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sennamybeloved · 7 months

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sapphire roses.

selfshiptober day 5: flowers.

▬▬ ship: lucian x senna x seren (s/i)

▬▬ warnings: none!

▬▬ author’s note: it's been like... well over a year since i've written for both of these guys at once. that's scary. i needed to change that.

▬▬ tag list: @dragonselfship @dudefrommywesterns @minkymeatshop @wanderers-wife @fallen-for-them

▬▬ reblogs always appreciated! ♡

Perhaps one of the oldest lessons to ever cement itself into Seren’s mind is the sacrality of nature. It's a balanced creature that will give if you give, and take back what you steal tenfold. One must never cause unnecessary disturbances to the land; do not hunt more than you can eat, do not prune and pick the lush gardens which do not grow for you, do not poison or destroy the precious all-mother or her children. The First Lands are both caretaker and butcher, a welcoming home for some and a graveyard for many.

Seren has roamed these forests for centuries, and in this time, she has been nothing but reverent. She has grown cold and callused toward most living things, but the all-mother? Never. Nature is her home, her temple, the womb which she blossomed from.

She has given selflessly, only taking measured sips in return. While she did live off the land for many, many years, she also fearlessly defended that same land from the humans that infiltrated and ravaged it; there is a very good reason the citizens of Kumangra utter fearful tales about a furred, man-eating beast that stalked the coastal forests.

So, as Seren stands in those very same forests all these years later, smoothing over the soft petals of the famed sapphire roses with a calloused thumb, she wonders what difference just two flowers would make.

Slender fingers curl around the first pale, thorny stem, tugging it free from the frost-kissed bush. She then repeats the action with a second. Both flowers, cradled delicately between her palms, glitter in the moonbeams which filter through the canopy above.

“Thank you, Ighilya.” A gentle invocation spoken into the crisp night air. If you must take, the least you can do is be polite about it.

That is where Seren’s midnight rendezvous ends. With the two flowers resting gently in her satchel, she begins her trek back to Kumangra. As she emerges from the undergrowth and joins the other late-night travelers on the path into the town, the irony of her situation becomes all the more clear to her. She once slaughtered a man—a poacher, pompous and foolish, who thought himself to be larger than life—behind the inn she currently holds a room in. She wonders in passing if the settlers here still fear her. Do they still spin tales about her? Would it be possible for anyone to recognize her? She pulls the velvety cloak (Senna’s cloak, graciously lended to her to as protection from the evening chill) closer to her body as she hurries down the path.

The innkeeper pays her little mind. He’s worn, she can tell; he cares naught for pleasantries or expositions, he simply wants his coin and to be left alone besides. Despite his nonchalance, Seren has trouble detaching herself from his energy. As a matter of fact, she’s having trouble detaching herself from anything that’s happening inside this inn tonight. She passes a dozen locked doors, each of which emits its own unique string of feelings and misplaced thoughts—a small glimpse into what rules within.

She’s used to getting these little glimpses (it’s not like she can entirely shut them out, anyways) but usually, she can at least control how much attention she lends to each of them. Right now, she feels overwhelmed, which is odd for a night that was going so well. Perhaps she shouldn’t have worked herself up over thoughts of hunters.

Then, she feels it, warm like sunbeams and sweet like honey; two familiar presences emitting from just behind the door ahead. The feeling envelopes her like a welcoming embrace. Without hesitation, she reaches for the rusty doorknob and twists.

Their room is a small, odd-looking snuggery that’s architecture isn’t quite Ionian but still couldn’t be called anything else. The beds are comfortable enough and the building is very quiet.

Lucian and Senna are still wide awake, just as Seren expected. They were both doing their own things before she entered (Lucian was polishing the intricate metalwork of his guns, Senna was removing her bulky jewelry and setting it neatly on the bedside table in preparation for attempting sleep) but when the door opens, their gazes snap over to her, and everything else forgotten.

“Seren,” Senna speaks first. “You’re back.”

Seren smiles in reply. “Told you I wouldn’t be gone long.”

“That sure as hell felt like a long time,” Lucian’s voice is gruff and tired. His indignant front does not phase her; she can tell that it’s a cover-up for genuine worry.

“Awe. Good to know you still care about me.” She taunts, and Lucian lets out a short huff.

Seren joins the pair of them on the bed they share, placing her satchel in her lap and resting her palms on it. Her tail curls around her body, tucked neatly against her side.

“You’ll be pleased to know that I didn’t get attacked,” Seren says. “Not by animals or humans. Didn’t get lost, either.”

She references the countless times she’s gone out for walks whilst they are staying in foreign territories. The amount of times she’s almost died in Demacian forests is confounding.

“That’s only because this is your home,” Senna responds, prompting Seren to chuckle.

“I suppose you’re right.” It is also because she was the hunter in these woods for many years, but yes, she’ll allow them to go with that.

A brief pause, and then, Lucian speaks. “Your bag smells like roses.”

Roses, yes. It does. Seren had almost forgotten about the sapphire roses she’d stolen from the forest. She has gotten so used to their aroma that she hadn’t even noticed the way it fills the room. She must’ve turned many heads during her walk back.

“Yeah,” Senna concurs. “What is that?”

“Oh. I got you guys something.” Seren opens her satchel and reaches in, gingerly plucking the cerulean-petaled roses from their resting place. Both of her partners lean over her shoulders, watching intently, captivated by the prospect of a gift.

“One for you,” the first flower is placed gently into Senna’s outstretched hand. Deft fingers curl around its thorny stem. Emerald green eyes glisten with delight. She brings it up to her nose and inhales its ambrosial scent.

“And one for you.” The second flower is offered up to Lucian. For a brief moment, he just stares at it, quietly examining its beauty. Then, almost timidly, he reaches for the stem as well, taking it from Seren’s grasp. His other hand comes up to stroke its silken, iridescent petals.

A proud grin pulls at the corners of Seren’s mouth. They’re both pleased with their gifts, she knows it. She feels it.

“Wow. These are beautiful.” Senna says after a moment, voice raw with wonder.

Lucian continues her line of thought. “And you just… found these growin’ out in the woods?”

Seren nods in reply. “Yeah. They’re sapphire roses. They grow wild in the forests around here. They’re heavily sought after by merchants and flower collectors due to their unique scent. People usually pick them until there’s no more left to be had. It’s a wonder that I found these.”

Senna tuts disapprovingly. Her face still rests near the flower. “That’s terrible.”

“Isn’t it?” Seren is suddenly filled with vigor; she still harbors her hatred toward those goddamn merchants and collectors, even all these years later. “I used to have to chase them out of the woods, when I was staying around here.”

Senna chuckles, giving Seren a look. “You used to chase people out of the woods?”

Yeah. And hurt them real bad, sometimes. They always deserved it. “I’m scary.” Seren shrugs.

“She’s scary.” Lucian concures. The topic is left there.

“These are beautiful, Seren.” Senna places her flower gently atop her lap. Her (now free) hand comes to rest on Seren’s arm. She wears a kind, grateful smile. “Thank you.”

Seren feels her face getting hot. “Yeah, of course.”

Lucian doesn’t say very much. He simply leans down and presses a kiss to the crown of Seren’s head. “You’re a sweetheart, thinkin’ of us like that.”

Seren laughs shyly, casting her gaze downward. “I mean, of course. You’re– Yeah… I think about you guys a lot.”

#lotus writes #selfshiptober #selfshiptober 2023 #✦ * · ˚ — self insert: seren .#【 💚 】 ✦ * · ˚ — death is drawn to life │ r: senna .#【 🖤 】 ✦ * · ˚ — a steadfast heart │ r: lucian .#【 🌿 】 ✦ * · ˚ — i live to let you shine │ polyship: lucian + senna .

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sennamybeloved · 2 months

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WE UP ‼️💥

#pixelated esports senna art #【 💚 】 ✦ * · ˚ — death is drawn to life │ r: senna .#i’m so sleepy #lotus rambles

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sennamybeloved · 10 months

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2﹕flowers.

✭ pairing: senna x seren (s/i)

✭ word count: 1997

✭ note: second piece for the pride prompts!! this time featuring my darling wife. very very long ago (summer of 2020) one of my friends decided that senna would call me 'lotus' as a pet name, and that changed the trajectory of my life forever. anyways, my main grievance with this fic is that i realized a little too late that there is a vastayan temple in the lore called "the temple of lilly and lotus" that i could've had senna n seren visit instead of this random made up one. it would've been easier to write and farrrrr more realistic. but y'know! what can you do. enjoy my imaginary nameless greenglade temple.

✭ tag list: @dragonselfship and that's it for today

[ reblogs always appreciated // prompt list can be found here! ]

To her, Senna is like a flower.

Not in the sense that she's delicate. No, certainly not. But in the sense that she's uniquely beautiful—her eyes are the color of electric green Gladiolus blooms, her skin as soft as rose petals. She's as thorny as a rose, too, but Seren’s hands are eager to bleed.

She's as breathtaking as any spring flowerbed, but the blossom that reminds Seren of her the most is the lotus.

She recalls reading about them in the Botanicum; the lotus flower represents a state of mental purity and spiritual perfection. They grow from dark, muddy waters, and yet they emerge without so much as a stain on their petals. They symbolize rebirth, and what better flower to associate with Senna than one that symbolizes the very core of her existence? She, too, emerged from the darkness as something beautiful.

Seren enjoys using natural things—flowers, animals, and so forth—as pet names. She’s very deliberate about the ones she chooses for specific people, like how she occasionally refers to Lucian as their sunflower because sunflowers symbolize loyalty and honesty. With that in mind, it’s surprising that she’s never called Senna by lotus, but that’s only because Senna beat her too it. Shortly after Seren began referring to Senna as lavender (after the lavender perfume she would often wear), Senna began referring to Seren as lotus. Both nicknames stuck, and they persist to this day.

A few months ago, Seren asked Senna where the whole lotus thing came from, and at first, she said she wasn’t sure. But after a while, she began calling on the flower’s spiritual meaning as well, saying that she thought Seren was both strong and beautiful, so the name felt fitting.

That flustered Seren. To be referred to as strong by the strongest person she’s ever met is truly a special feeling.

Today, they're in Ionia. They came here on a business escapade that has more or less turned into Seren giving them a tour of her old stomping grounds. She hardly remembers why they’re here, but she knows that, for once, she’s very happy to be home.

They’re camping out in Navori, just beside the Greenglade. Lucian is away at the marketplace. Retrospectively, Seren should’ve really gone with him to keep him from getting lost or robbed, but she is confident in his safety and trusts that he’ll return by nightfall. Meanwhile, it’s just her and Senna.

Senna is sitting beside the dying fire, polishing the cracks and crevices of her cannon. A relic weapon made from the shattered pieces of dozen others, it often requires extra maintenance to remain functional and presentable. Seren is sitting on the grass beside her bedroll, staring up at the trees, watching the leaves flutter in the warm afternoon breeze. The silence between them is comfortable and familiar, but that doesn’t keep Seren from growing bored of it.

“Are you busy?” Seren asks, picking up her head to look at Senna.

“Sort of,” Senna responds lowly. “Why?”

Seren looks down at the cannon and the dust-covered tag that Senna is clenching in her fist. Then, she looks back up at Senna.

“You’re not busy,” Seren tells her, lips quirking into a sly half-smile, her signature ‘we’re doing what I want to do because I said so’ look. Senna sighs out of her nose, but she listens to her regardless. “There’s a temple near here. Do you wanna go check it out?”

“Depends,” Senna moves her cannon off her lap like it weighs nothing. “Is this going to be like the time you got all of the sentinels kicked out of the Kinkou Monastery?”

Seren laughs heavily. That was- what? Two years ago now? “No, no! This temple is open to the public. I used to go there all the time when I was younger.”

“But when was the last time you went there, actually?” Senna presses. “In human years, please.”

Seren pauses for a moment. It takes her quite some time to translate her vastayan lifespan into human years, but eventually, she comes up with a rough estimate. “Two-hundred, give or take. But I promise the rules haven’t changed!”

“You said that about the monastery, too.”

“I may have lied about that,” Seren says, her chest clenching when she sees disappointment cross Senna’s features, “but I thought it would’ve been fine, since I knew a few members of the order who used to let me hang around the gardens… but that’s neither here nor there. Ionian temples are peaceful places that are open to all. It’s really pretty there. I think you’d like it.”

Senna stares at her for a moment, pondering. Seren’s almost-smile widens into a big, toothy grin. She knows that her wife can’t say no to her.

“Okay, fine.” Senna sighs. She rises slowly, reluctantly, and by the time she's finally standing, Seren has long since sprung to her feet and pulled her things together.

Senna insisted that they bring their weapons with them. Seren thinks that it's foolish, considering the Black Mist seldom reaches beyond Valoran nowadays, but Senna has always been of the mentality that it's better to be safe than sorry. Seren agrees with it, to an extent, and she also understands why and how Senna adopted that mentality. So, she never argues. She does little except gaze upon her with a subtle sadness.

They now walk through some of the most beautiful and peaceful glades that Runeterra has to offer, lugging around a cannon and a pair of gleaming daggers. Seren has never shown up to a temple armed, so all she can do is hope that the monks and caretakers won't see them as threats. Sentinels of Light aren't seen as threatening, right? The Kinkou had seemed to think they were. Oh, to Hell with them.

The walk is calm and quiet. For most of it, they're silent, drinking up the sights, the sounds, the beauty of it all. For Senna, it's one of her first times passing through here, but for Seren, it just might be her three-thousandth; every piece of land is engraved deep within her memory. She could walk these trails with her eyes closed. They pass a familiar landmark—a large stump, about twice the width of Seren's torso, wrapped in a thick cover of red and orange vines—and Seren suddenly remembers how often she used to come this way when she was younger. She'd spend days at the temple, idling under blossoming oriental trees, lounging beside the ponds. Doing nothing, thinking nothing, feeling everything.

"I use to spend so much time here,” she tells Senna. “The Greenglade felt like the safest place for me when I didn’t have a home.”

Senna hums, nodding along with what she’s saying.

“Whenever I needed something, like food or clean clothes, I’d go to one of the markets just beyond the wood. Whenever I needed the company of something other than animals, I’d go to the temple and hang out with the monks.”

They pass over a small, rickety, wooden bridge. The path turns from mossy cobblestone to dirt. They’re getting close.

“The monks were always happy to see me. A stray, gangly vastayan child. I swear, I almost became the garden pet.” Seren laughs dryly, but her smile fades in a moment’s time. “I watched a lot of monks, gardeners, and caretakers come and go in my time. Time went so fast when I was living in my own head. A hundred years was nothing, but for them, it was just over a lifetime.”

Silence blankets them again, and Seren realizes how grim her rambles had gotten. Her face heats up, shame bubbling up in her chest.

“I’m sorry,” she glances toward Senna, who’s expression softens before her eyes. “Was that too much?”

Senna shakes her head earnestly. The look on her face is nothing short of kind and patient. “No, not at all.” She says. “I like listening to you talk.”

Shame is replaced by yearning, giving the warmth in her cheeks a whole new meaning. She smiles shyly before glancing away.

Eventually, they pass two sculptures; candid portraits of two figures carved from pale marble, one human and one vastaya. Seren remembers asking the monks about the vastaya when she was a child. His name was Mik’ua, and he was a poet and a warrior from the Kepthalla tribe.

The statues mark the beginning of the temple grounds. Beautiful, sprawling gardens surround the pagoda. Seren hears a soft gasp leave Senna's mouth, and a smile grows on her own face.

"Told you it was pretty," Seren says.

"I believed you," Senna replies, tone hushed and awed.

The temple's inhabitants pay them little mind. Seren recognizes a few of them from her last visit. They offer her gentle smiles as she passes them. She can tell that Senna is at peace here, but she is also surprised by the others' hospitality. She can't blame her; she's seen many of Ionia's uglier inhabitants, from the very rude members of the Kinkou order to Seren's own family, but these lands can be kind, too.

In the middle of the gardens sits a small pond, which is surrounded by all sorts of colorful flora. Seren bounds over to it, leaving Senna to do whatever it is she's doing—admiring various sculptures and engravings, it seems. Seren crouches beside the water, her tail flicking back and forth in a playful manner as she scans it with her eyes. To her delight, amongst the reeds and water grass sits a dense patch of lotus flowers. A lopsided grin pulls at her mouth as she reaches out to touch the nearest flower. She runs her fingers over the silken petals, admiring their brilliant whites and pinks, and noting how they contrast the muddy depths below.

"Senna," Seren calls over her shoulder. "Senna, c'mere!"

Senna is very quick to oblige, abandoning whatever she was looking at to join Seren at the water's edge.

"Would you look at that," she remarks as she crouches beside Seren's hip, a light chuckle in her voice. "A lotus for my lotus."

Seren snorts. "Holy shit, that's cheesy." She sits back, releasing the flower from her grasp. "Especially for you."

Senna laughs in reply, shouldering her playfully. "What? I'm allowed to be sweet."

"You are, you are." Seren agrees with a smile. Wow, she thinks. Someone's in way too good of a mood.

Senna places a hand on Seren's knee, and Seren coves it with her own, squeezing. "I still can't believe that I became lotus and you didn't."

"I feel like we've had this conversation before," Senna says. "I still can't believe I became lavender. I wore that perfume maybe three times."

"Shut up!" It's Seren's turn to shove her about, digging an elbow into her side and prying a hearty laugh from her. "It's your signature scent. That and, like, salt and blood. But those don't make great pet names, do they?"

Senna resigns, shaking her head. "No, they don't."

There's silence for a while. They sit hip-to-hip, their hands interlocked, eyes grazing the beautiful landscape before them. Beyond the pond filled with lotus flowers is a blossoming oriental tree that sprinkles its petals into the water. Above them is a perfect blue sky, with white puffs of clouds providing enough coverage to keep them from burning up. A cool breeze blows through Seren's hair, carrying with it the scent of flowers.

"Thank you for bringing me here," Senna says after a long moment.

"Of course," Seren replies, turning to give her a quick peck on the cheek. She pauses momentarily to admire how it makes her smile. "You should listen to me when I say to take more breaks."

"I'm working on it," Senna hums. She leans into Seren's shoulder, which, even after a decade of marriage well spent, makes Seren's heart stutter.

Seren doesn't say anything else, and neither does Senna. They enjoy this fleeting moment of peace in each other's presence.

#lotus writes #✦ * · ˚ — self insert: seren .#【 💚 】 ✦ * · ˚ — death is drawn to life │ r: senna .#i dont know how i feel about this #i hate it but i dont #it feels too bare bones #but it still feels kinda sweet?#IDK idk #selfship pride prompts #selfship community #self shipping #self ships

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sennamybeloved · 10 months

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4﹕alternate universe.

✭ pairing: senna x seren (s/i)

✭ word count: 2731

✭ note: more stuff for my pride prompts! i was listening to a song and got muse for bewitching senna. lots of awkward flirting and banter in this fic! seren is dumb and senna is a little mean.

✭ tag list: @dragonselfship, @minkymeatshop !!

[ reblogs always appreciated // prompt list can be found here! ]

As the sky grows dark and the air grows colder, Harrowing Eve's festivities begin anew. Each year, it's much of the same; cheesy decorations, pastries and candy, trick-or-treaters flooding the streets. Then, the witches show up, and everything changes, for better or for worse.

Seren recalls what it was like when he first met the coven many, many years ago. They were magnificent, cutting through the crowd like bolts of lighting. Some took to the sky on broomsticks, wings, or plumes of magic, whereas others walked—or crawled, or slithered, or pranced—right down the roads, every once and a while to acknowledge an awed child that caught their eyes. They were all scales and feathers, all neon and glitter, the smell of sweet candy and heady incense.

Every since he learned of their existence, Seren has always wanted to be just like the witches. They’re colorful, proud, and unique, which is all he’s ever wanted to be. It’s hard to dabble in the dark arts when you weren’t born into them, but fortunately, mere months before this Harrowing, Seren was blessed—or cursed, rather, depending on how you look at it—by the bite of an unusual red fox.

He was transformed into a lycan, more specifically a werefox. It was not painful or frightening. He did kill anyone, nor did he break anything of importance. He just feels different, and looks different sometimes, but he mostly feels. He feels Runeterra, the magic laden within its cracks and crevices, unending possibilities hidden behind a smokescreen forged by humanity.

This year, he’ll party with the big leagues. He’ll run with witches and monsters. He’ll eat all the candy he can possibly stomach, and he’ll kick ass at the apple bobbing competition.

In the early days of autumn, he met a witch named Neeko. He was testing out his werefox form, and she was… also testing out his werefox form. She’s a shapeshifter. A chameleon.

“Say I wanted to befriend your coven,” he’d said to her a few nights before the party. They were sitting on the rooftop of a schoolhouse, and Neeko was braiding his hair. “How would I go about that?”

“Just talk to them,” Neeko says like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “That’s what Neeko did. One day, she went up to the spider lady, Elise, and said ‘hello, spider lady!’ She was very nice. Loved Neeko.”

Elise? Somehow, Seren doubts she was all that nice to Neeko. Though, it seems that Neeko doesn’t care how cruel the lady witches can be, as long as they provide her with ample attention. Seren respects it.

“Just talk to them,” Seren echoes, sounding unsure. Neeko nods, egging him on. She’s so confident and encouraging that he doesn’t stop to think that things may go differently for him, a gritty, not-witch with fur for brains.

On Harrowing Eve, Seren sticks to what he knows: apple bobbing. He does kick ass at it, by the way. Those kids never stood a chance.

But he does have to talk to the witches at some point. He promised Neeko, promised himself. His chest tightens and his throat closes whenever one passes him by, throttled by their elegance and beauty. He just has to say hello to one of them. How hard can that be? How hard should it be?

The first witch that really catches his eye, the first one that makes him want to talk, is the one the kids he just defeated in the apple bobbing competition flocked to once they were done sulking. Seren pears over the tiny crowd, honing in on the other side of the square, where a lady, clad in colorful robes and a token pointy wide-brimmed hat, stands beside a creature of some sort. Deciding that this deserves a better, closer look, he follows the children, keeping a safe number of paces behind to avoid drawing attention.

Upon closer inspection, the creature isn't so much of an animal, but instead a pumpkin brought to life. It has sharp fins and a wide maw forged from magic, causing it to resemble a piranha. The lady is feeding it, paying little mind to the children that crowd her. They ask questions, "What's its name? Where did it come from? Is it your pet?" The lady gives half-answers and forced smiles. She doesn't say much.

The children eventually disperse, feeling the sting of her apathetic disposition, which leaves only Seren. He stands there awkwardly, arms folded over his chest, face oddly blank as he watches the lady and her pumpkin-piranha. He only realizes that he's staring when the lady speaks: "Do you need something?"

He startles, blinking rapidly, prying his eyes from whatever he was looking at to meet her gaze. A staggering emerald green.

"Oh," he mouths. "No, ma'am. I apologize. I was just looking at your, uh, pet."

The lady hums. "Not a pet," she says, patting the creature on its head, much like you'd do to a pet, before putting two gloves fingers between her lips and whistling. Seren's confusion turns to awe as another creature—this time made mostly of metal, like a cannon given teeth, which looks absolutely absurd—floats toward her, beckoned from a dark alleyway. The creature's sharp green eyes lock onto the pumpkin-piranha, and within the moment, it gobbles it up.

"It's food." The lady finishes, and Seren's mouth falls open in a silent gasp.

This new creature assumes the pumpkin's place at her side. She leans down and strokes it affectionately, hand ghosting over enchanted steel. Seren blinks. He forgets just how weird things can get around the Harrowing.

"Ah, I see." He says, trying to sound casual, but it ends up coming out strained. The creature chatters its large serrated teeth at Seren, like a warning. Seren steps back.

The lady chuckles dryly. "S'not gonna bite you," she snorts. On a silent command, the creature goes limp in Senna's hands. She picks it up and swings it over her shoulder, resting it there, like a literal weapon—a cannon. It's perfectly still, appearing inanimate, but its eyes still move, blinking and darting around. It makes Seren feel uneasy.

“Hah. Uhm…” he coughs, clearing his throat. “Anyways, sorry to bother.”

The lady dismisses him easily, and if he was smarter, he would’ve left right then and there, but he doesn’t want to let this opportunity go to waste. After a brief silence, he speaks up again, “What’s your name?”

The lady, who was preparing to walk away and carry on with her night, halts and turns to face him, appearing throughly unamused.

“You don’t sound all that sorry,” she says, and Seren swallows thickly.

“What?”

“If you were so sorry for bothering me,” she hums. “You’d stop bothering me.”

An ugly cocktail of shame, embarrassment, and anxiety wells up within him, making him want to flee and hide. Somehow, he manages to stand his ground- sort of, though he’s certain that he doesn’t look all that confident.

“Oh, yeah, yeah. I’m sorry,” he stammers, beginning to slink away, fighting the urge to take off running. “I’ll go. Have a nice night, ma’am—”

Suddenly, the lady witch erupts into bitter laughter. It does little to ease the tension, but it does make Seren stop and listen.

“Stop. Don’t play that game. If you want to talk to me, then talk.”

Seren blinks in surprise. She watches the lady take her gun-creature off her shoulder and prop it up against a nearby wall. It’s beastlike eyes flutter shut, as if it’s taking a nap. Unsurprisingly, talking to a witch feels slightly less frightening when she’s not obviously armed. He gulps down his nerves and rises to her bait.

“Okay,” he says, trying his best not to follow up with yet another apology.

“I’m Senna,” she answers at last.

“Senna,” he echoes. “That’s a lovely name. What’s it mean?”

She gives him a strange look, and he realizes that most people don’t know what their own names mean. That isn't common knowledge. He shrinks a little.

“Uhm… my name’s Seren.” He says meekly. “Means ‘star.’ I think it’s pretty.”

She offers a slow nod. Is she judging him? She’s probably judging him. God, Neeko must be real charming to keep getting away with this.

No, it’s not that she’s more charming, it’s that she’s confident. Seren isn’t. Never has been, never will be. Dammit.

“Well, Seren…” she turns his name into something nasty with her tone. “What are you doing here? As far as I know, werewolves change on the full moon. Thought your kind spend the Harrowing in the forest.”

Werewolves? Oh, that’s what Senna must think he is. To be fair, there is little distinction between a werefox and a werewolf: both have pointed ears, sharp teeth, glowing eyes, and scattered patches of fur on their otherwise humanoid bodies. Seren does very little to hide her supernatural state from the world, though it does earn him many judgmental looks—and maybe something worse, someday, if he’s not careful.

“Oh, no. I’m not a werewolf. I’m a werefox!” He informs her with a smile. “We’re very different. Us foxes tend to change on the new moon, and, not that this matters, but I usually have full control over my transformations.”

Senna gives him another quick look-over, harsh gaze scanning him from bottom to top, as if she’s recontextualizing him as a fox. “Werefox,” she echoes. “I don’t think I’ve ever met one of those.”

“Well, I’m honored to be the first.” He punctuates his words with a stiff laugh. She doesn’t laugh with him—or even smile, for that matter.

“So, you…” he begins, trying to keep the conversation rolling. “You’re a witch.”

She glares at him. “What else would I be?”

Seren tenses. Oh god, she really hates him.

“Uh… I don’t know! I’ve just never seen one like you before.” He says; a very blatant lie. He just doesn’t know what else to say. He still wants to earn her favor, but he’s panicking.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She presses, not keen on making this easy for him.

He stammers nonsensically for a moment before answering. “You’re, uhm… the- uh…” she points toward the gun-creature, which is leaning against the wall. “That. Is that your familiar?”

Senna’s gaze flicks from the Seren, to the creature, then back to Seren again. “Something like that, I guess.”

“Cool,” he croaks, his grin turning into something of a grimace. This is unbearably awkward.

Seren should excuse himself. He should dip into an alleyway and run for his life. He should leave the party—leave this town—and hide his face forever.

But, against everything that is good and sensible within him, he harps on, “And also you're, uhm..." suddenly, his mouth feels dry and his throat feels tight, "you're pretty."

There's silence. He spares her a very quick glance. She's staring at him, eyes wide and unbearable green from behind her round-rimmed glassed. He doesn't look long enough to read her expression.

"Not trying to be weird," he follows it up with, wringing his hands anxiously. "Just... saying."

The silence persists for a moment longer, before she makes a sound that is halfway between a scoff and a laugh. "Okay," she says. "Well, you enjoy the rest of your night, wolfie."

Wolfie? No, he's a fox. That would technically make him foxie—oh, and she's walking off. Goddammit!

"U-Uh, yeah. You too, miss!" He calls after her, but she's gone before he knows it.

He's left feeling terrible, ashamed, and humiliated. She really hated me, he thinks to himself. So much for trying to put myself out there. Fuck this party.

But no matter how far he shrinks into himself or how hard he wills it away, the party still persists, and to avoid further fear of missing out, he stays and tries to enjoy it. He keeps away from crowds, hiding in the shadows and munching on candy. Whenever he sees a witch, because they're always bound to show up, he hides his face and quickly flees for another hiding spot. The cycle revolves until it's almost dawn.

He's sitting outside one of the village's less popular graveyards, leaning against the metal fence as he unwraps his final piece of good candy; after this, he'll have to make a venture to get more. Either that, or he'll just go home.

He pops it in his mouth and tips his head back to watch the sky. The stars twinkle like a thousand fireflies, fluttering around the moon, which is as round and iridescent as a pearl. The air is crisp, smelling of dying leaves and rotting earth. It's peaceful.

His peace is suddenly interrupted by a voice, husky and feminine and sickeningly familiar.

"Hey, wolfie."

Oh, god. It's that fucking witch again.

Seren thinks he could just die then and there. He nearly chokes on his candy, managing to gulp it down unceremoniously before looking up at her. She's just as enchanting as she was the first time he saw her, with those full lips and striking green eyes. Thick curly hair pokes out from beneath her hat and billows over her shoulders. The fabric of her hat is slightly iridescent, which is even more apparent in this light. Her cape—oh, she doesn't have a cape. She has wings. Orange, translucent, whispy bat wings. They're only half there, clearly formed by magic as opposed to physical matter. Had she always had them? Perhaps Seren had been so distracted the first time they met that he'd simply written them off as a cape.

Ah, he's staring again. She's waiting for him to answer her, lips pursed, arms folded over her chest. He feels a blush creep back onto his face.

"Hey," he croaks, voice cracking lightly. "It's, uh- I'm not a wolf, by the way."

She cracks a little smile, suppressing a chuckle. A warmth blossoms in his chest. He may be laughing at her, but at least he can make her laugh.

"What are you doing all the way out here?" She asks, and he's surprised by the fact that she's even making conversation with him. He thought she hated him. She still sort of looks and sounds like she does, if he's being honest.

"Party got boring," he lies. "Wanted some peace and quiet."

She hums. "I understand that."

The silence that follows is peaceful instead of awkward, and Seren tries not to ruin it by looking over at her too much, despite really wanting to.

"Do you live far from here?" She asks, apropos of nothing.

He blinks. "Uh, no. I actually live just outside of town. In the woods."

Senna smiles, warm and genuine. Seren's breath hitches. "The coven is busy for the next few days, but if you'd like to spend some time together on, say, Tuesday, you can come over to my house."

Seren sputters. Spend some time together? What in the name of hell is she talking about? There is no way he's talking to the same lady he met in the town square.

"What?" He asks, audibly shocked. "You're serious?"

She rolls her eyes at him. "I don't talk for my health," she scoffs. "You want to or not?"

Okay, yep, this is definitely the same lady.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I do." He nods vigorously.

Her smile returns. "Fantastic. Look for a round, two-story cottage in the middle of town. It's covered in tinsel, hanging lanterns, and bones." He nods along with everything she says, committing it all to memory.

"That's great, I..." His mouth hangs open. Every question he wanted to ask dies on his tongue. He looks at her. She's already backing away, starting on the path back toward the village. "Wait, miss-"

"Senna."

"Okay, Senna. My apologies. I have a question-"

"What? I told you where to meet me. I'm a busy woman. I'll talk to you then."

And with that, she's gone. Again. Seren is left standing there, amongst a pile of candy and wrappers, alone on a moonlit night as a party resounds in the distance. He's confused, very confused, but he also feels strangely giddy. He can't help himself from smiling as he ponders the idea of being her friend.

He's worried that he'll mess this up, but considering how terrible he's acted thus far, and how she pursued him regardless, he doesn't think that he'll have to worry about that.

#【 💚 】 ✦ * · ˚ — death is drawn to life │ r: senna .#senna (🎃)#lotus writes #selfship pride prompts #self ship community #f/o community #oc x canon #self insert x canon

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