nothing about today was turning out how she’d planned. The reunion with her father that she’d hyped up so much in her head had been lackluster at best, and painfully awkward at worst. And Willam’s interruption of their shaky conversation – by way of an attention-grabbing entrance via the staircase – had made it just that much less satisfying.

Dave, in his typical way, had vanished upstairs to his office as soon as possible, leaving Courtney stuck downstairs with Willam once again. When the hired chef had arrived to make dinner, Courtney had volunteered to help immediately, just to avoid having to interact with her.

And now, here she was, stuck sitting right across from the other woman in the formal dining room, with nothing to do aside from stare at her and then pretend that she hadn’t been whenever Willam made eye contact.

“So, um, dad,” Courtney finally spoke up, desperate to shift the atmosphere. “How did you two meet? What’s the story here?”

“Internet,” Willam said, before Dave could respond.

“Yes, online,” Dave added with a nod.

“Oh, did you click one of those ads to chat with ‘hot young singles in your area’?” Courtney asked, her tone biting as she glared at Willam.

“No, it was one of those dating websites,” Dave said. “She found me, she seemed interested.”

“Oh, I’m sure she did,” Courtney murmured.

“We met up, and, well, the rest is history,” he finished.

“He’s just my kinda man,” Willam added, a smile that Courtney immediately recognized as false on her face as she batted her eyelashes at Dave. “Mature sort of gentleman, comfortable. Generous.”  

Courtney nearly laughed out loud at ‘generous.’ In the 40 years her father had been making money, she was positive that no one had ever used that particular word to describe him.

“You’re too kind, sweetheart,” Dave replied, patting her hand.

“She really is,” Courtney agreed, rolling her eyes.

It was so painfully obvious that this was all a game to Willam. If she played her part correctly, she’d get rewarded with gifts and credit cards, and eventually, the biggest cut in the will. Courtney couldn’t believe that her father was falling for it.

“How was work today, babe?” Willam directed at her fiancé, clearly trying to steer the conversation in a less risky direction.

“Could’ve been better,” Dave said, shaking his head. “We’re trying to close on this deal, but getting through all the paperwork has been such a hassle…”

Almost immediately, Courtney stopped paying attention, an old habit that had apparently remained in place over the years. Willam, on her end, was nodding and blinking vapidly at him, still pretending to be engaged.

And the act was believable, too. If Courtney hadn’t felt the cool shoe sliding slowly up her thigh, she might’ve even thought that Willam truly was invested in trade secrets and company policy.

She froze, dropping her fork in surprise. Willam refused to acknowledge her, still playing the role of doting fiancée as her heel crept higher up Courtney’s leg. She could feel the flush rising in her cheeks again and she swallowed hard, trying not to squirm in her seat, a task that was easier said than done. She squeezed her thighs together, frustrated at how her body was betraying her, reacting to Willam’s touch so eagerly.  

“Willam!” she hissed, and Willam’s gaze snapped over to meet hers. The foot promptly withdrew.

Oops, Willam mouthed with a shrug.

Courtney gaped at her, at a total loss for words. She glanced over at her father, who thankfully seemed to have missed the entire exchange.

She could still feel the ghost of Willam’s contact buzzing on her skin, and when Willam glanced at her again, she couldn’t help but bite her lip.

Dave was still rambling about something or other, and Willam kept nodding and watching him, her full lips parted. The room felt very hot all of a sudden, and Courtney needed air.

“Can I please be excused?” Courtney croaked.

Without waiting for an answer, she pushed her chair out from the table and stood abruptly, wadding up the napkin on her lap in a ball and tossing it by her half-eaten plate of food.

Fleeing to the kitchen, she rested her arms on the edge of the sink, turning the water on cold and splashing some on her face. Her cheeks felt a little less warm, but it did nothing to help the heat still twisting low in her stomach. Squeezing her eyes shut, she shook her head and turned off the water.

“You’re a mess,” said Willam. Courtney jumped, spinning around to see the other woman leaning casually against the counter behind her.

“Are you stalking me or something?” Courtney demanded, her heart rate picking up again. “What the hell was that back there?”

“Told you, it was an accident,” Willam said with a shrug.

“That’s a really big fucking accident.”

“Girl, don’t pretend you didn’t like it.” Willam pushed herself off the counter, taking a step towards Courtney. “I could see you getting all flustered. You ain’t subtle.”

Courtney’s back was to the sink now as Willam moved even closer, into her space. Courtney sputtered, wanting to deny Willam’s claims, but the words wouldn’t come out.

Oh my god, what is she doing? Courtney’s mind was moving at a mile a minute. She can’t be – but what if she is?

Willam was close enough that Courtney could smell her perfume, and she attempted to steady her breathing, hoping that maybe Willam wouldn’t notice how affected she was. There were a million reasons for Courtney to stop this in its tracks right now, a million reasons to push Willam away or slap her in the face. But the cut of Willam’s dress was low, and the line of her collarbone was soft and graceful, and Courtney couldn’t bring herself to consider any one of those reasons.

Impossibly, Willam kept closing in, and Courtney had nowhere to go, trapped by the cool marble of the countertop. And honestly, she wasn’t sure she’d want to go anywhere, even if she could.

Willam stopped, so close that Courtney could almost feel her body heat radiating off her in waves. She exhaled, her breath ghosting over Courtney’s lips, and Courtney reached out on instinct, her hand landing on Willam’s hip.

The corners of Willam’s mouth turned up into a wry smile.

“Knew it,” she murmured.

As quickly as Willam had advanced, she backed away. Turning, she left the kitchen, throwing one last knowing smirk Courtney’s way as she walked through the archway.

Courtney’s knees felt weak, and she gripped the edge of the counter behind her for support, trying to catch her breath. She’d been so sure Willam was going to kiss her, and she’d done nothing at all to stop it.

Courtney stared blankly into the empty space where Willam had been until just a moment ago.

The sound of Willam’s laughter, loud and emphatic, carried in from the dining room. Courtney closed her eyes, trying to figure out what her father could’ve said to evoke that kind of reaction. She wondered if she could make Willam laugh like that, too.

It hadn’t even been a full day, and all of Courtney’s plans for her summer were already in pieces at her feet. She had no idea what to make of Willam or how to handle her, and there was no evidence that it was going to get any easier.

There was only the hum of the refrigerator, the thumping in Courtney’s chest, and the realization that she was totally, completely fucked.

[purrincesskittens]

Marichat May: Day 30; Scratch

Nathalie stood there patiently trying not to tap her foot as a sheepish Adrien fidgeted under her gaze. “Now explain to me exactly why you need a list of shops that sell the following,” She lifted up a list of things Adrien had given her when he called asking to be picked up as well as asking her to find shops that sold a whole list of items that she had no idea what use he could possibly have for them.

“High quality chocolates or baked goods containing chocolate but not from the Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie, which I know for a fact is one of your favorite places to get baked goods from considering the sheer amount of boxes with their logo on it found in the trash from your room besides Camembert containers.” She begins pushing up her glasses to read off the list.

Adrien scoffed his foot shyly a faint blush on his cheeks. Nathalie was good, like really good at figuring out his favorite foods especially if he wasn’t supposed to have them. “Note to self find a new way to dispose of Plagg’s cheese containers and any boxes from Marinette’s place. Nathalie knows all.” 

“Flowers the biggest bouquet of pink and white flowers there is and those too must be high quality, a fancy pot with lavender planted in it, a couple yards of fabric at least three colors high quality as well, high quality yarn at least two to three balls in several colors. Along with a fancy card of apology.Is there anything else you would like to add to that list?” Nathalie asks raising a brow as she looked at him.

“Umm maybe another potted plant? Something small and delicate?” Adrien asks giving her a hopeful look green eyes pleading. Nathalie sighed rubbing her forehead. “At least tell me why you need all these things.” She was already mentally noting that the things he requested all sounded like they were for a girl and she had an idea of which one judging by how he didn’t want the pastries or chocolates to be from a certain bakery. 

“Umm I may or may not have accidentally gotten into a fight with a friend and now she won’t talk to me and I’m banned from her place which is really sad because I like hanging out with her and she can whoop my butt at Mega Strike without really trying. So If I’m to be forgiven J.J. says I need all those things.” Adrien looked down ashamed to have gotten into such a stupid argument with Marinette in the first place. 

“You ran into Miss James?” Nathalie questions surprised the girls brother let her out when it was beginning to get dark unless of course she snuck out like Adrien had. Adrien started to nod before something occurred to him and he began to panic internally. 

He forgot J.J. wasn’t from Paris and she had detransformed and hadn’t had any bag on her so no fruit so Accalia couldn’t recharge which meant no transforming. Which also meant he left her stranded on the rooftops like an idiot and she didn’t know how to get down without being transformed. He was officially an idiot.

“Umm can you make the flowers and chocolates a double order?I may need to apologize to J.J. as well next time I see her.” He asks quietly his face pinched in a look of regret and a bit of fear over what the older girl might do to him. 

Nathalie stared at him before sighing. “Alright what colors do you want for her?” “Any colors but I think she likes red and orange and brown alot. Ohh and some dark colors too.” Nathalie added those things to the list before opening the door to the car that the Gorilla sat in waiting. “Get in I know exactly what shops to go to a quick call and they will remain open a bit longer as well as have the stuff ready.” Adrien climbed in with a grateful smile. “Thank you. Thank you both of you.” 

Several stops later all the items were gather and placed in boxes and bags. Marinette’s bouquet was gorgeous with pinks and whites of all shades. He got the potted lavender along with some potted lily of the valley.  A small delicate white plant he thought suited Marinette perfectly. J.J.’s flowers were bright cheerful and a mixed hue of reds, oranges and darker colors mixed in. 

Without him having to mention where he needed to be dropped off Nathalie had the car drop him in front of Mari’s house or at least the entrance to the bakery. He gathered his packages together giving a thanks to Nathalie once more before heading around the corner making sure to duck out of view of the street once he was sure he was far enough away from the car for him to be seen. 

“Okay Plagg ready?” Adrien set his stuff down gently his arms having been pretty full from it all. “As about ready as I’ll ever be. I don’t see why we have to go apologize to your girlfriend tonight why cant it wait till tomorrow when I’ve taken a nap and had more cheese?”The black cat gripes grouchily. “She’s not my girlfriend!” Adrien hisses softly before calling out “Claws Out!” 

He was transformed in no time and making his first trip up to the roof with part of his load of gifts before going back for his second load. He positioned the plants on the empty spots on Marinette’s balcony before gathering everything else up except for J.J.’s stuff which he left sitting tucked in a corner.

He approached the hatch leading to Marinette’s room below with cation. It was still closed and locked but he could barely make out Marinette’s voice; a slight murmur from within. He peered in barely catching sight of her flopped on her chaise sprawled out across it. She didn’t look like she was crying anymore just sad and talking to herself apparently. 

Tap tap tap. The noise confused Mari at first before it continued louder this time more persistent. Grumbling she got up from her chaise and climbed her loft crossing her arms when she saw Chat Noir on the other side of the hatch. “What do you want?” She demands with a  scowl not ready to see him just yet. 

“I’ve come to apologize Princess. Please let me in.” He holds up the flower first to show her that he really was there to apologize. Marinette gasped her eyes widening at the sight of the beautiful bouquet of flowers. No one besides her family had ever given her flowers before. 

She hesitantly unlocked the hatch propping it open before scooting back kneeling on her bed. Chat lower the bags in first before dropping in himself kneeling in front of her he present her with the flowers. 

“Ohh Chat they’re gorgeous!” She breathes taking the flowers from him and burying her face in them. She inhaled their lovely scent smiling warmly at the bouquet. “There’s more a friend told me to exactly what to get for you.” He present her with the chocolates followed by the rest of the gifts. 

Marinette’s blue eyes were blown wide by the time he was done. “Oh and those flowers are all non toxic towards cats so you don’t have to worry about your kitten getting at them and there is a new lavender plant and another new plant on your balcony for you to replace the one I broke. I just wanted to say I’m sorry I was an idiot and a jerk to you and Ad... your friend. My friend explained it to me and made me realize exactly what I did wrong and told me how to apologize. This is kind of the first time I’ve had to do this I haven’t had much experience with girls before I’m sorry.”

Chat Noir looked so earnest while he apologized making her understand that he really was sorry. She set her gifts aside reaching out she gave his ears a scratch as well as flashing him a shy smile. He turned his head into her hand encouraging the scratching. 

Soon enough Marinette was sitting on her bed with a sprawled Chat Noir, his head resting in her lap while she scratched his ears and under his chin earning a content rumbling purr from him. 

He was in heaven he decided as his Princess scratched his head behind his ears and under his chin. He wished his lady would do this more often that would be even better not that Mari doing it wasn’t amazing or anything but Ladybug was well the love of his life.

Scratch, scratch, scratch. He wasn’t sure how long he layed there like that purring enjoying the scratches when a female figure dropped in through the hatch. “Hey Mari Girl.” J.J. greets with a warm smile a bouquet in her arms along with the bag of chocolates. 

“Umm hi?” Marinette greets confused her hand stilling on top of Chat’s head. “Thanks for the flowers and chocolates Chat since they had my name on them I took them. You are forgiven for what you did by the way.That turned out to be pretty fun actually.” 

 Marinette blinked in confusion before peering down at a sheepish Chat Noir. “Kitty? What exactly did you do?” “I ran her over literally and then after she told me how to go about apologizing to you left her stranded on a rooftop having forgotten she doesn’t know how to get down.” He flashes her a smile full of regret for his actions. 

Marinette turned to look back at her friend who had crawled around them towards the edge of the loft. “How did you get here then?” “I finally figured out how to jump from one roof to another took me a while but I did it. Found my way to your roof and figured I could maybe finally get down from here. Oh mind if I raid your fridge for fruit?” The older girl climbed down from the loft careful of her flowers. 

“Uhh go ahead I guess.” Marinette continued to watch the girl open the trapdoor to her room and descend into the rest of the house startling her parents by her sudden appearance. When questioned where she came from she gave a simple, “From the roofs I got stranded and couldn’t get down finally managed to get to here so I could get down. Mari said it was okay if I got some fruit.”

“That girl gets more and more confusing as time goes by.” She mutters her hands moving once more to continue scratching Chat’s ears. A few minutes later he sat up with a sigh. “As much as your presence delights me Purrincess I must be going it is rather late out and I really should deliver that poor girl home after leaving her stranded as I did. Until next time I bid you farewell.” He took her hand and gave it a kiss with a flourish and a bow before climbing back through her hatch and disappearing. 

Marinette couldn’t help but giggle shaking her head as she closed her hatch smiling in delight at all her gifts. “That cat really does go over the top with everything he does.” Tikki giggles as well appearing out from behind her pillows. “Yes yes he does.” 

[zacklover24]

Prompto in Wonderland Chapter VII

Tagging: @femmescientia, @itshaejinju, @themissimmortal, @blindbae, @stunninglyignis, @sweetchocobae, @neko-otaku13, @mini-moogle-queen, @wolfissac, @eternallydaydreaming2015, @lady-asuka, @rubyphilomela

Prompto woke to a sandpaper like tongue licking him. He cracked open one baby blue eye to see his pet was licking him, and he woke to the sound of someone knocking on his door. With a tired groan prompto sat up, sending the Corel tumbling down the bed.

“Come in.” The blonde yawns stretching his arms up, Cor came in without a word carrying a tray of food.

“Good morning prompto. Did you sleep well?” He asks setting the tray down on the table and opening the doors to the balcony.

“Good, what time is it?” He asks yawning again and rubbing his eyes. He looked up at the ceiling to see that the ceiling, had changed from night to day. The sky was clear with sun shining down on the blonde.

“Early/late depending on the who. I talked with the king this morning and by his order I am to be your bodyguard.” Cor explains.

“What?” Prompto was in shock.

“The king has ordered me to be your bodyguard. After you eat, bath, and dress you may go and see the hare.” Cor bowed and left the room. Prompto was still in shock over the new news, but if he could go and see Noct, who was he say anything. He also came up with a name for his Corel, his name was now cloud. And Prompto loved his new dress.

“I look good.” He whistles as he looked at himself in the mirror on the bathroom door. The base of the dress was ivory colored with soft blue trim on the hem of the skirt which just ended below his knees. The bodice had flowers and butterflies in purples and pinks, while the sleeves and neckline with trimmed in soft pink. He tied a white and yellow bow in his hair and put on a pair of white stocking his black shoes. Those cloud didn’t like it Prompto tied a pink and blue ribbon around his neck.

Cor was waiting for him by the door, he didn’t look bored.

“Shall we?” He asks gesturing down the hall. With a nod, Cor started to walk down the hall. Prompto noted that each door that different crest on it. And all the maids looked human and smiled at him.

“Noctis room is the one with the hare on it, if you ever wanted to come here without me.” He tells Prompto as they stopped in front of a door with a gold hare on the front, “I need to see his majesty and to my other duties.  If you need me or any of the maids please bring the bell.” As he bowed.

“Thank you, Cor.” Prompto whispers.

“Your very welcome.” Leaving Prom,  Noctis room was very the same as Prompto. Expect instead of flowers on the walls it was a forest. The forest had chocobos, foxes, birds and other animals milling about. And laying in the bed was Noctis. The young hare looked pale, but was alive. The hare looked peaceful sleeping in the bed with a stuffed carbuncle next to his head.

“Why did you do that?” Prompto whispers as cloud climbed onto the bed. Noctis didn’t answer. Cloud let out meow made himself at home on the bed. As Prompto eased into the chair next to the bed, he noticed a book, the title was a little funny,

“Alice in Wonderland? Would you mind me reading to Noctis?” He asks opening the book to chapter one, seeing noctis didn’t say no,

‘Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, `and what is the use of a book,' thought Alice `without pictures or conversation?'

So she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her.

There was nothing so very remarkable in that; nor did Alice think it so very much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, `Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be late!' (when she thought it over afterwards, it occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the time it all seemed quite natural); but when the Rabbit actually took a watch out of its waistcoat-pocket, and looked at it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take out of it, and burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it, and fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge.´

“You have a nice reading voice.” Noctis says, causing Prompto to let out an eep as he drooped the book, “Sorry. Where are we?” He asks sitting up, he knew he was not at the old looking glass.

“The White King’s castle. After Gladio and myself were kidnapped Ignis brought you here. And then Nyx and Crowe got me, Gladio and Lady Lunafreya here.” Promtpo explains picking up the book.

“Okay by where is there a Corel on my bed?” He asks staring at the cat who just flicked his tail at Noct.

“Oh, he’s mine, I guess because I showed him some kindness he took me to me. He’s name’s cloud. Cute, right?” Promtpo smiles. Noctis smiled back and settled back against the pillows, he knew his body wasn’t strong enough yet. And he knew the king would be here the moment he found out he was awake.

“I was wondering, if you don’t need to see the king. Could you umm?” Noctis mutters turning his head to face the wall with the fireplace. Prompto smiled and opened the boo back up,

‘In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again.

The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very deep well.

Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her and to wonder what was going to happen next. First, she tried to look down and make out what she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything; then she looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with cupboards and book-shelves; here and there she saw maps and pictures hung upon pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she passed; it was labelled `ORANGE MARMALADE', but to her great disappointment it was empty: she did not like to drop the jar for fear of killing somebody, so managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it.

`Well!' thought Alice to herself, `after such a fall as this, I shall think nothing of tumbling down stairs! How brave they'll all think me at home! Why, I wouldn't say anything about it, even if I fell off the top of the house!' (Which was very likely true.)

Down, down, down. Would the fall never come to an end! `I wonder how many miles I've fallen by this time?' she said aloud. `I must be getting somewhere near the centre of the earth. Let me see: that would be four thousand miles down, I think--' (for, you see, Alice had learnt several things of this sort in her lessons in the schoolroom, and though this was not a very good opportunity for showing off her knowledge, as there was no one to listen to her, still it was good practice to say it over) `--yes, that's about the right distance--but then I wonder what Latitude or Longitude I've got to?' (Alice had no idea what Latitude was, or Longitude either, but thought they were nice grand words to say.)

Presently she began again. `I wonder if I shall fall right through the earth! How funny it'll seem to come out among the people that walk with their heads downward! The Antipathies, I think--' (she was rather glad there was no one listening, this time, as it didn't sound at all the right word) `--but I shall have to ask them what the name of the country is, you know. Please, Ma'am, is this New Zealand or Australia?' (and she tried to curtsey as she spoke--fancy curtseying as you're falling through the air! Do you think you could manage it?) `And what an ignorant little girl she'll think me for asking! No, it'll never do to ask: perhaps I shall see it written up somewhere.'

Down, down, down. There was nothing else to do, so Alice soon began talking again. `Dinah'll miss me very much to-night, I should think!' (Dinah was the cat.) `I hope they'll remember her saucer of milk at tea-time. Dinah my dear! I wish you were down here with me! There are no mice in the air, I'm afraid, but you might catch a bat, and that's very like a mouse, you know. But do cats eat bats, I wonder?' And here Alice began to get rather sleepy, and went on saying to herself, in a dreamy sort of way, `Do cats eat bats? Do cats eat bats?' and sometimes, `Do bats eat cats?' for, you see, as she couldn't answer either question, it didn't much matter which way she put it. She felt that she was dozing off, and had just begun to dream that she was walking hand in hand with Dinah, and saying to her very earnestly, `Now, Dinah, tell me the truth: did you ever eat a bat?' when suddenly, thump! thump! down she came upon a heap of sticks and dry leaves, and the fall was over.

Alice was not a bit hurt, and she jumped up on to her feet in a moment: she looked up, but it was all dark overhead; before her was another long passage, and the White Rabbit was still in sight, hurrying down it. There was not a moment to be lost: away went Alice like the wind, and was just in time to hear it say, as it turned a corner, `Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it's getting!' She was close behind it when she turned the corner, but the Rabbit was no longer to be seen: she found herself in a long, low hall, which was lit up by a row of lamps hanging from the roof.

There were doors all-round the hall, but they were all locked; and when Alice had been all the way down one side and up the other, trying every door, she walked sadly down the middle, wondering how she was ever to get out again.

Suddenly she came upon a little three-legged table, all made of solid glass; there was nothing on it except a tiny golden key, and Alice's first thought was that it might belong to one of the doors of the hall; but, alas! either the locks were too large, or the key was too small, but at any rate it would not open any of them. However, on the second-time round, she came upon a low curtain she had not noticed before, and behind it was a little door about fifteen inches high: she tried the little golden key in the lock, and to her great delight it fitted!’

“How’s Luna?” Noctis asks as Prompto paused.

“I don’t know, once we got here she went right to her room. That guy Nyx took her.” Noctis smiled a hidden smile. Well it would seem that Nyx was going to be one happy bastard.

“Do you want me to keep reading or do want to get some more rest?” Prompto.

“You can read a little more if you want, I might fall sleep listening to you read. Not sure what the king has in store for you.” The hare smiles.

‘Alice opened the door and found that it led into a small passage, not much larger than a rat-hole: she knelt down and looked along the passage into the loveliest garden you ever saw. How she longed to get out of that dark hall, and wander about among those beds of bright flowers and those cool fountains, but she could not even get her head though the doorway; `and even if my head would go through,' thought poor Alice, `it would be of very little use without my shoulders. Oh, how I wish I could shut up like a telescope! I think I could, if I only know how to begin.' For, you see, so many out-of-the-way things had happened lately, that Alice had begun to think that very few things indeed were really impossible.

There seemed to be no use in waiting by the little door, so she went back to the table, half hoping she might find another key on it, or at any rate a book of rules for shutting people up like telescopes: this time she found a little bottle on it, (`which certainly was not here before,' said Alice,) and round the neck of the bottle was a paper label, with the words `DRINK ME' beautifully printed on it in large letters. It was all very well to say `Drink me,' but the wise little Alice was not going to do that in a hurry. `No, I'll look first,' she said, `and see whether it's marked "poison" or not'; for she had read several nice little histories about children who had got burnt, and eaten up by wild beasts and other unpleasant things, all because they would not remember the simple rules their friends had taught them: such as, that a red-hot poker will burn you if you hold it too long; and that if you cut your finger very deeply with a knife, it usually bleeds; and she had never forgotten that, if you drink much from a bottle marked `poison,' it is almost certain to disagree with you, sooner or later.

However, this bottle was not marked `poison,' so Alice ventured to taste it, and finding it very nice, (it had, in fact, a sort of mixed flavour of cherry-tart, custard, pine-apple, roast turkey, toffee, and hot buttered toast,) she very soon finished it off.’ Prompto looked up from the book to see the hare was indeed asleep.

“Thank you.” A soft male voice says form behind prompto. The young blonde let a startled sound and feel out of the chair and onto the floor. Prompto looked at the man, he was tall. He had light black hair with some grey and warm green eyes, he wore a white suit with a blue rose in the pocket. On his right knee was a gold brace, he had on black shoes which looked freshly polished, and an oak cane with a silver dragon topper.

“Umm who are you?” Prompto asks getting up from the floor.

“How rude of me, I am King Regis the White King of Wonderland. I came to check on Noctis, I am happy to see that he is doing better.” Prompto quickly bowed to the King.

“It’s an honor and pleasure to meet you your majesty.”  The king let out a chuckle.

“The honor is all mine, tell me Prompto would like to join this old man in a stroll through the gardens?” Regis asks.

“I would love to.” Prompto smiles. There was no way in hell he could say no to the king.

End of line