#*extended wistful sigh*

[aemxnd]

midnight rain | daemon targaryen x niece!reader

Can the sunshine win over the darkness?

Heavily inspired by a gender-swapped Taylor Swift’s Midnight Rain as requested by @prettycutebunny, I hope I did your idea justice (and apologies for changing one lyric to suit the plot!)

WORDS: 5.3k (I’m so sorry)

WARNINGS: canon typical incest, dubcon, angst everywhere you look, p in v, v fingering, physical violence, breeding, degradation, praise, pain kink, Daemon being a real asshat, reader is Viserys and Alicent’s third child, reader has silver hair for plot point, Stockholm Syndrome, terrible High Valyrian translations, crying, power imbalance due to age difference. 

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

My requests are open! 🖤

Such a pretty little songbird.

Little Starling, your mother had once named you as a child. A free spirit, bound only by the towering castle walls that clipped your wings as the youngest child of the King and his second Queen. Weeks, months, years passed daydreaming beneath your favourite tree, reading the same fantastical books and listening to the same wistful odes from your minstrel. 

All the while under the careful eye of your kepus. 

Life’s tragedies and horrors had never crossed your path, never entered your realm, therefore could never harm you. Your childhood as idyllic as you could imagine, save for a loving father. That void was dutifully replaced by your uncle Daemon, whose unrivalled care and indomitable attention ensured you never wanted for anything more, evermore understanding that your father’s duty to his throne far exceeded the loving relationship expected toward a daughter and that his brother could offer the closest companionship to his. Yours was an unbreakable bond that defied all secrets, surpassed all proprietary expectations and often branched into full conversation in High Valyrian to remain undetected by outside ears. 

Meanwhile, your elder brothers Aegon and Aemond sought to salve the absence of a protective male role model closer to your own age, ensuring they trained in the sword to their own degrees should their little sister ever need rescue. No matter how often you reassured them, they refused to share your belief that no danger could come to you, for danger did not seek you. With the guard of three silver-haired Princes, you thought yourself invincible.

As you matured together, however, your brothers discovered distractions. For Aegon, it was women, cups and the sordid activities beyond the castle walls. For Aemond, it was Vhagar, studies and bitterness. You could not begrudge them the right to grow, to extend their roots beyond your all-too-comfortable sibling unit, as you too had become distracted by literature, music and the pursuit of a quiet life with precious few responsibilities. Somehow your tranquil existence had eluded the conversation of marriage, recognising your unfettered spirit aspiring to greater things than a life secluded within the Red Keep.

But not in the eyes of your kepus. 

~~She was sunshine, I was midnight rain~~

“What troubles you, little starling?” Called a familiar voice from behind your favourite reading spot in the Godswood. You squinted against the midday sun to find your beloved uncle Daemon watching over you, an uneasy frown skewing his lips. “Why are you so often here alone?”

“Good day, dear kepus,” you closed the tome in your lap, clasping your hands together. “My brothers are at the Dragonpit, where I fear a princess may never tread.”

“And you are content with reading in solitude?” Daemon stepped closer, treading carefully over the gnarled roots of the tree upon which you sat. “Would you not prefer company?”

“I am sure others would not wish to read the tales I choose to indulge,” you clutched your book closer to your chest, hurriedly attempting to conceal its cover from him. Sighing thoughtfully, you smiled up at your uncle. “I am resigned to the life of a quiet Princess Regent, neither an heir nor a common-born. No responsibility, no authority, yet still no freedom.”

Daemon approached and perched on a root beside you, chuckling softly under his breath. “I suppose that notion is all too familiar to us both, Princess.”

“Then how did you assuage it, uncle?” You looked over to him, noticing a distinct pain behind the considerate smile on his countenance. “How did you counsel yourself to contentment with such an existence?”

“What in the Seven Heavens makes you believe that I have?” Daemon snorted, gaze dropping into his lap. “How do you counsel yourself to contentment with a life of loneliness, niece? You are but seven-and-ten, do you not wish to take a husband? Make an honest man out of some egotistical Lannister?”

You smiled warmly. “I do not wish to marry, uncle. No aspect of marriage or childbearing holds any attraction for me, for I could never find the love of which I read in literature.”

“That I find hard to believe, Princess. If you wish to marry for love, your parents would be only too happy to oblige.” His hand reached to clasp over your thigh reassuringly. “One day, you will find the Prince you deserve.”

A comfortable silence fell between you, enough to hear the rising volume of the wind in the Godswood. You glanced up in tandem to see the once-turquoise sky fading to an ominous grey.

“A storm is coming, Princess,” Daemon clicked his tongue, slapping his knees demonstrably and rising to his feet. With a kindly hand proffered in the space between you, he beamed down at you. “May I accompany my little ray of sunshine to shelter?”

As you reached to accept, Daemon finally caught a glimpse of your book’s cover and smiled to himself. “The Tales of Persephone and Hades, I see.” His voice lowered to a mutter so indistinct you could not hear him. “How apt, vēzos.” Sun. 

You paced slowly toward the library together, Daemon always one step behind, his hands clasped studiously behind his back as you meandered around hallway after indiscriminate hallway, wordlessly travelling as if no conversation could be found. You would never notice the manner in which Daemon consumed the image of you before him, a woman grown so distinctly from the small babe he had observed in your youth, born with gleaming silver hair which now tumbled to the length of your hips. Your regal green gown swayed as you moved and swept the hallway before his intrepid footsteps, Daemon swallowed harshly as he imagined the frame concealed by your bodice and boned skirt. 

~~She wanted it comfortable, I wanted that pain~~

Upon your arrival at the dimly-lit library hall, you turned to nod a farewell to your escort. 

“Thank you, uncle,” you smiled before quickly turning on your heels in search of another book to lose yourself in. As you paced, you heard your footsteps echoing with another, realising that Daemon had followed you. After a few more steps, you ground to a sudden halt, giggling gently as he bumped into you and nearly lost his footing. You grasped his arms behind you and steadied him, the gentle clearing of his throat behind you making you chuckle harder. “Kepus, are you following me?”

His hands searched for your waist and skimmed the contour of your hips, pulling you flush to his chest so close his warm breaths fanned your hair. Your laughter silenced with the sudden realisation that this was no child’s play. 

“I would follow you to the ends of the earth, little starling,” he whispered into the shell of your ear, venturing a hand to brush your tumbling silver curls from your neck so he could blaze a trail of butterfly kisses unimpeded. Your breath hitched in your throat, eyes fluttering closed as his gentle touch melted your resistance immediately. 

“Kepus… what do you mean?” You asked timidly, almost afraid of the response.

His next searing kiss into the base of your neck lingered a while, his lips wrapping you up in anticipation and longing for a touch you had never before desired, but now that you had it, you craved it more than the air you breathed. Your head threw back into the blissful sensation, earning a low groan from Daemon that vibrated softly against your skin. 

“You have always been the midday sun to my midnight rain, haven’t you, little one?” Daemon whispered. “You were born into this world when I returned from the Stepstones, a ray of light when my world was shrouded in darkness. Whenever my life has succumbed to the pitch black of night, you were always there to illuminate the way.”

Your hands rested on his as they traversed deep into the valley of your pelvis, hovering over the position of your most sensitive place concealed only by the structure of your dress. 

“Uncle, please…,” you muttered in a form of weak protest that came out as an encouragement, unable to scramble through your mind for a reason why you should reject his advances. He had lost Laena, you were unwed, there were no marital connections to stop you. Your beloved uncle, who more or less raised you in the absence of your father, had been the deepest love in your heart all your life. Whether or not that had been a romantic love or not, you could not deny the way your body responded to his touch as if you had yearned for this moment ever since you first read of love. Holding him this close felt as natural as breathing. 

“Hush now, little starling,” he cooed as his lips blazed a trail up to your earlobe and nibbled gently, all while pressing his palm into your skirt so his fingers could make contact with your mound beneath, making featherlight strokes into the fabric and causing your hips to buck into his hand. “Tepagon aōla naejot nyke.” Give yourself to me.

The darkness enveloped the daylight as you nodded in agreement, and in the blink of an eye Daemon gripped your hips, spun you to face him and captured your lips with his. At first tentative, he pulled back to scan your face for a response, only to growl hungrily as he watched your gaze journey to his lips eagerly awaiting their next contact, consuming your mouth with his before you could mutter a protest. Your hands instinctively reached to lace around his neck, drawing him closer and dipping into the kiss as if your hunger could not be sated, craving as much contact as physically possible. 

Without you knowing, Daemon had steered your clinch across the room toward the nearest desk, lifting you to rest on the wood and swiftly hitching your skirt up around your hips in the process. His lips refused to part from yours, nudging his nose into your cheek and humming contentedly against your mouth. With one hand cupping your cheek, the other ghosted a featherlight trail from your knee to your inner thigh, blazing toward your smallclothes between your legs, grazing the sodden fabric as it clung to your core.

“You already want the darkness, don’t you niece?” He pressed, groaning greedily and venturing both hands to rip the weak cotton apart at the seams. With his last obstacle laid to waste and clinging to your hips, his fingers grazed your pulsing folds and collected the waiting droplets of your anticipation. “I have waited so many years to feel your heat, ñuha vēzos.” My sun.

Your vision swirled like a hurricane, conflicting emotions and thoughts blurring the image of the silver-haired prince gazing down at you through lust-blown pupils as he watched his fingers daring to breach your folds before you gave him permission. 

“Kepus, not yet,” you pleaded against your own better judgement, a whimper escaping him as you planted both palms on his chest to keep him an arm’s distance away. “We are not yet married, I don’t think this is right.”

Daemon chuckled to himself before grasping both your wrists in one hand and raising them above your head, his free hand pressing your chest to lay you flat on the desk. Pinning your wrists above you and leaning down to hover over you, two fingers rediscovered your folds and slipped inside in one smooth motion. 

“Then don’t think, sweetling,” he whispered as he buried his fingers inside you to the knuckle, fingertips eagerly curling into your spongy walls and stroking slowly. Your hips tentatively reared into his touch, a palpable trepidation leaving you worrying about your maidenhead, the pain of coupling that literature failed to address yet had always remained on the lips of every birthing woman within the Keep. Daemon noticed your hesitation and thrust his fingers deeper, eliciting a strangled gasp from the depths of your lungs and revelling in your back arching into his motions. “It’s alright starling, the darkness has you now.”

You swallowed harshly, eyes roving to the ceiling as the full sensation in your cunt overwhelmed you. With a disapproving click of his tongue, Daemon tightened his grip on your wrists and slammed them against the hard wood, making you hiss gently. 

“Don’t take your eyes off me, niece,” he commanded until your gaze met his again, ramping up the pace of his pumps as you buckled beneath him. “You need not be ashamed of letting go. Let your kepus take control.”

Daemon’s thumb journeyed to settle on your clit, tracing lazy circles around your bundle of nerves while his fingers drove fervently in a race to reach the furthest points inside you, the wet slaps of his motions echoing through the library. Watching closely as your back arched against his restraint, your eyes fluttering to close as if your climax were nearing, the edge of your pleasure cliff was cruelly snatched from you as his fingers withdrew from your soaking folds with a lewd pop. In a determined hurry and a rustle of fabric, Daemon fumbled with his breeches and freed himself before quickly replacing his digits with a smooth thrust of his length into your cunt. Your determined lubrication enabled his swift entry to sheath himself inside you, but not without discomfort as you winced to handle the stretch of your walls around his girth. 

“Easy now, vēzos,” he soothed, pressing a palm into the valley of your hips to feel his tip grazing your innermost core and sending a shallow shiver throughout your body. “Soon the pain will become comfortable, I promise.”

You swallowed deeply, nodding in compliance and dutifully wrapping your legs around his waist to allow him easier access within you. Daemon grunted, making his next thrust deep and punishing to the point you yelped out, filling the library with the echoes of your cries. 

“That’s it, little one,” he hummed contentedly, working your cunt with his bucking hips like a man possessed, his free hand gripping your hip to impale you further. He leaned further over you to hover his lips over yours, his towering stature blocking out the dim candlelight of the room and enveloping you in pitch black night. “Give yourself to me, let the darkness take you.”

With every merciless thrust deep into your cunt, your helpless mewls grew louder which only encouraged Daemon’s animalistic plunges within you. Gathering what little strength you could muster, you weakly pulled your wrists against his restraint. 

“Please… need to… touch you,” you stuttered, fingers clamouring into mid-air for contact. Daemon’s sadistic grin faded as he acquiesced, your hands firing to curl around his neck and pulled him in for a searing kiss so you could silence your screams into his mouth, his relentless force pummelling you into the hard wood of the desk beneath which was sure to leave flayed grazes on your spine the next day. 

“My little sunshine, you feel like heaven around me,” he cooed against your lips, curling his thrusts to bottom out inside you so hard your blurred vision of him would glitter with stars. “Does this not feel like heaven to you?”

You whimpered an unintelligible response, unable to compose any coherent thought as his cock filled you to the hilt. The searing heat swelling inside you brought the vision of your cliff edge back into sharp focus, begging you to drive your hips up to meet his in a desperate race for your release. Daemon recognised your eagerness and met it with a newfound brutal pace, pounding into you so fast the lewd skin slapping that echoed through the chamber became staccato and relentless. 

“When you are carrying my child, your father will wed you to me,” he leaned to whisper in your ear, anchoring himself by wrapping his hand around your throat, his fingers and thumb pressing eagerly into each side to stem your blood flow rushing to your head, leaving you breathless and helpless. “And I will return inside your pretty little cunt every single night for the rest of our lives.”

His thrusts became jagged, betraying his own approach to the precipice.

“You see, every night the darkness consumes the light.”

With one last devastating thrust, your high flooded through you like a tidal wave and crashed against Daemon’s incoming climax, flooding your walls with his release and blending with your own, his gaze travelling to watch the space between you as his glistening cock hammered into your depths and stuttered as he poured inside you. The once-deafening lewd sounds of your coupling now replaced with ragged breaths, gasps for air and Daemon’s contented grunts as he rode out his orgasm within you, you threw your head back against the wood in sheer realisation of your own weakness. 

Not yet married, but most likely to carry your kepus’ child before long. 

You threw your hands to your belly, clutching at the flatness between your pelvis. Pulling out from you and admiring the soaking mess between your folds, Daemon’s hands rested upon yours as you looked up to find him gazing lovingly at the same space which terrified you to the core.

“Byka vēzos,” he hummed. Little sun. “If you do not conceive this time, we have the rest of our lives together to ensure you will.”

~~She looked like a bride, I was making my own name~~

Some flowers bloom only when the sun sets. 

You blossomed for Daemon in a way he could never have anticipated. His bravery in the battlefield garnered him the courage to risk it all for a chance to make you his wife, but he found so very little resistance in your kind reception that his claim over you simply fell into his lap. The thrill of the chase evaded him, as you caved so effortlessly to his will. 

Each time he requested your presence in his chambers, you parted your thighs and accepted him willingly. Yet each time you requested his presence in turn, he refused, ensuring he kept you wanting more and more, the suspense crafting a new height of pleasure each time you were called to his chambers, bent over his bed and pounded within an inch of consciousness. 

Daemon Targaryen had laid his claim to your body and mind, yet all that remained was his possession of your soul. 

Unbeknownst to you, Daemon had long pleaded with your father to wed you to him. Informally at first, often disguised as a joke to strengthen the Targaryen bloodline by betrothing two dragons to each other to fight for all eternity. But since the night in the library, his requests increased in volume and tenacity, resulting in a physical confrontation in the throne room between dragon brothers. Dismissing Daemon’s demand as nothing more than a vicious clamour for the Iron Throne, your father sought to banish his brother from King’s Landing to Dragonstone, where he would live out his days out of earshot of the Red Keep, where he would never again hear the pathetic whimpers of a man desperate to bed his youngest daughter for power. 

To you, that night came as any other, as Daemon’s maid requested your presence in his chambers at the dead of night and you dutifully obliged, pacing the Keep corridors in eager anticipation of meeting him once more. As you crept through his door, a heavy fabric flew towards you and you grabbed it in mid-air. A dark cloak. 

“Kepus, what—?”

“We need to leave. Tonight.” Daemon’s voice was short, snappy, panicked as his face came into view in the darkness. His brows knitted together, his lips skewed with fear. 

“Wh… why? Did my father refuse our betrothal?”

“Of course he fucking did,” Daemon snapped through gritted teeth, grabbing the cloak still laying in your shaking hands and throwing it over your shoulders for you. “We need to leave for Dragonstone now, there’s a boat waiting for us in the harbour.”

“I don’t… why do we… what happened?” You were frozen to the spot, confusion washing over you in waves. Daemon’s hands balled into fists as he adjusted the hood over your head. 

“Will you stop asking so many fucking questions? Just get down to the harbour, I’ll meet you there soon.”

“Kepus… I’m scared,” you stuttered, hands held out in front of you as if still holding the heavy cloak. “Will I ever see my parents again?”

Daemon smoothed the fabric over your shoulders and tucked the hood over your eyes. Pressing a quick dismissive kiss to the fabric laying over your forehead, he clasped your face and pulled it upwards. 

��Whatever happens, little starling, we are each other’s family from this moment on.” 

Suddenly, the tense silence between you shattered to the sound of deafening bangs on the door to his chambers. Immediately hunching his back defensively, he ushered you across the chamber toward a dark passage where a rogue guard waited to take you onward. “Place your trust in Ser Baleon, I will meet you at the shore.”

The crashes against the wooden portal intensified as you fled, the distinct swoop of metal from the chamber behind you suggesting Daemon had armed himself against the ambush. Searing hot tears blazed volcanic streams down your cheeks as you fought to focus on your steps down the dark spiral staircase to safety, wondering if you would ever see Daemon alive again.

~~Chasing that fame, she stayed the same~~

“Your father is a cunt,” Daemon hissed, storming into your Dragonstone chambers and crossing the room in three great strides to tower over you. 

“Surely not, kepus,” you attempted to calm his temper with a reassuring palm pressed to his chest. “What has he said to irk you so?”

“He’s sent a raven to enquire after you,” he seethed, his jaw clenched tightly as if it might snap at any moment. “He claims that I kidnapped you in the dead of night and will not return you to your birthright in the Red Keep.”

“But I came to Dragonstone of my own free—,” you were cut off by Daemon’s hand firing to grasp your throat, your fingers racing to claw at his grip and prize yourself free. 

“Well why don’t you speak those precious words to your beloved father instead?” He half-growled, sneering down at you as if you were his prey. “He seems to be the one that needs persuading of your own free will, Princess.”

“If you… if you let me, I will,” you stuttered against his restrictive clutch, weakly attempting an escape to breathe properly. 

“You would love that, wouldn’t you?” He snarled, using one hand to spin you by your waist while retaining his grip on your throat, pressing his chest flush to your back and steering you to the bed. “You could run back to the Red Keep and your books and your perfect little boring life.”

“Kepus, please,” you protested weakly, reaching a hand ahead of you to cushion your fall as he dropped you face-first into the sheets. “Please, don’t…”

“Please don’t what, starling?” He chuckled, bunching your skirt over your behind and battling with his own breeches. “Don’t fight for my family, or don’t take my wife whenever I so wish?”

You scrunched your eyes closed, willing to block out whatever was coming next. This was not the careful husband you knew, this was not the devoted uncle who raised you in place of your father, this was certainly not the man who you fell in love with under a stormcloud amongst ancient tomes. This midnight rain will pass, no matter how much love it unravels in the eye of the storm. 

Delivering a swift nudge to your thighs, your legs were parted and Daemon crawled between them, grasping your hips and drawing you up to impale yourself on his hardened cock. With no preparation, you yelped at the intrusion and hissed gently.

“The pain will soon become comfortable,” he declared as he ruthlessly bottomed out inside you. “I promise.”

Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to burst their banks as the agony coursed through you in waves, slowly replaced by bolts of pleasure as his tip grazed your innermost walls.

“Please… take me easily, my Prince,” you wheezed out between merciless thrusts stealing your breath from your lungs. “I am… I am with…”

“You would do well not to give orders when I can ensure you lose consciousness in a moment, little one,” Daemon hissed, pounding into you with an inhuman pace, sending your eyes roving to the ceiling as his nails dug crescent dips into the flesh of your hips. “You want to stay awake while I fill you up, don’t you? Maybe this time you will bear me a child.”

“Daemon, please be gentle…,” you fought to finish your declaration while balling your fists into the sheets, your elbows caving beneath you. “I am with child.”

With your last syllable, Daemon’s thrusts ceased instantly, leaving you whimpering at the immediate loss of friction. He stilled completely, not so much as a laboured breath escaping him behind you, his length still nestled halfway inside you. 

“My Prince, I… I’m sorry,” you reassured, venturing a hand back towards him as if willing him to hold it. “I should have spoken sooner.”

You breathed into the deafening silence, wondering if he did not wish you to deliver the news in such a manner. Suddenly, a cool splash of water hit your scalding spine. A tear. Daemon’s tear. 

“I have failed you, starling,” he sighed, completely shattering his blind rage into a self-deprecating reflection. Allowing his length to slip out from your folds, he released your hips and collapsed onto the sheets beside you. “After all this time, I could have destroyed our child with my recklessness.”

“You have never failed me, kepus, our babe is safe inside me,” you purred, reaching to brush another tear from his cheek. “If he’s anything like his father, he can withstand any amount of force.”

Daemon’s saddened gaze turned to you, still on all fours beside him. He ventured a hand to brush your cheek. 

“I do not deserve you, vēzos jehikagon.” Sunshine. 

In the blink of an eye, you threw a leg over his own to capture him between your thighs. Hovering your waiting folds over his length, still hardened and bobbing between your bodies as you awaited a signal to proceed. 

“Let me please you, my King,” you pleaded, one hand venturing between your legs to stroke his cock and line his tip with your aching entrance.

Daemon’s gaze met yours, his wounded pride hooding his eyelids in contrast with your wide-eyed anticipation. You smiled at your silver-haired captor so warmly, he could not resist your brilliant sunshine blinding him to walk into the light. Gently bucking his hips to meet you in the middle, you lowered onto his length and shared a gratuitous moan as he filled you slowly and completely.

“You are truly carrying my babe?” His hands journeyed to your belly, swelling softly beneath his palms as you rocked gently into him. 

“As true as the sun shines above us, ñuha jorrāelagon.” My love. “The Maester says it is early, so I should rest as much as possible.”

Daemon stilled, concerned. “Then you should cease at once, allow me to…”

“And deprive me of this moment with my beloved? Never,” you asserted, sinking down carefully and bucking your hips to graze his tip against your walls, dropping so far you could swear you felt his cock deep in your stomach. “Besides, I may not be able to ride my dragon for much longer so I will take any chance I can get.”

“When you grow too weary to ride your dragon,” Daemon’s fingers splayed out across your belly as you bobbed above him, his eyes journeying to the ceiling momentarily as the sensation of your walls tightening around him stole his breath. “Rest assured that your dragon will take good care of you, little one.”

The mere implication of his words sent you careering to your precipice, clenching tightly around his cock as your walls rippled and pulsed with the approach of your orgasm. Noticing the sensitivity of your walls to his every motion inside you, jolting and surging around him to bring his rhythmic rutting up into you to a jagged pattern, signalling the arrival of his own climax.

“Let go for me,” he commanded through a whisper, keeping his palms pressed to your abdomen and revelling in the strangled gasps you could no longer hold back, grinding your hips to ride through your high as he deftly painted your walls in staccato thrusts.

Filling the chamber with your mixed groans and deep pants as you slowed your motions above him, you couldn’t bear to move from atop Daemon for fear of losing the moment you shared. Instead, he gripped your hips and turned you onto the sheets, keeping his length buried within you as you lay beside each other. 

“Gevie muña,” Daemon muttered under his breath as he reached to brush your silver hair from your face.

Beautiful mother. 

~~All of me changed like midnight~~

It had taken you the best part of half an hour to muster the strength enough to heave yourself from the birthing chair. Propping yourself up on the fruit table stacked high with pomegranates, you gazed out from your Dragonstone chamber to the harbour beyond. The day was bright, gleaming, the waters mirroring the same blissful turquoise sky beneath which you used to read your books, drift off into fantastical realms and dismiss your own captivity as the Princess Regent with no responsibility and no freedom.

The Maester said your third birth would be easier than the initial two, but so far he had been proven catastrophically wrong. When sickness could not claim you, tiredness and weakness took hold. Days blended into each other, weeks dragged for months, your belly swelled overnight as you lay helpless in the birthing chair simply waiting for an end to the monotony of childbirth. After delivering Daemon two sons, you assumed your duty as a birthing mother had been fulfilled, yet another child swelled no sooner than the second had left your womb.

A pair of hands snaked around your hips to cradle your blossoming belly, fingers spread out over the span of the bump to feel every sensation beneath your skin. A chin rested in the crook of your neck and peppered lazy, haphazard kisses over your ear. 

“Good morning, ñuha byka vēzos,” he cooed softly, his breaths warming your neck. My little sun. “You are not usually out of the chair so early, are you not well? Is our Prince keeping you from rest, little starling?”

You sighed as you dipped your head against his, placing your hands atop his as they surveyed your belly.

“I am quite well, husband,” you comforted him, tracing idle patterns over his hands, still as delicate as the day he first held you as a babe. “I’m always well when I am with you.”

Gazing out beyond the Dragonstone harbour, you could make out the faint outlines of the Red Keep from the safety of Daemon’s arms. Word from court suggested your father’s physical strength was at its last. Your mother sent a parchment requesting your presence but your husband intercepted it before it reached your hand, dismissing your concerns and reassuring that a raven would arrive at once if the King was indeed on his deathbed.

King’s Landing lay just beyond the dock, a symbol of the life you gave away for the sake of love. When you once believed you could never attain the love as told in literature, you failed to notice you had already fallen into such an affair. Persephone and Hades, the blinding sunshine tempted into the all-consuming darkness.

Such a pretty little songbird. 

In such a pretty little cage.

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[vagabond-umlaut]

parterre

Lord Nanami is a knight, yes. A very esteemed one at that. But does anyone know he is an impressive gardener too? Well, he is— for he is the one, who caused these many flowers of these many hues to bloom in the landscape of your heart— so much so that you've not the slightest idea on how to manage them all well.

▸ knight!Nanami x lady-in-waiting!Reader; Historical AU; Tons of Tooth-Rotting Fluff; Crushes; Pining [is it mutual, however?]; Jealousy; Misunderstandings; Teasing; Did I already say this is so sweetly fluffy, you might end up with cavities? Oh. Okay. Cool :); Reader is so terribly down bad for Nanami, it's become a matter of mild concern; She is called a harmless little nickname by the princess here; THIS FIC WAS WRITTEN AS A LITTLE CELEBRATORY GIFT TO NANAMI NATION, AFTER THE FEAST THAT JJK 2.12 WAS FOR Y'ALL ;))

▸ Behold, the thesis I mentioned to you last night, Julie my sweetest pie. 🤭🤭🤭 Hope you'll enjoy reading this! 🫶🫶 @nanamikentoseyebags

▸ I don't own the characters or image used. Divider is by @cafekitsune. Please don't plagiarize, translate or repost this. Enjoy reading! ❤️

Nanami Kento is no simple man. He is one crafted wondrously by the heavens. A veritable evidence, if there ever were any, of the existence of some greater being— powerful enough to make a man such as the knight. Merciful enough to make him live in the same time frame and place as you do.

A wistful sigh falls past your lips as you begrudgingly tear your focus away from the training grounds and direct it to the scalding coffee at hand, though it takes but two mere two seconds before you find your eyes darting to the open window yet again– skimming over the many heads out there– wanting to find only one blond head– heart beating far too many beats when you hear the name of its owner being yelled out once again—

The utterance of your title in court drags you away from your frantic search, to the mildly smiling face of the princess: Sleepy, yes– But a lot more awake than she was five minutes ago. You rush to offer her your greetings, only to stop when she lifts a finger and tilts her head to the side, brows furrowed a pinch.

"That was Kento's name being hollered, wasn't it, Petals?"

You aren't certain which infuriates you more— that the princess used your childhood nickname well into your adulthood– or that she called Knight Nanami by his first name, a privilege he is known to grant to a very select few—

Compelling your face to shift into a smile, you nod. "I'm afraid it was, Your Highness."

"And was it yet another lady cheering for his victory in a match, huh?" she queries, kicking the covers off her feet and landing onto the floor with a loud thud. Wincing lightly, you quickly shake your head 'no'.

"It wasn't, Your Highness. The voice sounded much like Lord Haibara."

A quiet hum comes in response to your observation– soon shadowed over by the off-key singing of rather... indelicate songs, you're certain no one of an upbringing as royal and guarded as your princess should know— before the lyrics pause– all of a sudden– the moment she sits down at the table and looks out the window.

At the ongoing duel between Nanami and Geto, swords clanging and their bare chests shining in the early morn sun.

The very sight making every drop of blood in your vessels to rush to your cheeks, flooding them with colour– whilst your gaze roves with no trace of shame over the well-built physique of the solemn blond– lingering in particular on the toned muscle of his arms and forearms, flexing and extending as his fingers grasp the hilt of the weapon and the muscles in his legs strain against the tight fabric of his slacks, as the knight moves in a spell-binding dance of danger and tact against his opponent.

A huff of a chuckle escapes you when the former lands a solid hit on the latter; no one can match him in his prowess at wielding a sword; making a tendril of pride unfurl in the centre of your chest, only for it to shrivel in the heat of envy the princess' chortle ignites in that very same place.

You make no efforts to stop the words tumbling out your mouth next. Nor the tense frown which nestles into your tinted lips, throwing your face into lines and ridges.

"Is Lord Nanami courting you, Your Highness?"

"What!?!?" Not even an instant elapses before the exclamation leaves your listener. You continue, pretending to be unperturbed by the way innumerable shades of shock and incredulity colour her countenance.

"I mean, you call him by his first name, and he too does the same for you. Besides, the both of you have often been spotted to be strolling in the gardens together, easily chatting and smiling... not to mention the ball held last winter solstice when you two entered the ball, side-by-side— it is not only me who me who wonders so, milady," you add when you notice her back straigthening and she returning the cup to the saucer, "The court is rife with suppositions, on the nature of your relationship with Lord Nanami."

A beat passes in tense silence in response to your expressed musings— before the hush is disrupted by a very grave-sounding query, from the lady across. "What do you look for in a future life partner, Petals?"

"Me?" you ask, index finger pointed at yourself.

The princess gives a nod. "Yes, you, Your Grace."

Your nose wrinkles at such ill-considered usage of such high-ranking titles— nevertheless, you find yourself brushing those concerns away to mull over much more important matters...

A good while passes before you form a reply. Focus zeroing on a tiny coffee stain on your dress, you begin.

"Someone who is calm and collected, stoic and serious. He should be strong too, not just in brawn but in brain and matters of heart as well. He must be strict and disciplined, but must have a gentle, caring side to him too. Won't hurt if he's a traditional romantic, giving me flowers and sweet compliments instead of the terrible comments men say to the ladies these days. And..."

You trail off, losing yourself in your mind, before resuming, in a muted murmur this time, "It might be really nice if he lets me be of those few who can call him by his name– and he becomes comfortable enough, to call me by my name. And accompany me on walks in the garden in the afternoons. And perhaps, even, ask me to the balls where we may wear matching outfits, and present ourselves as a couple before all."

A hand comes to rest over your folded ones. You look up to find a bit too wide smile resting on the princess' lips. She offers your hands an easing squeeze.

Little does she know it does little to ease your turbulent emotions— a feeling which worsens with the observations she voices to you next.

"I was terrified your beautiful mind was tainted by the disease of idle inquisitiveness, as happens to most in this world with age, you know," she hums, standing up and making you sit in her chair, "I'm very glad to conclude, that's not quite the case. However– I cannot say your so lovely mind is disease-free either, my sweet Petals."

Your brows gather together in confusion as you peer at her, eyes in a narrow stare. She continues– smile growing a touch of tenderness.

"Your mind has been afflicted with the awful ailment of lovesickness. And–" she says, putting greater emphasis on her syllables, when you attempt to protest her statement, "it is usually incurable, unless very great feats of bravery are performed by the patient themselves, or in the off-chance, the fates decide to be helpful and the person behind the mess makes the first move— but I must say, Your Grace, you are very lucky to have me as your consulting physician— for I know what will provide you interim relief until either of them happens— want to know what it is?"

You take a moment to consider before returning a slow, unsure nod.

The princess beams. "It's the knowledge of the fact, there's someone who matches every criteria you mentioned, to a T— and that– he has his eyes reserved for none, except one beautiful lady-in-waiting, who stares at the training ground from the windows of the princess' room every single morning— looking as fresh and vibrant as the nickname, the princess insists on calling her."

Your friend pauses for a beat— not that you really notice it over the thrum of your blood in your ears and your heart in your chest— she inquires, "You understood the prescription, didn't you, Petals?"

A high-pitched squeal– so unseemly, so embarrassed, so jubilant– is the only response you manage, retreating into the cushion, hiding the warmth of your face and the stretch of your smile behind your palms.

▸ masterlist

[maplescloudymistbutterflies]

JUST LIKE A DREAM.

TW! manga spoilers.

bittersweet! wistful.

t. muichiro x gn. reader.

HE FOUND HIMSELF ENSNARED IN THE RAPTUROUS EMBRACE OF A PLAIN, UNADORNED NOTEBOOK. its pristine pages beckoning him to whisper tantalizing secrets.

seating himself in the seiza style-his limbs folded gracefully—he wielded a quill like a maestro's baton, while his other hand languidly cradled his cheek-a solitary pillar of repose in the vast expanse of contemplation.

with a sigh of resignation, he embarked upon the wondrous dance between ink and parchment.

...hey.

he paused, his countenance adorned with a mask of impassivity, concealing a tempest of thoughts within.

why, he mused, did he feel compelled to extend his greetings to a humble sheet of paper?

yet, a flicker of ephemeral memory flickered through the corridors of his mind—a faint echo that whispered of customs and courtesies, of beginnings and origins.

though he found himself adrift in the enigma of it all, he yielded to the notion that a simple "hello" would serve as the key to unlock the labyrinth of his newfound routine.

anyways..

that butterfly lady gave me this.

i don't know why, she just did.

he blinked, his brows ascending with a subtle grace, as a revelation had alighted upon his consciousness like a silken butterfly.

i don't know why, she just did.

actually, i do.

she gave me this because she said that journaling..

it'd help me with my memories somehow.

if i recall correctly..she told me to write down anything i figured is worth noting, saying it'll help me 'treasure' it or something.

as he neared the culmination of his literary pilgrimage, he sighed yet again, his breath a gentle zephyr that whispered secrets to the dull room.

whatever. it doesn't matter.

the final words dripped like honey from his quill, an offering to the vast expanse of time and oblivion. yet, even as he penned the denouement of his day, a knowing knowledge clung to his intellect—one he had unfortunately grown accustomed to.

i'll forget about this, anyways.

on the contrary—to his own astonishment—he found himself ensnared within the confines of familiarity, as if destiny had conspired to recreate the tableau of days past.

an unexpected sense of accomplishment fluttered within his being, though he nonchalantly brushed it aside, for its allure held no sway over his seemingly impassive demeanor.

wow.

this again.

never thought i'd actually come back to this.

i guess that person was just so weird that i instantly went here subconsciously.

and yet—a query lingered, teasing the fringes of his consciousness.

how did he manage to recall the precise location where this artifact had been bestowed? his gaze faltered, searching the surroundings with an air of detachment, even as his countenance remained stoic and unyielding.

alas, pondering the intricacies of remembrance proved an exercise in futility.

the answer—it seemed—resided in the glorious mist of poorly scrapped away details.

in reality, for—in a moment of abandon-he had actually just left this vessel exposed upon the very table that bore witness to its initial unveiling.

with that profound comprehension nestled in the recesses of his clouded mind, he simply blinked before returning to the task of diligently jotting down the words he had momentarily paused, delicately inscribing the words that had eluded him mere seconds ago—fully aware that they would soon inevitably slip from his memory.

a pensive cloud descended upon his countenance, casting a shadow upon the dainty tapestry of his thoughts.

his brows, like twin sentinels of vexation, furrowed once more, mirroring the tumultuous musings that swirled within the depths of his mind.

speaking of which, what's their deal anyways?

he simultaneously pondered, his memory a fragmented mosaic that teased the edges of his recollection. who exactly was this vexing interloper that had managed to impede upon his path? the tendrils of remembrance danced just beyond his grasp, tantalizingly close yet frustratingly distant.

bothersome brat getting in the way like that.

the realization dawned, an ember of understanding amidst the haze. it seemed that this individual, by the mere virtue of their skills, bore the mark of a fellow demon slayer. though their intentions remained obscured, he acknowledged that their presence, even as an ally, posed an inconvenience.

yet, he couldn't help but acknowledge that the situation would have been far more dire had they been an unsuspecting civilian thrust into the fray.

"had I not intervened, you would've gotten hit instead."

the echo of their words reverberated within his mind like a daunting scene, conjuring a vivid portrait of their visage. a flicker of irritation danced in his eye, an involuntary twitch that betrayed his lingering frustration.

at least that weirdo refrained from whining and coercing me into helping them seek the aid of that butterfly lady.

even still—a veil of perplexity settled upon his thoughts, shrouding his mind in a haze of bewilderment. the actions of that imbecile confounded him, defying all logic and reason. how dare they insinuate that he lacked the agility to evade the blow? and even if he hadn't, was it not just another day, with the ebb and flow of danger an ever-present companion?

furthermore, the question lingered like a specter; why did they possess such fervent concern, enough to willingly absorb the impact intended for him? a cynical frown danced upon his lips, for he harbored a deep-seated suspicion that their motivations were rooted in a desire to don the mantle of heroism.

ordinarily, such trifling matters would have been dismissed with a mere shrug, relegated to the realm of inconsequential distractions.

and yet, that singular event, like a pebble tossed into a still pond, sent ripples coursing through the depths of his being. it stirred a dormant fire within him, kindling a smoldering embers of annoyance that refused to be extinguished.

the enigma of their actions gnawed at his consciousness, an incessant itch that demanded his attention. why did their interference provoke such a visceral reaction? what lay beneath the surface of his irritation? the answers eluded him, concealed in the murk of his own introspection.

eventually, a flicker of relief danced upon his countenance, as if a gentle breeze had brushed away the creases of consternation etched upon his features. for, in this fortuitous moment, salvation arrived in the form of ginko, his loyal companion, his assigned kasugai crow.

entering the room through the open window with a graceful flutter of ebony wings, the avian harbinger announced his imminent departure towards yet another mission, a clarion call that whisked away the tendrils of disquietude that had begun to take hold.

had he been pondering for that long?

he blinked, extending a hand adorned with purposeful gentleness, he bestowed upon ginko a few aimless caresses to the sleek feathers that adorned the crow's head. a momentary respite amidst the chaos, a fleeting connection between two souls bonded by the trials of their shared endeavors.

and then, with a seamless transition, his expression reverted back to its stoic neutrality, a mask of detachment that shielded the depths of his thoughts.

his gaze, once adrift and almost forgotten, refocused upon the near-forgotten notebook that lay before him—its pages, blank with very few words but brimming with the promise of untold tales, unlike before—it now beckoned him with an irresistible allure. who’s to say that this encounter, this outpouring of his thoughts upon its parchment, would be his last? the question lingered, suspended in the air, as if the notebook itself whispered of secrets yet untold.

however—a hint of exasperation tinged his thoughts once more, a testament to the minutes squandered upon this wearisome endeavor. the weight of time wasted settled upon his shoulders like an oppressive burden, threatening to drown him in a sea of regret. had that butterfly lady bestowed this upon him merely as a means to pass the hours in such a pitiful manner?

what’s with everyone pissing him off lately? a disapproving click of his tongue resounded, accompanied by an inward huff of frustration, as if to dismiss such thoughts as inconsequential.

yet, even as he brushed aside the notion, a lingering seed of doubt remained. the origins of this diversion, this seemingly trivial pastime, stirred a restlessness within him. but he swiftly quelled the rising tide of contemplation, for there were matters of greater import to attend to.

with a languid motion, his hand lazily fell back to his side, a symbol of resignation to the inevitability of his next mission.

ginko—ever attentive—observed his movements with unwavering focus through her beady eyes.

as he rose to his feet and walked away without a word, she hastened to follow, a silent guardian ensuring he treaded the correct path this time.

perchance, had he paid greater heed—he would have discerned the inadvertent significance he ascribed to that encounter.

possibly, if he could decipher his emotions amidst the shroud of negativity, he would come to comprehend the profound influence this ostensibly unavailing—or so he perceives it to be—undertaking continues to hold within the recesses of his hazy recollections.

a sense of weariness pervaded his being, his form slouched over the table in an exhausted posture. his arm, draped atop the surface, cradled his lower face in a gesture of weary surrender.

heavy-lidded eyes, devoid of their usual sharpness, stared blankly at the notebook before him, its pages a repository of familiarity and untapped potential.

his restless fingers found solace in the quill, an instrument of creation and expression. yet, instead of purposeful strokes, they engaged in aimless fiddling, a subconscious act of seeking comfort in the familiar. the quill danced between his fingertips, its weight and texture grounding him in the present moment.

as time trickled by, his hand slowly maneuvered with deliberate relaxation.

the quill hovered mere inches above the pristine expanse of the paper, its poised tip a conduit for the thoughts that swirled within his mind. the ink droplets within the quill began to fall, each one a testament to the passage of time and the stillness that enveloped him.

then, with a leisurely descent—the quill found its mark upon the page, leaving behind a trail of ink as he transcribed the words that lingered in his thoughts. beginning another silent conversation between the depths of his mind and the blankness of the paper.

if i had known that i’d be assigned with that idiot on the mission, i wouldn’t have even waited for their arrival.

eh. i guess they were somewhat useful..for baiting the demon.

the words upon the page bore the unmistakable mark of apathy, as if they had been woven with little to no effort. lines connected words haphazardly, yet he remained unperturbed by their disarray.

a mere blink was his response to the warm embrace of the rising sun's rays streaming through the window, causing him to momentarily shield his eyes. his lids fluttered, adjusting to the light.

shifting slightly, he raised his head, casting a glance towards the window. the sight of the morning's arrival beckoned his attention, a gentle reminder of the passing hours that had slipped away unnoticed.

would you look at that... it's morning already, and i haven't even managed a wink of sleep yet.

a yawn escaped his lips, an involuntary reflex brought forth by the weariness that engulfed him.

craning his head to the right, he raised a hand, fingers reaching out to massage the tense muscles at the back of his neck. the physical sensation provided a fleeting respite from the mental strain that weighed upon him.

tearing his gaze away from the luminous frame of light, his attention returned to the page before him.

the letters—now seemingly slid onto the page without care—formed words that appeared smudged or messy. yet, his response was one of detached observation, his eyes trailing along the inked lines as if merely skimming their surface. his mind adrift in a sea of fatigue and contemplation.

a wistful breath escaped his lips, carrying with it a tinge of reflection. to think that in the end, he found himself aiding them, joining forces with those he once regarded with a mix of skepticism and reservation. vague memories of their coordination and shared battles flickered in his mind, a testament to their surprising competence.

irony hung in the air, as he ever-so begrudgingly acknowledged the decency of their skill, granting them the credit they deserved.

but to say that he still harbored a grudge would be an overstatement. time had a way of blurring the sharp edges of resentment, softening the sting of past grievances.

he had moved on—or at least strived to do so—simply because he no longer wished to expend mental energy on such affairs.

of course, the reasoning behind their initial encounter still eluded him. the circumstances that had brought them together remained shrouded in mystery, a puzzle piece that refused to fit neatly into the larger picture.

yet, despite this lack of understanding, he had chosen to extend his assistance.

it was a matter of reciprocity, an unspoken agreement that demanded the return of the favor. they had aided him, and so he, in turn, had done the same.

but let it be known that his actions were certainly not born out of deliberate intention. it wasn't a calculated decision to seek their gratitude or favor. no, he had been driven solely by his sense of duty, a commitment to vanquish the demon that had threatened their lives. their expressions of gratitude that followed were—in his perception—unwarranted and unnecessary.

don’t get him wrong, it wasn't a matter of rejecting their appreciation out of disdain or arrogance. it was simply a matter of perspective. he saw his actions as obligations fulfilled, his purpose aligned with the task at hand. the gratitude they offered was an unexpected byproduct, an outcome that held little significance in the grand scheme of his mission.

unbeknownst to him—his head gradually dipped lower, a subtle surrender to the weight of exhaustion. his eyes, utterly heavy with weariness, would occasionally flutter open, a futile effort to rouse himself from the encroaching grasp of sleep.

but little did he know, there existed a vast realm of his true intentions beneath the surface of his consciousness, waiting to be explored, waiting to unveil its secrets—a landscape of an undiscovered reality and hidden depths lay dormant, longing to be discovered.

yet, in his current state, he remained oblivious to the elusive wonders that lay within.

oblivious to the possibilities that awaited him, he continued to battle the encroaching embrace of sleep, unaware of the treasures that could be unearthed once he relinquished his conscious hold.

but perhaps, in due time, the mist would lift, and he would come to realize the vastness that lay hidden within, embracing the unknown with open arms and truly delving into the depths, and alas reaching a benevolent understanding of his own subconscious.

soon enough, he found himself absentmindedly twirling a petal between his fingers as he entered the room. his focus remained fixated on the delicate blossom even as his hand closed the door behind him, and even as he made his way towards the mirror.

gradually, he lifted his gaze, his eyes settling on the flower crown adorning his head. the sakura petals, masterfully intertwined, caught his attention, their beauty captivating his senses.

with an almost contemplative look, he then raised the petal he held to eye-level, keenly studying its intricate details.

of all people, who would have thought he'd be adorning something as whimsical as this? it seemed that over time, through some inexplicable force, he had found himself repeatedly crossing paths with an individual he had once deemed a nuisance.

bizzarely, he discovered that he often engaged in small conversations with them—or rather—they spoke while he found himself lost in his own thoughts as usual, staring at the wispy clouds.

however, that habit of his had not lasted long with them.

he recalled a time when he unexpectedly began sparing a not-so discreet glance for the person who stood beside him, whilst internally pursuing his own musings while they carried on with their activities.

perhaps it was because he secretly wished for their presence to vanish? he had made his feelings abundantly clear, even voicing his desire to be rid of them. yet, they stubbornly persisted, undeterred by his dismissive attitude.

and so, he had resigned himself to their constant presence, reluctantly accepting the fact that they would be a part of his daily life.

today, it was he who stumbled upon them—a reversal of their usual encounters.

he couldn't help but note the uncharacteristic silence that enveloped them, a departure from their usual chatter.

enveloped in a realm of heightened intrigue, his inquisitive spirit awakened. his gaze, like a wandering star, was drawn to the focal point that held their rapt fascination.

with an arched ascent, his eyebrows mirrored his amazement. majestically poised, a resplendent tapestry unfolded before him—a bountiful cherry blossom tree, its branches bedecked in resplendent blooms. the sakura petals—akin to balletic maestros—pirouetted gracefully through the air, composing a symphony of ethereal enchantment.

in that instant, he comprehended the rationale behind their entranced stare. the vision of the grand cherry blossom tree, its delicate petals dancing with elegance, possessed an irresistible charm that surpassed his customary indifference. it stood as a tableau of organic marvel, another spectacle capable of evoking a latent response within him, even if he had not fully embraced it until now.

blinking in a manner reminiscent of an owl, he returned to the present moment.

ultilizing both hands, he delicately removed the flower crown from his head. unusually, he handled it with an exceptional tenderness, treating it as though it were a fragile treasure he was determined to preserve with utmost care.

however, inexplicably, he decided to place it adjacent to his notebook. then, his attention shifted back to the petal he had held throughout the entire process, and a subtle downturn of his lips coupled with a slight furrowing of his brows betrayed his disappointment.

the petal appeared slightly crumpled... perhaps he should have focused on it first before removing the crown?

his head instinctively tilted as he contemplated the past. unbeknownst to him, the fact that he was investing such reflection into a... gift—as they had claimed it to be—went entirely unnoticed.

an idea flickered to life within the recesses of his mind, though it may not have been grand in scale.

with a sense of purpose, he resolved to safeguard this newfound notion within the pages of his trusty notebook instead of just noting them down much like the previous, yet now said to be countless of times he did so. it wasn't that he had no intention of exploring the idea further; rather, he held a silly belief that by preserving the delicate petal within its confines, he would be able to summon fragments of today's events whenever he cast his gaze upon it.

it was, undoubtedly, a risky endeavor.

the transience of memory and the fragility of moments made such attempts at preservation inherently uncertain. yet, undeterred by the potential pitfalls, he was determined to give it a try.

there was a spark of hope that momentarily alighted within his ever-so dull eyes as he carefully placed the petal between the pages, allowing it to find its place amidst the inked words and scribbled thoughts.

in his mind, the notebook was like a vessel of recollection, the doorway through which he could access the essence of that particular day.

with each passing glance, he believed he would be transported back to the sights, sounds, and emotions that had colored his experience. it was a belief steeped in a touch of magic, a genuine desire to capture the essence of fleeting moments and keep them alive in some tangible form.

of course, he understood the inherent risk of such an endeavor. memories could be fickle, subject to the passage of time and the distortions of perception—that he knew all too well, yet, he couldn't resist the allure of the notion, the tantalizing prospect of preserving a piece of today's events within the pages of his notebook.

thus, he closed the notebook—sealing the petal within its protective embrace. only time would reveal whether his whimsical idea would bear fruit. but for now, he carried a glimmer of anticipation, a belief that perhaps, just perhaps, he had found a way to capture the essence of the present and carry it with him into the future.

one day, on the verge of departing for the swordsmith village, he found himself casting a final glance around his room.

as his eyes scanned the space, they landed upon a particular object resting undisturbed on the table, alongside a vibrant, circular rosy crown. yet, his gaze lingered upon the sight of the flowers, a momentary pause in his preparations.

was there something he was forgetting?

he brushed off the thought, convincing himself that it was nothing of importance.

or was it?

perhaps a faint inkling nagged at the back of his mind, suggesting that there was more to it than he initially believed.

without realizing it—he was drawn across the room, his steps guided by an unseen force.

he found himself crouching down near the designated area, his hand reaching out to flip through the pages of his notebook. however, his action was halted as his eyes caught sight of a roseate petal nestled within the notebook's pages.

curiosity sparked within him, and he raised an eyebrow as he gingerly plucked the petal from its sanctuary. absentmindedly, he twirled it between his fingers, a gesture that felt oddly familiar, inducing a sense of déjà vu.

but where had he witnessed such a scene before?

as he pondered, a realization dawned upon him. It wasn't a memory of witnessing someone else engage in this action; rather, it was he himself who had performed it.

a surge of recollection washed over him, memories resurfacing from the depths of his mind. the twirling of the petal, the sensation between his fingertips—these were gestures he had made before, though their significance had slipped from his conscious grasp.

In that singular moment, the forgotten fragments of his own past intertwined with the present, weaving together a tapestry of connections that transcended time.

recognition dawned upon him with a sudden clarity. it was from that day—the day where a sensation so tender and poignant stirred within him, almost like a bittersweet ache, evoking a warmth that eluded his understanding, leaving him unable to grasp its true essence.

the memory resurfaced, vivid and potent, as he held the petal in his hand. it was a symbol—a relic that carried the weight of a significant moment, a moment that had shaped him in ways he had yet to fully comprehend.

as his gaze shifted between the delicate petal and the floral circlet, he couldn't help but acknowledge their significance. they were gifts, given to him by that same person whose presence had once been a source of annoyance, but had since become intertwined with his life in ways he never anticipated.

a subtle flicker of a smile danced across his features, fleeting yet unmistakable.

it was a ghost of a smile, evoking a sense of warmth and nostalgia. just like that very same day, beneath the sakura tree.

after a few more contemplative moments, he gently placed the petal back within the pages of his notebook. it was an act imbued with a renewed sense of curiosity and introspection.

as he carefully tucked it away, he recognized that this petal held more than just a fragment of his present—it also served as a tether to his past.

standing up, he straightened his attire, smoothing out the wrinkles that had formed during his moment of reflection.

leaving the room behind, he stepped forward, his footsteps carrying him away from the familiar and towards the villa—yet, as he ventured forth, he carried with him the knowledge that within the depths of his own experiences, there were secrets waiting to be unveiled. these hidden truths, veiled within the recesses of his own identity, held the potential to guide him closer to understanding who he truly was.

muichiro’s brows knit together, his eyes narrowing slightly as he winced, perusing the passages he had penned not long ago—but in that period, he found himself at the nadir of his existence, akin to a vessel housing an empty soul, where the flicker of life seemed to wane within him.

immersed in the depths of his own written words, a wave of self-critique washed over him. the realization of his perceived deficiencies bore down heavily upon his psyche.

was my prose truly so lackluster?

his countenance contorted into a visage of melancholic discontent. he couldn't help but introspect on his conduct and acknowledge the impoliteness he had exhibited. it pained him to recognize the echoes of his late twin brother within himself, bearing the burden of both his loss, and their shared flaws.

a tinge of remorse lingered as he ran a hand through his hair, grappling with the repercussions of his actions.

yet, amidst the remorse, his spirits gradually ascended as he reminisced on a separate recollection—the instant when he emerged from his coma, their unwavering presence by his side.

that memory bestowed a glimmer of solace, softening his somber expression. they had been dumbfounded, incapable of containing their emotions upon witnessing his awakening.

in that fleeting moment, they had clung to him fervently, as if he were their vital lifeline. though their embrace—much to his dismay—had swiftly slackened upon realizing his frailty, the impact of their initial response eternally etched in his consciousness.

reflecting upon that juncture, a smile graced his lips. he held no remorse for his instinctive reaction to embrace them, despite his own corporeal anguish.

a gentle flush tinged his cheeks as he sensed that familiar flutter in his heart, impelling him to tilt his head inquisitively.

“that feeling again...” he mused—this time, aloud—as he rose a hand to the region where his heartbeat, almost amplifying with its errancies—resided. his gaze descended, fixated upon that enigmatic yet captivating feeling. curiously pirouetted in his eyes, a pure and guileless yearning for comprehension.

he contemplated the prospect of unraveling the enigma at the butterfly mansion, where he might unearth the veracity behind this inexplicable sensation.

maybe, it was naught but a lingering malady, an unseen affliction that had eluded his awareness. he mulled over the displeasing notion, recognizing the imperative to illuminate the puzzle that lay dormant within him.

little did he fathom the profundity of what lay ahead, the intricate tapestry of emotions and connections that awaited him.

if only he comprehended the significance of that flutter in his heart, the profound impact it would wield upon his odyssey.

several weeks had elapsed, and once more he found himself clutching his notebook, as if it were an extension of his being.

resting against the wall, he clasped the item firmly in his grasp, his gaze wandering towards the window as he settled into a seated position. with his knees drawn up to his chest, they formed an improvised tabletop, providing a stable surface for him to write on.

the room was bathed in the spill of moonlight, bestowing upon it a tranquil luminescence that infused the scene with ethereal allure. positioned at the precipice of the empty page, his quill poised like a delicate dancer, he sensed a surge of anticipation welling within him.

it had been a while since he had last visited the notebook, let alone written in it.

initially, this realization held a tinge of sadness. however, he began to view it as a form of success—a testament to his growth and progress—he no longer needed the notebook as a vessel for his memories, as he had learned to hold them within himself without the fear of them dispersing from his mind.

although he had been reluctant to let go of the notebook in the beginning, fearing that he would regress to his former self, he gradually grew accustomed to relying less on its pages. this change was thanks to a certain someone who had provided him with remarkable encouragement and support along the way.

speaking of that someone..

a gentle smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he reminisced about the unfolding events.

at long last, he had mustered the courage to convey his heartfelt gratitude to them for rescuing him on that fateful day of their initial encounter. in retrospect, he finally recognized how his own negativity had obscured the fact that his concern and guilt had driven his actions, leading to harm befalling their well-being.

with the weight of unexpressed appreciation lifted from his shoulders, a profound sense of contentment and relief settled within him.

it felt really good.

and relieving too. i’m glad to finally be able to appreciate them properly now.

the words resonated within him, echoing the profound impact this newfound expression of gratitude had on his relationship with them as he lowered his quill onto the waiting page, he began to write, capturing the essence of his gratitude in ink. the words flowed freely, a testament to his newfound ability to express his appreciation and to cherish the moments that had led him to this point.

in that quiet room, with the moon as his witness, he continued to write, allowing his emotions to spill onto the pages, creating a tangible record of his gratitude and the growth he had achieved.

naturally, he expressed his gratitude to shinobu as well, for she was the catalyst that set the entire endeavor in motion.

however, he couldn't deny that his experience with that particular individual had left a deeper impact on him, resonating within his being in a way that he couldn't easily dismiss.

we made origami today.

was if their first time? i wouldn’t believe it at all if they said yes, they did amazing.

the corners of his mouth lifted even further, a radiant smile spreading across his face. pride swelled within his chest as he reminisced about the moment when he, much like they had done beneath the sakura tree during the day—left his creations with them as a souvenir—a heartfelt gift.

his eyes fluttered, lids half-lowered, as his smile softened. the memory of their laughter resonated in his ears, a joyful sound that echoed through his mind. it was a honeyed melody, harmonious and timeless, etched into his memories like a cherished tune he would never grow tired of.

in that moment, he felt a deep sense of connection and shared happiness. the blossoming of their laughter and their appreciation had filled him with a profound sense of fulfillment.

i made them laugh, their smile truly is adorable.

i want them to stay happy.

an undeniably childish wish.

..i wanna be the reason they do.

a selfish, yet reasonable desire.

i could just say it outright, but...

his thoughts trailed off, contemplating the words he longed to express.

his heart swelled with a mixture of emotions, and yet, there was a hesitancy that held him back. the idea of openly conveying his yearning to be their source of joy brought forth an inexplicable feeling, a blend of anticipation and seldom vulnerability.

with a heavy sigh, he leaned his head back, seeking a moment of respite.

however, to his dismay—he misjudged the distance and inadvertently hit the wall with more force than intended. the impact elicited a wince and a deadpan expression as a wave of discomfort washed over him.

“ouch..”

rubbing the back of his head with his free hand, he closed one eye, gritting his teeth in response to the pain. regret filled his thoughts as he berated himself for not considering the consequences of his actions.

"just why didn't I take that into consideration?" he muttered, a tinge of frustration evident in his mellow voice.

it was a momentary lapse, a reminder of the fallibility that resided within him. the physical discomfort mirrored the emotional unease he felt, a reminder that expressing his feelings came with its own set of risks and uncertainties.

no, he had abandoned his initial notion of visiting the butterfly mansion to have his ‘condition’ assessed. as due to being one of the hashiras, it was now his duty to train the lower-ranked individuals, aiming to help them awaken their own marks while enhancing their abilities.

in essence, he found himself devoid of the time needed to pursue his plan. although it was indeed a missed opportunity, he chose not to dwell on it excessively.

besides, none of his attributes seemed to have weakened, so he simply disregarded the occasional peculiar sensation blooming in his chest whenever thoughts of them arose, dismissing it as a mere figment of his imagination—a hallucination.

he let out a resigned breath, a sense of acceptance washing over him. his hand fell back to his side, but as he blinked, his gaze followed a petal as it slipped out of his notebook's grasp, gracefully descending onto the floor beside him.

his mouth formed a small "o" of surprise, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. he blinked thrice, processing the unexpected turn of events. however, his features soon softened, morphing into a tender expression as he retrieved the fallen petal.

solicitously cradling the delicate leaf between his fingers, he twirled it once more, marveling at its beauty. the petal really did hold a certain allure, captivating his attention and stirring memories within him.

"it’s as beautiful as i remember..” he whispered softly, a touch of nostalgia coloring his voice. in that simple petal, he found a reflection of past beauty, a reminder of moments that had touched his soul.

as he held the petal, he couldn't help but reflect on the transient nature of beauty and the fleeting nature of time. just like the petal, moments of beauty come and go, leaving only memories behind. yet, in that fleeting beauty, there is a sense of profound appreciation and wonder.

while the world could be cruel, he yearned to bask in the fragments of ephemeral glory and find joy in the fleeting moments. he’s now understood that life was a continuous stream of passing experiences, and he made a conscious effort to cherish each and every memory that crossed his path.

in the midst of this realization, an idea sparked in his mind—a realization that he had never written about the day beneath the sakura tree.

how had he overlooked such a profound and cherished memory?

a surge of exhilaration and eager anticipation flowed through him as he envisioned immortalizing that extraordinary day within the sacred confines of his notebook. the memory, a veritable trove of exquisite beauty, served as a poignant emblem of life's fleeting nature and the timeless significance of shared experiences.

with a determined resolve, he opened the notebook to a fresh page, his quill poised to bring the memory to life through ink. the sakura tree, with its delicate blossoms fluttering in the breeze, held a significant place in his heart. it was a sanctuary of beauty, a haven where he had experienced a profound connection with another soul—with them.

….

as the final words pirouetted gracefully upon the page, he tenderly closed his eyes, his velvety lashes caressing his cheek in a delicate dance. in this ephemeral interlude, he granted himself a stolen breath, a cherished opportunity to savor the essence of the memory once more. the day spent beneath the resplendent sakura tree had been etched with profound artistry upon the sanctums of his heart, and now, like a cherished relic, it had found its eternal dwelling within the cradle of his notebook's pages.

a contented smile graced his visage as he delicately sealed the notebook shut, its once blank canvases now adorned with fragments of his existence—a treasury of treasured recollections.

on that day, they looked exactly like a dream—all i’ve wanted, all i’ve ever needed.

the parchment succumbed to the deluge of your cascading tears, becoming drenched and sodden, as if thirstily drinking in the sorrow that overflowed from your heart. with a poignant gaze, you traversed the final passage, each word a painful reminder of the bittersweet victory that had come at the cost of his absence.

weariness weighed heavily upon your eyes, threatening to seal them shut, yearning for respite from the harsh grip of reality. your trembling lips contorted, caught in a delicate dance between joy and sorrow, forming a wistful smile that held the essence of longing. in the sanctuary of your other hand, cradled with tender reverence, lay the very petal you had once bestowed upon him. under the caress of the sun's gentle rays, it gleamed like an iridescent gem, casting a luminous glow that illuminated your tears, turning them into shimmering crystals of anguish.

geto, one of the many sentinel who had witnessed the entwined trial of your beloved and tanjiro, could offer naught but a humble bow, his head lowered in utmost deference. he understood the futility of his desire to provide solace through an embrace, recognizing the unfathomable depths of the pain that gripped your soul. as you clung tightly to the notebook he had dutifully delivered, he stood as a silent witness to your inconsolable sorrow.

in the realm of young love, tragedy often unfolds with a poetic grace.

like a tapestry woven from wisps of a dream, your intertwined forms swayed in the breeze, as if caught in the ethereal embrace of destiny. and as the wind whispered its gentle secrets through the tendrils of your existence, the memory, forever enshrined, would reside as an indelible impression within the chambers of your collective memories, transcending the boundaries of time and spanning an unfathomable infinity.

#demon slayer #demon slayer x gender neutral reader #demon slayer x y/n #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer x you #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #short story #demon slayer angst #muichiro tokito #muichiro tokito x reader #muichiro tokito x you #muichiro tokito x y/n #muichiro x reader #muichiro x you #muichiro x y/n #muichiro angst #kimetsu no yaiba muichiro #kny muichiro #demon slayer muichiro #muichiro #muichiro tokitou #kimetsu muichiro #muichirou #oneshot

[monstersandmaw]

Werewolves who think they're lap dogs despite looking like what would happen if the canine family tried to evolve a shire horse

My hand slipped and this happened, since it so perfectly fits the character.

Here's Teo and his boyfriend from the Wolfmaw story (spoiler free). I loved your shire horse comment!! Made me giggle.

___

“No.”

The enormous, honey coloured wolf sitting on the floor between the sofa and the television looked up at him with huge, dark chocolate eyes, and cocked his head, ears pricked.

“Ohhh no. Do not… Do not. Do. That.” His resolve crumbled even as he kept looking down at him. “Please…”

Teo’s tail thumped once.

“No.”

That ‘no’ sounded suspiciously like a ‘yes but don’t make me say it’, and Teo knew it.

His jaws parted and his tongue lolled out in a happy smile, and in a swift, victorious motion, he reared up and plopped his paws down on the slender thighs of his patient and extraordinarily lenient boyfriend.

Without waiting to be swatted away by an elegant hand, Teo sprang up onto the couch and nuzzled furiously against his hip, wagging and shuffling to find the perfect spot.

“You’re shedding. Everywhere,” came that sultry voice that was aiming for unimpressed, but it carried secret volumes of fondness that only Teo knew was there. Vampires, after all, were not supposed to be seen with werewolves, let alone dating them.

Teo sneezed and wiggled around onto his back, his paws in the air and his belly completely exposed. God, if anyone in the pack saw him now, they’d have kicked him out probably. No, Luca would never let that happen, but still.

Grudgingly, a pale hand extended down to him and scratched along the line of his ribs and up his chest, catching him just-so. His right hind leg beat a rapid tattoo against the sofa arm and he tipped his head right back to expose his chin and neck too, groaning with ecstasy at the barrage of delicious sensations.

“Dear God, remind me why I adore you?” the vampire purred.

Teo sneezed again and opened one whisky-gold eye to regard the porcelain face regarding him with one pale eyebrow raised. Laughing his silent, wolfish laugh, Teo twisted to lap his tongue against the fingers of the hand that had been scratching behind his ear, and he heard a gentle, fond sigh. “You’re a menace, Teo.”

Teo nipped him for that, but only gently.

Leaning forwards, the vampire left a kiss on the tip of his nose. “I really do, you know?” he said, sounding wistful. “Adore you.”

Teo wiggled deeper into his lap and turned onto his side so he could cuddle him too. Vampires might be cold, but this one was far from heartless.

Teo had his back to the door, and had just exposed his belly to a creature that was probably twice as deadly as he was, and he couldn’t have been happier or felt safer.

“You’re still an overgrown menace of a lapdog.”

Teo just wagged his tail and got even comfier with his head across his thighs.

__

Wolfmaw is a WIP at the moment and you can find out more about it here.

#werewolf #werewolf headcanons #werewolf x vampire #mlm exophilia #wolfmaw story

[starsreminisce]

“is it bad that I HC that Gwyn and Lucien end up bonding over being two AC exiles for Az and Elain to be like... why are they even friends? Just for them to be like "dude, we're cousins"

what I would give to see this LOL just putting this out in the universe: someone pls write this!!

I had this cooking and finally got it in a place I liked. Putting this out in the universe too if anyone wanted to write this HC! Heavy on Elucien but maybe part two - choose your adventure kind? Maybe?

Hope you enjoy!

Lucien stood in the softly lit room, a tapestry of emotions etched across his features. He furrowed his brow and pursed his lips in deep contemplation, a slight furrow between his brows, his thoughts churning like a tempestuous sea. Across from him, Feyre watched him with a trace of annoyance, her eyes narrowing as they darted between him and the four meticulously wrapped presents he had placed on the ornate table in the center of the room.

Her voice was tinged with a mix of frustration and curiosity as she probed, "So you really aren't going to show up to the Solstice party tonight?"

Lucien, leaning against the table, exhaled a deep sigh and offered a nonchalant shrug, his eyes not quite meeting hers. "I've made other plans," he replied, his voice tinged with an air of mystery.

Feyre's exasperation grew, her gaze fixed on him. "With who? We lent you the townhouse so you could be with Vassa and Jurian. So, they'll be here, and you'll be where?"

Lucien hesitated, choosing his words carefully before he reluctantly responded, "Not here."

"Lucien," Feyre's tone turned more insistent, a mix of concern and frustration lacing her words.

Lucien gritted his teeth, the painful truth lingering unspoken. The prospect of enduring another Solstice haunted him, the weight of pretending that Elain's indifference didn't affect him becoming unbearable. The anticipation of witnessing her distant gaze, as if she wished he were anywhere but there, compounded the pain. Gifting her another token of his affections only to receive silence in return seemed like a masochistic cycle.

His mechanical eye clicked softly as he tried to maintain composure, "You're mad at me over something else."

Feyre's frustration softened into a weary sigh. She stepped closer, her voice laced with genuine concern, "You've been here for a week, Lucien, and we haven't even had dinner together. Do I need to make an appointment for you to have dinner with us over the next week?"

"I am sorry," Lucien admitted, his voice laced with sincerity and a hint of regret. "People heard I'm on vacation and wanted to catch up."

Feyre's frown deepened as she studied him, a mix of sympathy and irritation dancing in her eyes. "I didn't realize you were so popular."

Lucien extended his hands in a gesture of surrender, his palms exposed in a placating manner. "If I don't get too caught up where I am, I promise I'll stop by. Is that fair?"

“You're not spending the night here? But it’s tradition,” Feyre protested, her voice a touch wistful.

Lucien shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of his choices press upon him. “It seems rude to come back here when everyone is asleep.”

Feyre considered his words for a moment before reluctantly nodding her head, the tension in the room easing slightly. She understood his reasons, even if she didn't entirely agree with them.

Lucien couldn't help but flash a warm, reassuring grin as he closed the gap between them, embracing Feyre gently. "Happy Birthday Solstice."

Feyre returned his hug, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Please stop by. It'll make me happy."

—-

Elain returned from shopping, her heart sinking as she caught a whiff of Lucien's signature spiced scent, reminiscent of mulled wine, lingering in the air. She inhaled sharply, her gaze drawn to the four beautifully wrapped presents on the table. She hadn't bought him a gift during her last excursion, and the feeling of dread settled in the pit of her stomach. She knew that Lucien's generosity only deepened the guilt she felt, a silent reminder of a connection she had been avoiding.

Suppressing her unease, she sucked in a steadying breath and returned to the kitchen to focus on finishing her cooking. She silently prayed that the night would go smoothly, and that Lucien wouldn't try to engage her in conversation.

The day wore on, and Elain became absorbed in the meticulous preparation of the Solstice meal. She took pride in her improved kitchen skills but couldn't help feeling a touch weary, knowing that she had to anticipate four more guests than usual. Her mind wandered briefly to the mysterious presents on the table, wondering what they held and why Lucien had left them.

As she let the last dish cool, she decided it was time to change into something more festive, even though her heart wasn't fully in the celebration. She heard the first guests arriving, their laughter and chatter filling the air. Elain made her way to the staircase, her steps hesitant.

Before she could reach the stairs, she came face to face with Azriel, the same spot where he had uttered those words that had pierced her heart.

“Happy Solstice,” she said, forcing a cheerful note into her voice.

“Happy Solstice,” he replied, his voice soft and filled with an emotion she couldn't quite place.

Elain gave a curt nod and began to ascend the stairs when she heard him say, “Elain, wait.”

She turned back to him, her eyebrows raised, waiting for him to say something, to bridge the chasm that had grown between them. He only looked at her, his shoulders slumped, but still, no words came forth.

“Excuse me, I have to get ready,” she said, her tone a mixture of politeness and distance. Azriel nodded in understanding, and with a heavy heart, Elain continued her journey up the stairs, hoping that the night wouldn't bring about more painful conversations.

Elain took her time getting ready, feeling the weight of her avoidance weigh on her as she prepared for the evening. She knew that she was deliberately sidestepping the issue, and as she made her way back down the stairs, she couldn't help but notice the conspicuous absence in the room.

A gnawing unease settled in her stomach as she looked around the dinner table, the first of many singular questions on her mind. Still, her pride held her back from voicing them aloud.

“Where is Lucien?” Nesta asked, her sharp observation marking his absence.

“Not here,” Feyre replied, her tone carrying a hint of mockery as she took a sip of wine.

Elain furrowed her brows as she took a seat, and Nesta pressed on, glancing towards Vassa and Jurian. “So where is he?”

Vassa and Jurian exchanged a glance and then looked up at the ceiling as if it held the answers they sought. “He mentioned where he might be.”

“Summer Court to visit Alis?” Vassa suggested.

Jurian frowned, deep in thought. “That was last week. I think he’s at Dawn Court with Nuan.”

“No,” Vassa shook her head. “Nuan was earlier in the week. Didn’t Eris say he wanted to meet up with him?”

“I thought he met up with Eris right before Hewn City Solstice,” Cassian chimed in.

“Viviane invited him to their Winter Solstice celebration,” Mor finally answered, unraveling the mystery.

Feyre's expression soured. “So he would rather be at some high-class shindig than here with family? No wonder why he didn’t want to tell me.”

Rhys, ever diplomatic, gave a sympathetic smile towards his mate. “Their celebrations are quite fantastic. A little formal but at least he’s not in Day with their drinking, dancing and dallying debauchery.”

Elain's clenched fists revealed the turmoil within her as the reality of Lucien's absence settled in. She had known all along what it meant, though she had refused to admit it to herself.

“Am I too late?” a voice broke the tension, making Nesta and her friend, Emerie, jump up with excitement.

Elain looked up to see a copper-haired female with a stunning pair of teal eyes hesitantly entering the dining room. Gwyn, she recalled the name. Gwyn sheepishly smiled and exchanged a warm hug with Nesta before finding a seat near them. She then cast a glance towards Azriel, who responded with a grateful smile.

However, that smile quickly vanished, replaced by irritation, when Gwyn inquired, “Lucien’s not here?”

“Evidently not,” Nesta snorted. “We aren't high class enough for him these days.”

Gwyn pouted, a hint of disappointment in her expression. “That's too bad. I was hoping to see him.”

Dinner proceeded smoothly, the atmosphere filled with stories and anecdotes about Lucien's year. Elain couldn't help but grow increasingly irritated as she noticed Gwyn's evident fascination with her mate. Vassa and Jurian happily contributed to the conversation, sharing stories about Lucien that painted a picture of him quite different from the one Elain had imagined.

There were tales of Lucien chasing Tamlin in his beast form to coax him into eat, moments when Lucien had to babysit a drunken Graysen, instances where Lucien's sharp wit had managed to persuade the council to agree in record time, and even times when Lucien and Eris had raised their voices, causing the very house to rumble with their power.

Elain attempted to engage in the various conversations swirling around her, but it seemed that everyone else was preoccupied. Azriel, in particular, was focused on catching Gwyn's attention, while Feyre, Rhysand, Cassian, and Nesta appeared eager to escape for some private moments. Mor and Emerie were engaged in playful flirtation, and Jurian and Vassa seemed entranced by their own private world as they discussed their observations of the fae realm with Varian and Amren.

Elain needed something to divert her thoughts from the realization that she missed Lucien. The longing in her heart was something she couldn't quite comprehend, and it left her feeling adrift in a sea of emotions.

The party eventually transitioned to the spacious living room, where the conversations continued to fill the air. Elain's gaze kept drifting toward Azriel, who was engrossed in a deep conversation with Gwyn. Feyre clapped her hands together and excitedly declared that it was time to open presents. Rhysand snapped his fingers, conjuring even more presents to join the ones Lucien had already placed on the table. Elain's excitement grew, wondering how well the presents she had chosen for her family would be received and suddenly eager to see what Lucien had prepared for her.

As the presents were distributed and unwrapped, Elain found herself delighted with a new cookbook, some shiny baking ware, and a set of gardening tools. Her heart warmed as she felt the gentle tickle of her bond with Lucien, the familiar spiced scent of her mate washing over her.

“Lucien!” Gwyn exclaimed, leaving Azriel behind to give Elain’s mate a warm hug. Elain had to summon all her self-control to keep herself from pulling Gwyn away from Lucien.

He looked impeccable, wearing cream-colored pants, high black boots, and a periwinkle jacket adorned with small snowflakes, and a cravat to complete the outfit. Of course, his attire perfectly complemented Elain’s lavender dress.

“You came!” Feyre greeted him with a bright smile, her arms enveloping Lucien warmly as he returned the gesture with a grin that reached his eyes, reflecting the warmth of the hearth.

“Had to,” Lucien replied with a playful wink, his voice carrying a hint of mischief. “A certain someone might melt my mind tomorrow if I didn’t show.”

Rhysand, ever composed, responded coolly, his sapphire eyes glinting with amusement, “I said nothing of the sort.”

Feyre quickly steered the conversation toward the exchange of presents, her voice eager as she anticipated the joy of the moment. Lucien's smile faltered slightly as he settled into his seat, his features becoming more guarded.

He kept his expression neutral as the last few presents were revealed, his gaze shifting between his friends with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. Feyre shifted around, her brow furrowing in confusion before her gaze landed on Lucien, who simply blinked and then looked at Elain, a silent plea for understanding in her eyes.

The first present was a small box for Cassian, wrapped with care and adorned with a simple bow. As Cassian cautiously opened it, his fingers grazing the delicate paper, he discovered it contained only a calling card. "What's this?" he asked, perplexed, his voice a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

Lucien grinned mischievously, the corners of his lips quirking up in amusement. "The name of my tailor. About time you start dressing the part of a courtier in colors that compliment black," he teased, his tone light but tinged with affection.

Cassian's eyes lit up as he whooped in delight, his laughter filling the room like a warm breeze. He threw Lucien a playful grin and said, “I got you something, pretty boy.”

She felt her heart sink when he uttered, “I think that’s my first present,” the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air like a stormcloud on the horizon.

It sank even further when his face broke into a huge smile upon opening his present. Cassian gifted him a set of Illyrian blades, the metal glinting in the soft glow of the fire. He looked at the set of daggers, marveling at the gems embedded in the steel, his admiration shining in his eyes like the sun in the blue sky.

“I was laughed at, by the way,” Cassian said, his voice tinged with amusement. “But Feyre made sure to point out that you like jewels with your blades,” he added, his grin widening as he recalled the memory.

Elain frowned, her mind racing with thoughts she struggled to articulate. She didn’t know that about him, a realization that left her feeling strangely disconnected from the moment unfolding before her.

The second present was a book for Nesta, wrapped in elegant paper and tied with a delicate ribbon. Nesta's eyes widened in surprise, her lips parting in astonishment. "Is this what I think it is?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her fingers trembling as she reached out to touch the spine.

Lucien nodded with a smile, his gaze softening as he watched her reaction with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty.

Nesta examined the book with a mixture of awe and disbelief, her fingers tracing the embossed letters on the cover. Then, with a sudden burst of enthusiasm, she exclaimed, "But this is rare, and you hate this book. This is my favorite book."

She went on to describe the rarity of the edition, her words tumbling out in a rush of excitement and gratitude. Elain listened intently, her heart aching with a strange mixture of longing and regret.

Nesta turned to him and smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I got you something too,” she teased, her tone playful yet with affection.

The color drained from Lucien’s face as he accepted the gift, his fingers trembling slightly as he unwrapped it with care. Elain watched as Lucien winced while Nesta thoroughly enjoyed his reaction, a sense of unease settling over her like a shadow.

Lucien groaned and held up the book to Nesta, his expression a mixture of disbelief and resignation. Elain's heart twisted with sympathy as she witnessed the exchange, her emotions swirling like leaves in the autumn wind.

“Really?” He asked, his eyes betraying a mixture of surprise and amusement.

Nesta lifted her chin defiantly, her gaze unwavering as she met his gaze head-on. “You can not not read a gift. It’s my favorite book,” she countered.

“Favorite book? You just said that the one I got you was your favorite,” Lucien pointed out, a hint of confusion coloring his words.

“I can have multiple favorites,” Nesta replied matter-of-factly.

Lucien frowned and started to flip towards the end of the book, his curiosity getting the better of him. Nesta lunged at him, her laughter echoing in the room as she tried to pry the book away from him. Elain tried to remain calm as she watched Nesta straddle him, a sense of unease settling over her like a shroud.

“No one dies,” said Nesta, her voice filled with laughter as she tried to reassure him. “I promise!”

Too close, Elain thought, her heart pounding in her chest like a drumbeat. They were too close, the air thick with tension and unspoken emotions. She glanced towards an agitated Cassian, his expression mirroring her own concerns.

“Can you please get off my mate?” Cassian interjected, his voice laced with amusement yet tinged with concern.

“She’s on top of me!” Lucien protested, his words muffled by Nesta's laughter.

“No one dies in this one, Lucien,” Emerie confirmed, her tone reassuring. Nesta pulled herself away from him, her laughter echoing in the room like a melody.

The third present was a play bow and arrow for Nyx, the wooden toy gleaming in the soft light of the fire. The little boy's face lit up with excitement, his eyes sparkling with delight as he reached out to touch the gift with wonder.

Gwyn’s eyes widened in surprise as Feyre peered into the present, her expression a mixture of curiosity and admiration. Elain chewed on her cheek nervously as Gwyn and Lucien exchanged a knowing look, their unspoken understanding hanging in the air like a veil.

“Autumn Court tradition,” Lucien explained. “When we reach his age, we choose the weapon that becomes our weapon to master. Not surprising that your son picked that.”

The last present was a package of the molten chocolate Alis used to make for Feyre, the sweet aroma filling the room like a comforting embrace. It brought tears to her eyes, her emotions overwhelming her in a tidal wave of nostalgia and gratitude.

Four presents from Lucien. None of them were hers.

“I guess that’s it for presents,” Feyre said, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, the weight of disappointment hanging heavy in the air like a lingering fog.

The unspoken weight of Lucien's deliberate omission of a gift for Elain lingered heavily, casting an uncomfortable tension that no one seemed willing to address. Elain felt an isolating sense as she sat there, her emotions swirling, sensing the collective gaze upon her. Lucien resumed chatting with Gwyn.

Desperate for reprieve from the scrutiny of her family's concerned gazes, Elain fought to maintain a composed facade, pretending that she was unfazed by the absence of a gift from her mate. With a small, forced smile, she excused herself under the pretense of needing a moment alone.

"I just remembered I left something in the kitchen. I'll be right back," she said softly, her voice barely trembling.

As she left the room and retreated to the kitchen, her heart ached with the weight of the unanswered questions and the awkwardness that had settled between her and Lucien. The sense of rejection and disappointment gnawed at her, but she was determined to keep up the appearance of being fine.

In the kitchen, Elain took a moment to gather herself, her breaths deep and measured as she fought to suppress the tumult of emotions swirling within her. She reminded herself sternly that she hadn't purchased any gifts for Lucien either, though the hope that the presents were meant for her persisted, stubbornly clinging to her thoughts. As her heartbeat slowed and her breathing steadied, she cast a glance at the untouched cake, resolving that it was time to present it to the guests.

Just as she was about to leave the kitchen, she froze upon catching snippets of conversation between Feyre and Lucien in the adjacent room.

"You humiliated her," Feyre's accusation rang out, sharp and cutting.

Lucien's response was swift, his tone tinged with defensiveness, "I would never intend to humiliate her. I merely thought—"

Feyre interrupted, her voice edged with disbelief, "Thought what, Lucien?"

His reply was clipped, filled with frustration, "That perhaps Azriel could offer her the comfort she deserves."

Feyre's confusion was palpable as she questioned, "Why Azriel?"

The tension in Lucien's voice was unmistakable, "Do I really need to spell it out for you, Feyre?"

As the conversation unfolded, Elain's heart raced once more, a surge of anger coursing through her veins. She retreated from the door, her steps quick and purposeful, only to find herself face to face with Feyre upon her entrance.

"What's going on between you and Lucien? And now Azriel?" Feyre's concern was evident in her gaze.

Elain's response was terse, her tone firm, "Nothing. It's nothing."

Feyre's expression softened, but her concern lingered, "Elain, please—"

Elain's patience snapped, her voice laced with frustration, "I said it's nothing."

She turned her back on Feyre, her resolve firm as she focused on finishing the cake. Each movement was deliberate, her hands working with precision as she willed Feyre to understand, hoping her sister would take the hint and leave her be. The tension between them hung thick in the air, an unspoken barrier dividing their shared space. She heard Feyre sigh, a sound heavy with unresolved emotions.

Once Feyre departed, Elain finished the cake with meticulous care, her hands moving with practiced ease despite the turmoil brewing within her. Placing it on a table, she plastered a smile on her face, though the weight of unresolved tensions lingered heavily still. Her gaze wandered across the room, seeking solace in the familiar faces of her companions.

She spotted Lucien, Gwyn, Vassa, and Jurian engrossed in a serious conversation, their expressions grave and their voices hushed. A pang of anxiety gripped her heart as she watched them, sensing the weight of their discussion. And then, her eyes landed on Azriel, standing alone in the corner, his posture rigid and his eyes fixed on Lucien with an intensity that made Elain uneasy.

Feeling a surge of recklessness fueled by anger and frustration, Elain made her way towards Azriel, each step a silent declaration of her determination to confront the palpable tension between them.

Elain's voice carried a hint of defiance as she initiated the conversation, her eyes fixed on Azriel's distant gaze, refusing to be ignored.

"Can we talk?" she pressed, her tone tinged with urgency, a silent plea for understanding.

Azriel's silence was deafening, his demeanor unyielding, but Elain persisted, repeating her question with growing impatience, her gaze sharpening with determination.

"What do you want to talk about?" Azriel's response was measured, his voice betraying a subtle tension beneath the calm facade.

Before Elain could formulate a response, Gwyn's laughter filled the room, momentarily distracting them from their exchange. With Vassa and Jurian engrossed in the allure of cake, Elain and Azriel observed in silence as Gwyn playfully interacted with Lucien, their laughter forming a barrier between them.

Elain's heart twisted with a pang of jealousy as she watched Lucien's easy camaraderie with Gwyn, the contrast to their own strained dynamic stark in her mind. Beside her, she sensed Azriel's clenched fists, his emotions bubbling beneath the surface.

Struggling to break through the tension, Elain blurted out the words that had been weighing on her mind, her voice barely a whisper but heavy with significance.

"You like Gwyn," she murmured, the admission hanging in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the complexities that lay between them, fraught with unspoken desires and unaddressed feelings.

Elain observed the subtle softening of Azriel's features at the mention of Gwyn's name, his gaze drifting back toward the pair engaged in lighthearted banter. Gwyn's laughter rang out like a bell, a melody that seemed to tug at Azriel's heartstrings, while Lucien's grin radiated warmth and charm, drawing her in like a moth to a flame.

"I do," Azriel admitted, his voice tinged with a mixture of resignation and longing. His eyes remained fixed on Gwyn, a silent testament to the depths of his unspoken affection.

Her heart clenched at his confession, the realization dawning upon her with painful clarity. She shifted uncomfortably, fingers nervously toying with the fabric of her skirt, the soft rustle of the fabric a stark contrast to the heavy silence that enveloped them.

"But I thought... I thought that you liked me," she ventured quietly, unable to mask the hurt in her voice. 

Azriel's gaze fell to his scarred hands, his expression guarded, revealing a vulnerability that cut through the shadows shrouding his usual demeanor. Elain felt a pang of sorrow as she witnessed his internal struggle, the unspoken acknowledgment that she had never been enough for him.

She sucked in a shaky breath, blinking back the tears threatening to spill. Despite her diminishing affections, the sting of rejection still lingered, a bitter reminder of what could never be.

Forcing a strained smile, she offered a feeble reassurance, "Lucien is mated to me, so I doubt you have to worry about that." The words felt hollow on her tongue, a feeble attempt to mask the ache in her heart.

A soft chuckle escaped Azriel's lips before his attention returned to the scene before them, where Lucien's grin contrasted sharply with Gwyn's horrified expression as she playfully chastised him. The warmth of the fire cast flickering shadows across their faces, lending an air of intimacy to the moment.

"Perhaps it's my punishment," Azriel mused quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Lucien puts her at ease." The flames danced in his eyes, reflecting the turmoil of his inner thoughts.

Elain's heart ached at his admission, the realization sinking in that she had been blind to the depth of Lucien's impact on Gwyn. She watched the pair with a mixture of envy and resignation, her own feelings tangled in a web of unspoken desires and unfulfilled longing.

Azriel's voice held a note of self-recrimination as he continued, his words heavy with regret, "I was arrogant enough to think that because you weren't interested in him, he wasn't deserving to be your mate. But look how he makes her laugh and smile." Each word felt like a dagger to Elain's heart, a painful reminder of what she had lost.

"I don’t... I don’t give her that," Azriel confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "A year ago, she didn't like being touched by any male. She could barely handle being alone with another male, and I was surprised she allowed me to stay with her. But next thing I knew, she was talking about Lucien, and how she was helping him, and then they spent so much time alone together." The confession hung heavy in the air, a silent testament to the depth of his longing.

Elain's breath caught in her throat as Azriel's anguish became palpable, his clenched fists betraying the depth of his torment. The soft glow of the fire cast flickering shadows across their faces, lending an air of intimacy to the moment.

"I thought it hurt being the only one among my brothers not mated, but nothing compares to watching someone fall in love and knowing I can't stop it," he confessed, his voice thick with emotion. The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken regrets and unfulfilled desires.

"But he's mated to me," Elain reiterated, her words a feeble attempt to anchor herself amidst the storm of conflicting emotions. The flames danced in Azriel's eyes, reflecting the turmoil of his inner thoughts.

"I know," Azriel sighed, his gaze never leaving the pair across the room. "That's what makes it hurts much more." The words lingered between them, a silent acknowledgment of the pain that bound them together.

As they continued to watch, a sense of longing and regret enveloped them both, their unspoken words echoing in the empty spaces between them, a silent testament to the pain of unrequited love and shattered dreams.

---

Lucien felt the weight of Azriel's presence, intertwined with Elain's, tugging at the edges of his consciousness. Though the bond between them pulsed with a muted ache of longing and melancholy, Lucien found it difficult to fully comprehend, given the circumstances. After all, Elain was with Azriel now, having chosen him.

“He’s with her,” Gwyn observed, her tone tinged with a hint of melancholy.

“He doesn't seem that happy,” Lucien remarked, his voice betraying a touch of sympathy.

It was a familiar sight for Lucien, accustomed to witnessing the complexities of their relationship. But for Gwyn, it was a stark realization, one that had taken time for her to come to terms with. She had confided in Lucien about her growing feelings for the shadowsinger, unable to ignore the tension whenever Azriel and Elain were together. Gwyn had attempted to broach the topic with Nesta, only to be met with dismissal, as if Elain's bond with Lucien precluded any possibility of her being with Azriel.

Their conversation drifted back to the library, where Lucien had sought Gwyn's assistance with Vassa's curse. It was there that they had forged an unexpected connection, their shared lineage serving as a bond that transcended their individual struggles. Learning that they were cousins had provided a sense of solace, uniting them as kindred spirits navigating their intertwined destinies.

Lucien had become Gwyn's confidant, offering sage advice and a sympathetic ear as she grappled with her feelings for Azriel. While Nesta and Emerie remained oblivious to the underlying tensions, Lucien understood the turmoil brewing beneath the surface, a silent witness to Gwyn's unspoken desires.

As their friendship blossomed, Lucien found comfort in Gwyn's companionship, grateful for the understanding she offered. Yet, he couldn't shake the sense of irony in their situation - while Gwyn found safehaven in confiding her feelings for Azriel, Lucien found himself drawn deeper into his own unspoken longing for Elain.

“Are you leaving soon?” Gwyn inquired, her voice tinged with a hint of reluctance.

Lucien nodded solemnly. “I am.”

“Can you take me back?” Gwyn's request was accompanied by a note of uncertainty, as if she feared intruding on his time.

“Are you sure? You spent the entire time talking to me,” Lucien remarked, a teasing smile playing at his lips.

“That's because you're family and mated and…” Gwyn's voice trailed off, her words laden with unspoken implications.

Elain's beauty was undeniable, a fact that hung heavy in the air between them. Lucien offered her a gentle smile, his heart heavy with unspoken longing. “Okay. I'll say goodbye to the others, but I think it'll be worth saying goodbye to him too, even with her there.”

----

Elain's heart skipped a beat as Lucien rose from his seat and strode confidently toward Feyre and Rhysand. Gwyn, her presence hesitant, approached Elain and Azriel, her smile radiant yet tinged with uncertainty. Her fingers nervously played with the hem of her cloak as she glanced between Lucien and Azriel, sensing the tension in the air like a palpable force.

Azriel, usually composed, straightened in his chair, his gaze fixed on Gwyn with an intensity that Elain couldn't ignore. His hazel eyes bore into Gwyn's, silently questioning her decision to leave with Lucien.

“I’m leaving,” Gwyn announced, her voice like a delicate melody in the tense air. The words hung in the space between them, laden with unspoken implications.

“With Lucien?” Azriel's tone dripped with bitterness, his eyes darting between Gwyn and Lucien. Elain observed the subtle tension in his jaw, a testament to his internal struggle.

Gwyn affirmed with a subtle nod, her eyes flickering towards Lucien, who had now joined her. The hesitant smile on her lips betrayed her uncertainty, contrasting with the determination in Lucien's expression.

“Ready?” Lucien's voice cut through the awkward tension, his eyes deliberately avoiding Elain's. She noted the slight furrow of his brow, a sign of the turmoil beneath his confident facade.

Elain tried to focus on the conversation, but her attention drifted to the simple piece of string adorning Lucien’s wrist. Its significance eluded her, a stark contrast to the complexities swirling within her own mind.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Lucien suddenly seemed engrossed in the space between Azriel and Gwyn. Elain observed his subtle gestures, sensing a flicker of recognition in his expression. The tension between them was palpable, adding an undercurrent of unease to the situation.

Then, as if a realization had dawned upon him, Lucien spoke with conviction, “I think Azriel should take you home.” His words resonated in the air, breaking the uneasy silence and igniting a spark of hope within Elain.

His gaze shifted to Azriel, who nodded in agreement. “Yes, he should take you home,” Lucien added, his tone final. Elain watched the exchange with bated breath, her heart pounding in her chest.

But Gwyn's response was unexpected. “Nooooo,” she protested sheepishly, “I asked you.”

Elain felt a surge of determination rise within her, spurred by the sudden turn of events. “I can’t... because…” Lucien faltered, searching for words, but Elain found herself finishing his sentence, her voice unwavering.

“Because he forgot that... I am... joining him,” she declared firmly, her gaze locked with Lucien's. The weight of her words hung in the air, a silent plea for understanding.

Lucien's surprise was evident, his brows knitting together in a moment of realization, yet Elain pressed on, her determination unyielding.

“You've been running around the past few days with your vacation, but don’t you remember?” she challenged him, her voice edged with urgency, each word a pointed arrow aimed at his comprehension.

His response was hesitant, his eyes widening in gradual recognition, like two pools slowly catching the first light of dawn. “You knew I was on vacation?” he questioned, his tone heavy with disbelief, the weight of his realization palpable in the air.

Elain met his gaze with an unyielding glare, her eyes flickering with an intensity akin to smoldering embers, silently urging him to grasp the truth that lay before him.

“Yes… that's right…that's what you wanted as your present,” Lucien continued, his voice faltering slightly as he wove through the web of their shared deception, the weight of his words hanging in the charged atmosphere between them.

Gwyn's frown deepened, her brows knitting together in suspicion, as though she could see through the facade with uncanny clarity. But Lucien pressed on, his resolve unyielding, his determination etched into the lines of his face.

“We are going to be late,” Elain pushed, her voice firm and commanding, a note of urgency coloring her words as she tried to steer the conversation back on track, her fingers tapping anxiously against her thigh.

“Az… Azriel… Az … riel … can I trust you to take my cousin home?” Lucien implored, his tone tinged with desperation, his gaze shifting to Azriel with a silent plea for assistance.

Azriel's brow furrowed in confusion, his expression a portrait of perplexity as he processed the sudden revelation. “Cousin?” he repeated, his voice tinged with uncertainty, his mind racing to make sense of the revelation.

His eyes flickered with a glimmer of hope as Lucien turned to Gwyn with a scowl, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. “You never told him we were cousins?” he accused, his tone tinged with exasperation, a note of betrayal seeping into his words.

Gwyn remained impassive, her lips pursed in a tight line as she met Lucien's glare with a steely resolve, her silence speaking volumes in the charged atmosphere. But Lucien pressed on, his frustration mounting with each passing moment.

“Never… Never…” Lucien muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to stave off the rising tide of irritation, his patience wearing thin as the tension continued to mount. "You valkyries are going to kill me," he added with a wry twist of irony, a weary sigh escaping his lips.

Azriel's lips twitched in amusement, a ghost of a smile dancing across his features as he observed the unfolding drama with quiet interest. "You should try training them," he remarked dryly, his voice laced with subtle humor, a hint of mischief glinting in his eyes.

Gwyn's smile was tight-lipped, her gaze flickering uncertainly between Lucien and Azriel, silently weighing her options. Sensing her hesitation, Lucien intervened, his tone softened by a note of gratitude.

Lucien, noticing her hesitation, amended, "I owe you one session if you go with him." Elain could see the tension melting away from Gwyn's shoulders, a sense of satisfaction blooming within her like a flower in bloom.

Gwyn's expression shifted to smugness. "Two now." Elain couldn't help but smile at Gwyn's playful banter, the tension dissipating like mist in the morning sun.

"I knew your bracelet came with a price. Fine. Two. It’s settled. I’ll see you not tomorrow.” Lucien's resignation hung heavy in the air, a sense of defeat settling over him like a heavy cloak.

As Lucien turned to leave, Gwyn interjected, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife. “Should you be taking Elain?” she asked, her words hanging in the air like a challenge, a subtle undercurrent of doubt coloring her tone.

Elain and Lucien locked eyes, a silent exchange passing between them. In that moment, a myriad of unspoken emotions danced between them, their gazes lingering a fraction longer than necessary, conveying a depth of understanding that words could not capture.

“Yes, because I said I would,” Lucien stammered, his voice strained with a mixture of apprehension and determination. He held Elain's gaze, his eyes searching hers for any sign of hesitation or doubt.

Heat flushed at Elain’s cheeks, a rush of warmth spreading across her face as she realized the significance of the moment. This would be the first time she would be alone with him, the weight of anticipation heavy in the air, uncertainty mingling with excitement in her chest.

“Yes,” Elain said, her voice steady despite the fluttering of her heart. “And I said we should leave now.” With a firm nod, she affirmed her decision, steeling herself for whatever lay ahead.

Lucien hesitantly offered his arm, a silent invitation hanging between them. Elain reached out, her fingers brushing against his in a fleeting touch, a spark igniting between them as they made contact. She felt all eyes on them, the weight of expectation heavy in the air as they walked out the door together, stepping into the unknown.

“You don’t have to come with me,” Lucien said, his voice strained with a mixture of apprehension and longing, his gaze searching hers for any sign of hesitation.

“They are going to be asking me where you took me, so might as well come along,” Elain replied, her grip tightening on his arm, her fingers tracing the contours of his muscles beneath the fabric of his sleeve.

Lucien sighed, a mixture of resignation and gratitude in his breath, the weight of their impending journey hanging heavy in the air. Despite the uncertainty that lay ahead, a small, genuine smile played at the corners of his lips, a testament to the trust he placed in Elain's judgment. "You're right," he conceded, his voice soft yet tinged with a hint of amusement. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

Elain furrowed her brow, her expression a mix of accusation and curiosity. "You were in Day, were you?" she questioned, her tone laced with a hint of skepticism.

Lucien stilled, his demeanor shifting slightly at the mention of Day. "What do you know about their celebration?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Drinking, dancing, and dallying debauchery," Elain replied matter-of-factly, her words laced with a touch of dry humor.

A faint blush crept onto Lucien's cheeks at her blunt assessment. "I wasn't there," he admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of embarrassment. "I was in Winter."

"So we are going back to Winter?" Elain inquired, her brow furrowing slightly as she processed the information.

"Ah, no. We are going to Day," Lucien clarified, his tone hesitant yet resolute.

Elain's lips formed a thin line, her features masking her inner turmoil as she absorbed Lucien's words. "For that... dallying debauchery?" she questioned, her tone betraying a hint of skepticism, her eyes searching his for any sign of deceit.

Lucien's brow furrowed, a fleeting shadow of defensiveness crossing his countenance. "I am mated to you. I would never dream of being with someone else," he assured her earnestly, his words laden with sincerity. "But yes, that's where we are going."

Elain remained silent, her thoughts swirling tumultuously as she wrestled with the implications of his admission. Lucien couldn't help but notice the subtle shift in her demeanor, a blend of uncertainty and something more enigmatic, a mystery he longed to unravel.

"Interesting that's where your mind went to," he commented, a note of curiosity coloring his voice as he observed her reaction, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Elain's glare intensified, her gaze piercing as they winnowed away to Day Court's celebration, the tension between them simmering beneath the surface, unresolved and fraught with unspoken emotions.

#elucien #elain x lucien #gwynriel #elucien fanfiction #elucien fanfic #gwynriel fanfiction #gwynriel fanfic

[voidpetrova]

art deco — damon salvatore x reader

☄. *. ⋆

content warnings and genre: blood, violence — angst(ish) (?)

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

synopsis: art was as long as life was short, something you and damon knew entirely too well.

✧.*

in the dimly lit, abandoned museum, the air hung heavy with the scent of history and dust. faint moonlight filtered through cracked windows, casting ethereal glimmers upon forgotten canvases and sculptures. every corner of the place breathed with the remnants of bygone elegance, a silent testament to a world long past. amongst this solitude, you stood, a figure of timeless grace dressed in an opulent gown that whispered of old money. the art in this decaying sanctuary spoke to you in ways only a fellow aficionado could comprehend. the cracked masterpieces adorned the walls, their colors faded yet their stories vivid. each stroke of the brush or chisel seemed to echo through the ages, a symphony of artistic expression transcending time itself.

as you moved from one masterpiece to another, your fingers brushed lightly against the gilded frames, tracing the intricate carvings that held the essence of centuries. your eyes, pools of liquid appreciation, gazed upon the paintings with a reverence usually reserved for holy relics. the strokes of genius laid bare before you – from the haunting chiaroscuro of a renaissance masterpiece to the avant-garde chaos of abstract modernism – all whispered secrets to your heart.

but amidst this silent communion with art, you couldn't help but feel a presence, a shadow that moved with grace and purpose. you turned your head, and there he stood—damon salvatore, a man of another era, his eyes a deep well of secrets. his attire, tailored to perfection, exuded the same timeless charm that you cherished in art.

he smiled, a slow and enigmatic curve of his lips that hinted at a world of knowledge hidden behind his captivating exterior. “you have exquisite taste,” he murmured, his voice a velvet melody that danced through the gallery. you inclined your head, acknowledging the compliment. “and so do you,” you replied, your eyes returning to the artwork that surrounded you.

for a while, the two of you stood there, side by side but lost in your own worlds. the art, the sculptures, the remnants of human creativity encapsulated you both, weaving an unspoken connection stronger than words could convey.

it was as if the museum itself had come alive, the masterpieces breathing, sighing, and pulsating with the essence of creativity. damon, seemingly enthralled by your presence, broke the silence. “you know,” he began, his tone almost wistful, “art isn't just what's on the canvas. It's the stories, the emotions, the beauty found in unexpected places.” you turned to him, curiosity dancing in your eyes, “elaborate.”

with a mischievous glint in his eye, damon extended his hand toward a forgotten statue tucked away in the corner. it was a fragment of antiquity, a delicate hand emerging from a block of marble, frozen in time. "this," he said, his voice low and conspiratorial, “this is a masterpiece of its own. a testament to a sculptor's skill, yes, but also a tribute to the endurance of beauty. this hand, emerging from the stone, tells a story of transformation, of potential realized.”

you studied the sculpture anew, seeing it through his eyes. it was as if he'd breathed life into the lifeless, giving you a glimpse into the world beyond the surface.

as the night wore on, you and damon continued to traverse the labyrinthine corridors of art. each piece held its own unique charm, and damon, with his profound insights, revealed hidden dimensions to you. it was a dance of minds amidst a symphony of aesthetics, and you were enchanted.

but the final masterpiece of the night was yet to be unveiled, and it was not on the canvas or in the cold embrace of marble. it was the crimson masterpiece that damon had been crafting, a composition that was dark, brutal, and utterly enthralling.

in a secluded corner of the museum, far from prying eyes, the two of you stood together, surrounded by darkness and the echoes of history. damon's eyes bore into yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. you were not unaware of the darkness within him, the primal force that lurked beneath his charming exterior, but in this moment, it only added to the allure.

he leaned in, his lips dangerously close to your ear, his voice a seductive whisper. “art is subjective, my dear. and this, this is my masterpiece.”

before you could react, his lips met the tender skin of your neck, and the world exploded in a symphony of sensations. pain and pleasure intertwined, a chaotic dance that defied reason. as his fangs pierced your skin, you gasped, your vision blurring as a rush of ecstasy washed over you. the world around you dimmed as your senses heightened. you could hear the rhythm of your own heartbeat, the whisper of blood flowing through your veins. the metallic taste of your own life filled your mouth, and it was both repulsive and intoxicating.

damon's grip on you tightened as he drank, his movements possessive and primal. in that agonizingly beautiful moment, you realized the true essence of art – the collision of beauty and brutality, creation and destruction, life and death.

as the last vestiges of your humanity slipped away, you became a part of his masterpiece, a work of art in your own right. the abandoned museum, with its forgotten treasures, had witnessed another chapter in its history, a tale of immortal passion and boundless darkness. and in that timeless night, surrounded by the relics of a bygone era, you and damon salvatore became a living testament to the endless possibilities of art, where boundaries blurred and beauty was redefined in shades of red.

art, indeed, was subjective, and in the world of vampires, it was a canvas that knew no limits.

#tvd #tvdu #the originals #legacies #damon salvatore #damon x reader #damon salvatore x reader #damon salvatore angst #damon salvatore smut #damon salvatore fluff

[forabeatofadrum]

A beautiful day in the neighbourhood

Summary: Kurt goes home to Lima for the holidays. There, he meets his parents' new neighbours, the Andersons. Kurt specifically is drawn to their youngest son, Blaine.

Notes: Hello everyone! This is my Klaine Secret Santa gift for @twinkkurt! I was a bit nervous when I got your username, because I love your art so much and I, uh, wanted to impress you. I hope you like it. I really liked writing it.

An additional thanks to Beth @quizasvivamos, who helped with brainstorming the title.

Happy reading!

AO3 | S&C

--

Kurt’s staring out of the window of his parents’ house with a wistful smile on his face.

He loves New York with his whole heart, but he has to admit that Lima has its charm. Back when he was a teen, he never thought he’d think this way.

Maybe now that he no longer lives here, he’s able to look at it in a different way. It’s nice to be here, with the knowledge that he’ll eventually go back home. Besides, New York is too loud and eccentric and a part of Kurt thrives because of it, but another part of him has learnt to appreciate this quieter atmosphere of Lima.

Oh, and it helps that Kurt never has to run into anyone from high school ever again. All his closest Glee club friends have left Lima as well, so he has no reason to seek out anyone who might recognise him from school. No longer being a high schooler is definitely the biggest perk of living in New York. High school was the main reason he couldn’t ever appreciate the quiet life here, because his life was never quiet. He could never appreciate the small tight-knit community feel, because he didn’t feel like he was welcomed into it.

But now he’s an adult who only comes back to Lima every now and then to see family and friends who are also visiting.

Kurt sighs as he watches a neighbour walk his dog. The neighbour sees him staring and smiles and waves. This truly is different from the rapid pace of the big city. His neighbour in New York barely gives him the time of day and she’s moving out within a few days. Kurt will not miss her. This man, on the other hand, has already shown Kurt more kindness in these few seconds than the other neighbour has in years.

Also, Kurt’s never seen this man in his life. He certainly doesn’t remember him.

“That’s Mr. Anderson,” Kurt hears.

He looks over his shoulder. His dad is sat on the sofa with a book open on his lap, but he also noticed Mr. Anderson walking past the house.

“Is he new in the neighbourhood?” Kurt asks.

His dad nods.

“Yes, he and his wife moved here a couple of weeks ago from Westerville. Apparently they had been planning on moving to a smaller house ever since their youngest son moved out.”

“And they moved to a random suburb in Lima, of all places?” Kurt asks, bemused.

His dad barks out a laugh.

“I know it’s hard to believe for a big city lover, but people still willingly move to the Midwest,” his dad says with a jokey tone.

Kurt moves away from the window and forgets about Mr. Anderson. Instead, he cosies up against his dad and he watches a rerun of Drag Race. His dad keeps reading, since he’s not bothered by the noise. Carole later comes into the living room and when she sees Drag Race is on, she eagerly joins Kurt.

This is what Kurt loves about Lima.

This is what he misses the most when he’s in New York.

This is also one of the moments he misses his brother, but he doesn’t want to bring it up when Carole is trash-talking the judging section. Besides, Kurt’s pretty certain she misses him too at this moment. It goes unsaid.

He and Carole watch three episodes in a row when the doorbell rings. It’s the delivery of groceries. Kurt’s dad gives the delivery person a huge tip to celebrate the holidays and the three of them put them away while chatting about the holiday plans. Tomorrow, some extended family members are coming over for Christmas and Kurt and Carole are going to cook a grand meal for everyone, while Kurt’s dad is going to set up a makeshift bar.

Everyone is going to be perfect.

Hopefully.

But when Kurt and his family are finished putting away the groceries, Kurt realises that they’re missing an ingredient.

“Rosemary! Carole, we are missing the rosemary!” Kurt exclaims. He checks the receipt again, but it really isn’t on it. Which is good, because then they also didn’t pay for it, but they need the rosemary.

Carole realises she forgot to order it, which can happen, but now Kurt’s fucked.

“Calm down, Kurt,” his dad says, “I will drive to the store tomorrow morning before the guests arrive.”

“I appreciate it, dad,” Kurt pouts, “But Carole and I need to start now, because it needs to be in the fridge overnight!”

“Ah. That’s… a problem,” his dad admits.

But then Carole lets out a small gasp.

“Wait a second! Burt, doesn’t Pam have a little herb garden?”

Kurt’s dad thinks it over.

“Yes, she does,” he answers, “But it’s winter, Carole.”

“But she might have some that she’s harvested earlier in the year,” Carole points out, “And Pam is a more experienced gardener. If there’s a way to keep rosemary alive in winter, then she’d know it!”

“Oh, you have a point there. Can we ask if she has some to spare?”

“I think we can just ask her. She wouldn’t mind,” Carole continues, “Kurt can go, because he knows how much we need. He found the recipe on the internet!”

“Brilliant,” his dad says, “Great plan, Carole.”

“That’s why you’re married to me,” Carole jokes.

Kurt waves his arms to get his parents’ attention.

“Hi, hello,” he says, “I love this idea. Who’s Pam?”

“Pam Anderson, the new neighbour,” Carole answers.

“Mr. Anderson’s wife,” his dad adds for clarification.

“On it,” Kurt says.

Carole tells Kurt that the Andersons moved into the house left of theirs, which delights Kurt, since he never really liked Ms. Johnson and her weird grandson anyway. He grabs his coat, since it’s very cold outside, and tells his dad and Carole that he’d be back soon.

The Andersons have a festive wreath on their front door and it makes Kurt smiles. He rings the bell and waits for Mr. Anderson or his wife to open the door. He can already hear the dog bark and his smile widens.

The door opens and Kurt’s ready to introduce himself and ask if Pam is around, but when he sees the man who’s opened the door, he’s rendered speechless. It’s not Mr. Anderson, but it’s another man. He must be around Kurt’s age and he’s dressed in a cozy sweater with a cute checkered bowtie to top it all off.

Kurt’s dad mentioned that the Andersons have a son and this must be him. Kurt assumes he’s also visiting family for the holidays.

“Uh, hello?” the son asks after a short silence. He looks a bit confused and Kurt realises he’s standing on this porch in complete silence, staring at him.

Right. Not a great first impression.

Kurt quickly composes himself.

“Hi, uh, my name is Kurt,” he says and he mentally high-fives himself for being able to sound coherent, “My parents live next door. The Hummel-Hudsons.”

A look of understanding crosses the man’s face. Now Kurt is no longer a random person that came out of nowhere. That’s progress.

“Anyway, my stepmother said that your, uh, mother might have some spare rosemary? We don’t have any and we really need it for the recipe that we’re trying out.”

The man steps aside so that Kurt can come inside.

“Come on in, it’s too cold to wait outside.”

“Thanks.”

Kurt follows the man to the living room where he’s greeted by an enthusiastic dog. There are three other adults. Kurt recognises Mr. Anderson, but there’s also a woman, presumably Pam, and another man who looks slightly older than the son. The son and Kurt explain the situation and, as Carole predicted, Pam is eager to help out.

“Oh, I need to go outside to harvest some,” Pam says.

“If it’s too much of a hassle-”

“Nonsense,” Pam cuts him off, “I’ll be back in a jiffy. Blaine, can you find my easy shoes?”

“They’re probably still at the back door where you left them, iná,” the son, who’s apparently named Blaine, says.

“Smartass,” Pam jokes.

Kurt tells Pam how much he and Carole need and Pam goes outside. Kurt’s standing awkwardly in this family’s living room, but luckily, the dog takes an interest in him, so Kurt has something to do.

“You like pets?” he says while petting the huge Bernese mountain dog.

“Oh, she adores them,” Blaine says.

“Who’s a good girl?” Kurt coos.

“Well, she wasn’t a good girl earlier today when she made me walk five extra blocks,” the still unnamed man says, “She’s strong and doesn’t listen when she doesn’t want to.”

“She got that from you then, Cooper,” Mr. Anderson teases.

“Dad!”

Kurt smiles. He likes this family. He can see they all treat each other kindly and that they are close, the same way his family works. Pam comes back with a handful of rosemary for Kurt and he thanks her profusely.

“No biggie,” she says, “Happy holidays.”

Blaine walks Kurt towards the door and they don’t say much, which is fine by Kurt, because then he has less opportunity to embarrass himself. He hopes he isn’t red in the face and if he is, then hopefully Blaine will think it’s because of the cold.

“Thanks again,” Kurt says and leaves.

Once he’s back in his own kitchen, he hands the herbs to Carole, who’s delighted. She’d already started meal prepping.

“Did you know that Mr. and Mrs. Anderson’s sons are visiting?” Kurt asks.

“Oh, no I wasn’t aware.”

“Me neither.”

“Have you met him- them before?”

“Only Cooper, the eldest,” his dad answers, “He helped his parents move in. The youngest couldn’t make it because of his studies. Cooper is… interesting.”

He and Carole share a private smile and Kurt needs to remind himself to ask about that later, but now he has a more pressing matter.

“And the youngest?”

Carole shrugs.

“Pam says he barely has time to visit, which everyone dislikes, but we get it.”

Kurt also gets it. He wishes he could be here with family more often.

“I did hear that he lives in New York as well!” Kurt’s dad says. Now, that is interesting. “Cooper lives in LA, and Blaine lives in New York. I mean, he’s called Blaine, right?”

He directs that last question to Carole, but Kurt answers it.

“Yeah, he’s named Blaine. I just met him.”

“Oh lovely,” Carole says, “What are the odds? Maybe you two can meet up in New York.”

“… I barely know him, Carole,” Kurt says quietly.

“So?” Carole says back, “Nowadays, people your age meet each other online. I don’t think that barely knowing anyone is a barrier these days.”

“She has a point,” Kurt’s dad adds.

“Alright. Alright,” Kurt says.

The truth is that it sounds nice to get to know Blaine a bit more. Kurt’s not stupid. He understands that he finds Blaine cute. It’s been a while since he met a guy who immediately renders him speechless, but Kurt also knows from experiences that looks aren’t everything. He’s here in Lima to see him family, not to jump on the neighbours’ son.

He and Carole continue their meal prepping and the conversation moves away from Blaine.

--

The next day is filled with joy. Kurt barely has time to see his dad and Carole, so he definitely doesn’t have time to see his extended family.

Everyone likes what he and Carole prepared and Carole points out that everyone should thank Pam as well.

After dinner, Kurt’s aunts prepare the desert and Kurt’s younger cousins beg him to go outside with them.

“Come on, it’s snowing!”

Kurt has to admit that snow also is more enjoyable here than in New York, because in New York, snow feels more like a nuisance blocking Kurt’s way. He’s constantly busy, getting from one place to the other. Here, Kurt has no reason to leave the neighbourhood today. They all go outside to make snow angels and what not.

Suddenly, Kurt hears a somewhat familiar voice.

“See, Squirt, people in this neighbourhood know where it’s at!”

Kurt follows the sound of the voice. Cooper is standing in the doorway of his parents’ house, decked out in winter clothes. Kurt can see Blaine behind Cooper and he’s shivering. He’s talking to Cooper, but he’s too far away for Kurt to understand.

“Coop, close the door,” Kurt can make out at one point.

Cooper says something back before going outside and closing the door behind him. Then he waves at Kurt.

“Hi, merry Christmas, forgive my stupid brother,” Cooper says loudly, probably so that Blaine can also hear it, “He’s a New Yorker, so he doesn’t appreciate snow enough. But I barely see this white goodness in my life, so I am out and about!”

“Tell your brother that I am also a New Yorker so he has no reason to stay inside,” Kurt jokes and Cooper’s eyes widen.

“Great idea!” he says and immediately goes back to the house.

Kurt and his cousins watch how Cooper’s locked out and how he’s demanding Blaine to let him in.

“Who is he?” one of Kurt’s cousins ask.

“Son of the new neighbours,” Kurt answers.

“Is he also coming out to play?”

“I think so.”

“Cool.”

Cooper manages to get in and five minutes later, he and Blaine come outside. Cooper immediately bonds with Kurt’s younger cousins. Blaine stands aside and Kurt takes a deep breath. He can be sociable. He’s a kind neighbour!

“Hey,” he says casually.

“Hi.”

“Not the biggest fan of snow, I hear?”

Blaine shrugs.

“I am, actually, but I just don’t feel like hanging out with my brother in the snow.”

“Why is that?” Kurt looks at Cooper, who’s started building a snow hut with Kurt’s cousins.

“He’s cool, pun intended, with other people, but ever since we were little he’d be kind of an ass. He’d try to put snow down my back, for example,” Blaine explains.

Kurt winces. That is kind of a dick move.

But at least he still has a brother. And even though Blaine sounds genuinely irritated, Kurt understands that Blaine doesn’t actually hate Cooper for the snow thing. After all, Blaine still could’ve stayed inside.

“You did come out here,” Kurt points out.

“I kind of have you to blame for that,” Blaine teases.

“Oh?”

“Cooper said you’re from New York. I had been using my New York status against him.”

Kurt laughs.

“Oh, don’t get me started on snow in New York.”

“Pffff, yeah,” Blaine says, “Good thing the subway is underground, but getting there, trudging through a thick layer of snow? Hell.”

“Hah, yes!” Kurt says and they fall into a comfortable silence. They watch everyone else have fun, and Kurt has an idea. He bends down to make a little snowball and shows it to Blaine.

Blaine raises an eyebrow.

“Now that your brother is occupied with keeping my cousins busy… are you in for a snowball fight?”

Blaine has an amused look on his face.

“You know what. Why not?”

--

Kurt’s aunts asked everyone to come inside, since dinner is ready. Kurt and his cousins are huddled together around the table, getting warm again. Everyone had a lot of fun and time flew by. Kurt didn’t even realise that his aunts were asking him to come in, since he was running around like a madman, trying to hit Blaine with his massive snowball.

And now Kurt’s enjoying his desert, but he’s still thinking about Blaine. It was really fun, so maybe Carole is right. Maybe he can ask if Blaine wants to meet up in New York.

What’s the worst that can happen? Blaine can say no.

Okay, that thought is terrifying.

But he can also say yes.

--

Kurt doesn’t actually talk to Blaine the day after. He only sees him in the morning, when Blaine passes the window. It’s his turn to walk the dog. Kurt and Blaine wave at each other, but that’s it.

In the afternoon, Cooper walks the dog and in the evening, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson take him out. Kurt’s almost sad when he doesn’t get the chance to wave at Blaine.

Mr. and Mrs. Anderson are out of sight and Kurt lets out a pathetic, sad sigh.

“Dear lord, just ring the bell already!” his dad says.

“What do you mean?” Kurt feigns ignorance, but he’s not surprised that his dad sees right through it. His dad has always known him the best.

“Don’t think I missed the smitten look on your face, kiddo,” his dad laughs, “Your thoughts were elsewhere. And your cousins mentioned that you and Blaine seemed to hit it off.”

“He is really nice,” Kurt admits.

His dad hums.

“And handsome.”

His dad hums again.

“And he lives in New York.”

“He does!”

Kurt looks outside again, because for a split second he stupidly believes he is in some Hallmark movie where Blaine appears outside his window to express his adoration.

There’s no one, obviously. He and Blaine have only known each other for a short time.

But as his dad and Carole point out, this doesn’t have to be the end of it. Kurt goes home to New York just before New Year’s and then he might meet up with Blaine and get to know him better.

Then Kurt thinks: Fuck it, he deserves a cute holiday romance.

“You know what, dad? I will go see him tomorrow.”

“Wonderful!” his dad says, and he’s so genuinely happy for Kurt, it makes Kurt’s heart swell.

--

“Burt says you’re going to ask Blaine from next door out on a date,” Carole says during breakfast and Kurt almost spits out his food.

“Dad!”

“What?” his dad asks, not bothered at all.

“I didn’t say that,” Kurt quickly says, “I said I am going to ask if he wants to meet up once we’re back in New York.”

“With the intention of dating him.”

“With the intention of getting to know him,” Kurt corrects, although he mentally adds ‘and potentially date him later’, but his dad doesn’t have to know that yet, although as usual, his dad knows better.

“You can get to know him on a date,” Carole says, feigning innocence.

“Oh my god,” Kurt hides his head in his hands.

“Don’t mind us, Kurt,” his dad sounds amused, “Or, don’t mind Carole. I don’t want to invade your privacy. You do what you want to do.”

“Hey!” Carole says back.

“Oh my God,” Kurt repeats, with his head still in his hands, but he can feel the smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

He acts embarrassed, and maybe he is a little bit, but he’s also glad to have such a supportive family.

They really want him to be happy. Kurt knows so many people who don’t have it as good as him, so he’s not taking this for granted.

If Finn were still around, he’d volunteer to be Kurt’s personal wingman instantly.

“Alright, alright, I’ll keep you guys up to date,” Kurt relents, “I plan on seeing him later today.”

Kurt smells the opportunity for a little fashion moment, so he needs to make use of that. Most of his wardrobe is still in New York, but he likes to dress for the occasion, and asking his neighbours’ son to hang out is definitely a big one.

The conversation shifts to other topics, like his dad’s garage or Carole’s latest interest in diamond painting, and they finish their breakfast. Kurt helps out with the cleaning up and then it’s time to go up to his room to rummage through his limited wardrobe.

He’s going through his closet when the doorbell rings. Kurt doesn’t pay attention to it, because he can hear his dad moving around to open it, but his interested is piqued when his dad says it’s for him.

Kurt hastily puts on some clothes, since he was a bit undressed because he was trying on outfits, and he goes downstairs.

He stops halfway on the staircase when he sees Blaine in the hallway.

“Hey,” Blaine says.

“Hey?” Kurt says, unable to hide his confusion.

Oh, he also looks terrible. He picked the worst combination of clothes in his rush to get down.

Of course this happens to him when Blaine’s at the door. And don’t even mention his hair. It’s a monstrosity! Of course Blaine looks prim and proper.

“I’ll leave you two at it,” Kurt’s dad says and promptly turns around to leave, although once his back it towards Blaine, he winks towards Kurt.

The mix of embarrassment and happiness about his dad and Carole’s interest in Kurt’s love life returns.

“Hey,” Blaine says again.

“Oh. Hello,” Kurt finally comes down.

“I kinda wanted to talk to you before I leave.”

“Leave?”

Blaine nods.

“I’m flying back to New York later today,” Blaine clarifies.

“Oh.”

“I need to move apartments, so I couldn’t stay for longer,” Blaine continues.

“Right.”

“Which sucks, because I like seeing my parents.”

“Yeah.”

“Cooper not so much,” Blaine says, but again, Kurt can hear the jokey undertone.

Kurt smiles.

“Yeah.”

“But, uhm, I kinda wanted to ask if I could see you again? In New York, I mean? To, uh, chill?”

“To chill, huh?” Kurt says, amused, and Blaine turns a bit red.

“Weird choice of words,” Blaine agrees, “But what do you think?”

“Yes, sure,” Kurt tries to act casual and cool, but his mind is reeling. Blaine wants to see him too! Man, the moment Blaine’s out of the door, Kurt will probably jump up and down with excitement.

“Neat,” Blaine sounds relieved, “Can I have your number then?”

“Yeah!” Kurt answers and they exchange numbers.

“Alright. Cool. I mean, yeah, cool!” Blaine stumbles a bit over his words, which Kurt finds endearing.

“Cool,” Kurt echoes.

“Then see you soon!”

“See you soon,” Kurt says back.

Blaine leaves after that and as predicted, Kurt leans against the front door with a huge, disbelieved grin on his face. He might look like utter shit and his hair is a mess, but who cares, cause Blaine wants to hang out with him!

“And?”

Kurt looks up to see Carole’s head peeking around the corner.

Kurt’s smile widens.

--

Kurt isn’t in a rush to get back to New York, since he wants to savour every moment with his family and he meets up with friends, but knowing that Blaine is waiting for him in New York does make him more eager to leave.

Okay, Blaine isn’t actively waiting for Kurt, but Kurt can dream, right?

They’ve texted a little bit over the past few days, but now that Kurt’s actually leaving, he sends more messages.

“Kurt, get off your phone! We need to say goodbye!” Carole scorns, but it’s nor serious. Besides, she has a point. His dad and Carole and about to drive home from the airport, and Kurt’s on his phone to text Blaine.

“Sorry,” Kurt pockets his phone.

“You’ll see him enough,” his dad says.

“Ideally, yes,” Kurt says with a smile. He’s shooting his shot.

Not immediately, though. He doesn’t want to come off as overeager. He’s going home now, then he’ll celebrate New Year’s tomorrow with some friends, and then he’ll see if he can meet up with Blaine.

He and his parents say goodbye. As usual, the hug between him and his dad lasts a long time, but it’s time for Kurt to go. This really is the worst part of going back home. He knows his dad and Carole will miss him too.

--

New York is messy, loud, and gorgeous.

He takes the elevator to his floor. Then, he stops in front of his door and casts a look to his neighbour’s door. There’s a new rainbow doormat in front of it, which Kurt sees as a confirmation that his shitty neighbour is truly gone.

Once he’s inside, he lets out a sigh of relief. He’s so ready to just unpack and relax. He’ll need to do some groceries later, but now he wants to “chill”, as Blaine said.

So that’s what he does. He unpacks, makes some coffee, and browses social media on his phone in peace. He texts Blaine, telling him he’s arrived home, and he also checks in with some other friends about tomorrow’s New Year’s plans.

Yet, life continues. Groceries are part of adult, independent life. There’s no grocery delivery here for Kurt, so Kurt sighs and decides to just do it instead of procrastinate, which is something he’s proud of. He put on appropriate winter attire and grabs a shopper.

When he’s outside and turns around to lock his door, the neighbour’s door opens. Kurt doesn’t really pay attention, since he needs to lock his door. He’s forgotten once before, so he always pays attention here.

Once everything’s locked up, he turns to his side to introduce himself, since unlike his previous neighbour, Kurt does have manners, but his words die in his throat.

Blaine is standing on the rainbow doormat with a surprised look on his face.

“Hello neighbour,” he’s the first to break the shocked silence.

“Hello.”

“Long time no see-”

“What a surprise-”

It falls silent again, but it’s not an awkward silence. In fact, Kurt’s amused by this whole situation, because what are the odds? Blaine’s shocked expression has also been replaced by a more amused one.

“You’re my new neighbour,” Kurt sounds disbelieved.

“I see,” Blaine says back, “Hello, neighbour, again.”

The two of them laugh.

“I’m… going to go,” Kurt holds up his shopper.

“Oh,” Blaine opens the pocket of his jacket and takes out a folded up shopper, “Groceries?”

“Yes!” Kurt says. This is so weird. “I just got home from Ohio, so I have absolutely nothing.”

“I get it. Anyway, great to see you. I’m new here. Where do you get your groceries?”

“You haven’t done any grocery shopping since you moved here?” Kurt asks.

Blaine turns a bit red.

“Uh. No. I have.”

“Okay?” Kurt says with a frown.

“Sorry,” Blaine says and then lets out an awkward laugh, “This- I- Okay. I didn’t know how else to ask if you wanted to hang out now.”

Kurt’s eyes widen in surprise. Neither of them had made actual plans to “chill” yet. Kurt didn’t want to seem to eager, and Blaine hadn’t made any concrete suggestions yet.

Kurt’s down to hang out, even though he didn’t expect their first meet-up in New York to be for grocery shopping, but then he also didn’t expect Blaine to be his new neighbour.

“Sure,” Kurt says with a smile.

--

And that’s how they end at a coffee shop called Think Coffee instead of the grocery store. Kurt’s reasoning was that it’s easier to get coffee beforehand and before Kurt could apologise for randomly suggesting a coffee date (is it a date?), Blaine agreed to it.

Of course, they discuss how funny it is that their parents live next to each other, and now they also live next to each other.

“My dad mentioned that your family is originally from Westerville, I think?”

Blaine nods.

“Yes. Cooper and I went to a boarding school there, but we were day students. Do you know Dalton Academy?”

The name does ring a bell.

“From the Warblers?”

Blaine looks amazed.

“Yes!” he utters in disbelief, “That’s my former glee club!”

“Really?” Kurt asks, “I’m from the New Directions.”

Blaine shoots him a quizzed look.

“McKinley High, in Lima,” Kurt clarifies.

“… That sounds familiar.”

“This is insane,” Kurt says before taking a sip of his coffee. He needs to let this sink in. The day has certainly turned out to be different than expected.

“Yeah. I’m a Dalton boy.”

“And then your parents moved to Lima of all places, when you graduated.”

Blaine snorts.

“I know right?” he says, but then he smiles, “Although, it led to me meeting you, so I cannot hold it against them anymore.”

“I agree.”

“And you? Did you grow up in that house?”

Kurt shakes his head.

“No, but I did grow up in Lima. My dad got married to Carole a few years back, and then they bought that house for the four of us to live in.”

“Four?”

“Me, my dad, my stepmother and my stepbrother,” Kurt answers.

“I didn’t know you had a brother!” Blaine sounds surprised, “God, I hope he’s not as bad as Cooper.”

“Oh… Well… No,” Kurt says slowly.

“Did I miss him during my visit? I mean, my parents never mentioned him, so does he live out of the state?”

Kurt sighs. This part is always hard, painful, and eventually awkward. He didn’t plan on bringing up the dead brother story, but on the other hand, he does want to get to know Blaine and he hopes Blaine wants to get to know him as well. Well, it must be. Otherwise Blaine wouldn’t have joined him on this supposed grocery trip.

“He died, actually,” Kurt says quietly.

As expected, the silence stretches out and it becomes more awkward and awkward.

“Oh. Kurt. I’m… sorry,” Blaine eventually says, although he seems a bit lost for words.

“It’s okay.” It’s not, but it’s okay that Blaine doesn’t know what to say. Kurt can’t blame him. How do you properly react to hearing a young person died?

“Oh, shit!” Blaine suddenly exclaims, “And here I am, complaining constantly about Cooper! That’s such a dick move!”

“It’s okay,” Kurt says again, “You didn’t know. And besides, it was fun to see you two interact.”

“Yeah?” Blaine asks.

Kurt hums.

“Yes. It’s clear that your complaining and his teasing comes from a place of love. Me and Finn would do the same. God, you have no idea how many times I complained about his habits, or how many times he’d playfully tease me for my brooch collection.”

Kurt would give anything to hear Finn playfully mock his hippo brooch again.

“Can you tell me about him?” Blaine asks.

So Kurt does. He tells Blaine that he and Finn didn’t really like each other at the beginning, but then they both joined glee club, although it turned out that Finn got blackmailed by their glee club director who had planted a stash of weed in Finn’s locker. (“What?” “It’s not important, Blaine.”) That’s how they slowly became friends, and Kurt eventually developed a crush on Finn and decided to pair up his dad and Finn’s mom in an attempt to get closer to Finn. (“Excuse me?” “It’s in the past, Blaine.”) But eventually their parents got married and Kurt’s crush died out and they became stepbrothers. It was a bit rocky at the beginning, but they grew to love each other as family and dropped the “step” part quickly.

“So yeah, we didn’t always see everything eye to eye, but that’s just how family is. I miss him, especially now, during the holidays.”

“I can imagine.”

“The entire family always shows up, and it’s glaringly obvious that someone is missing,” Kurt laments, “I don’t like to dwell on it, neither do my dad and Carole, but it’s on our minds, especially when I see my cousins together, or when you and Cooper banter. But it also makes me think of good memories with him, like the time he and his friend Puck dressed up in Star Wars outfits for Christmas.”

“Oh. Amazing.”

“Or when Carole told Finn he needed to help out for Christmas dinner, and he burned it all down, so we ended up eating soup out of a can that year.”

Kurt chuckles and Blaine also lets out a laugh.

“He sounds lovely,” Blaine says.

“He was. Most of the time.”

They laugh again.

Kurt lifts his cup to get another sip, only to find it empty. Blaine also wiggles his cup around.

“Time flies,” he says.

Kurt hums in agreement. He gets out of his seat.

“Grocery time?” he asks.

“Oh. Yeah. Groceries,” Blaine sounds bewildered. It’s that Kurt definitely needs to eat, otherwise he also would’ve forgotten.

Kurt leads them to the grocery store he always goes to, which is one that Blaine hadn’t seen before, so that’s a nice extra. Kurt needs to buy a lot, since he just got home after a trip to Lima, but Blaine only needs some things. Still, he sticks around to talk to Kurt and so that they can walk home together.

--

“Hello neighbour.”

Blaine looks a bit surprised. He probably didn’t expect Kurt to just knock, but Kurt’s feeling daring. Yesterday’s coffee and grocery trip-slash-date was a lot of fun and Kurt decided to just go for it.

“Hello,” Blaine says back.

“Do you have plans for this New Year’s?”

“Yes?” Blaine says, which is fair. Kurt should’ve expected that. “But why are you asking?”

Kurt’s asking because he woefully fantasised about kissing Blaine, if he wants, when the clock hits midnight.

“Oh. Well, I am meeting up with some friends and I wanted to see if you wanted to join, but it makes sense you already have plans.”

Kurt’s about to awkwardly say goodbye and admit defeat, but Blaine stops him.

“I’m meeting my friends at eleven in the evening. I still have time. When will you meet your friends?”

“Also later today,” Kurt answers. Around ten, or something. It wasn’t very clear. It’s more one of those “drop by whenever you want” parties. He just wanted to check if Blaine were interested in joining.

“Sooo,” Blaine draws out the word, “I don’t think I can make it to your friend’s party, but what are your plans now?”

Now? Well, Kurt planned on binge watching trashy TV, order food and wait till it’s time to go see his friends.

“Nothing. I am free,” Kurt answers.

Blaine opens his front door further and steps aside.

“Feel free to come in, then,” Blaine says with a smile and how can Kurt refuse. He didn’t plan on this, but he isn’t mad about it.

“Thank you.”

Blaine gives Kurt a small tour of his still bare apartment. It’s clear that he’s only just moved in. Blaine tells Kurt that beforehand he lived in a shitty dorm room, so he was ecstatic when he found this relatively cheap apartment.

Kurt can relate. He used to live in Bushwick in a place that didn’t have proper walls. This building is still not the most luxurious, but it is an upgrade!

“My dad mentioned you moved here for your studies,” Kurt recalls.

Blaine nods.

“Yeah. I’m go to NYADA. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”

Oh, Kurt’s heard of NYADA. He got accepted into NYADA as well, but he turned it down to pursue an education in fashion instead. But he knows how hard it is to get into NYADA.

The conversation quickly turns into a long and winded discussion about the current Broadway season and how other shows got robbed at previous Tony Awards ceremonies.

Blaine also shows off his new coffee machine (“Got it as a Christmas present!”), so Blaine makes Kurt a fancy cappuccino. It’s so comfortable to be around Blaine and Kurt’s glad that Blaine likes him too.

An hour later, they’re on Blaine’s couch, huddled underneath a shared fleece blanket, and they’re eating snacks that Kurt brought over from his place while watching a Broadway bootleg. Kurt adores this show, but he’s having a hard time paying attention to it.

How can he, when Blaine’s so close?

He keeps staring at Blaine, so of course Blaine notices at one point.

“Something on my face?” he asks with a jokey tone.

Kurt doesn’t answer. He knows what he wants. He puts his hands on Blaine’s cheeks and pulls him in for a kiss.

Blaine kisses back and he wraps his arms around Kurt to pull him even more closer.

Kurt had wanted to kiss him at midnight, but he couldn’t wait any longer. There are no actual fireworks now in the background, but that doesn’t matter. Kissing Blaine already feels like fireworks are going off.

They keep kissing until they remember that they need to breathe.

“Woah,” Blaine sounds out of breath.

“Woah indeed,” Kurt echoes him.

The two of them stare at each other before Blaine throws himself on Kurt and kisses him again.

--

Later that evening, they’re finally finishing the bootleg. They got a bit preoccupied, so they weren’t able to watch all of it.

Both Kurt and Blaine cancelled their plans. They want to spend this New Year’s with each other. Outside, the city of New York is alive and bustling, filled with people who are ready to go wild and party. But Kurt and Blaine are fine, cuddling together in Blaine’s new apartment in their neighbourhood.

It’s a perfect way to start the new year and Kurt wouldn’t have had it any other way.

--

End notes: Here ya go, Arden! Your wishlist was an absolute delight and I actually had a hard time narrowing it down, because I wanted to include as much as possible. This fic uses the "genre: alternative universe", "genre: fluff", "genre: romance", "location: Ohio", "location: New York", "age: young adult/college", "designer!Kurt", "actor!Blaine", "preferred theme: holiday-themed" and of course "other favourite tropes/story elements: neighbours".

Happy holidays!

#holy fuck I wrote #2023 #klaine #glee #oneshot #klainesecretsanta2023

[meimi-haneoka]

Cardcaptor Sakura Clear Card Chapter 76: Comments + JP-ENG translation differences

Ooooh CCS fans, welcome back to our monthly appointment!! Which, apparently, will go on a little longer than previously expected because (I'm sure you've heard of it in the last month, but in case you didn't) CLAMP/Kodansha did what I thought they wouldn't dare doing: they extended the Clear Card serialization a little bit more, announcing the last volume will be the 16th one, instead of the 15th one as previously stated! Volume 16 will be released on April 1st 2024, while they also delayed the release of volume 15 to November 13th (this made me suspicious, is it to accomodate more chapters in it? Or what else happened there, to delay it?) I have no idea how many more chapters we'll get at this point (or if the 16th volume was born because it will accomodate some after-story extra chapters), but I have to say that after the initial shock, I've took the news quite well and I just can't deny that the story really seemed to need a bit more room to develop the conclusion properly, so I'd daresay the announcement ultimately made me sigh in relief. And this chapter definitely proved to me that things are steadily proceeding, but taking care in depicting carefully and without haste an heroic moment that will turn out to be more complex than what probably Sakura & co. expected. I'm gonna need a bit more patience to see how all of this ends, but I prefer for the end to not be rushed and not have regrets in the future! Also, this looks like it might tie in with the beginning of season 2 of the anime? We'll see!

Well, after this preamble to update everyone on the situation of the serialization, we'll proceed under the cut to talk about the actual chapter, which unfortunately this month is stained by several translation mistakes, omissions and inaccuracies. They really deceived me, doing a good job on the past 2 chapters...*sigh* I'm still quite mad because of course WHO gets affected the most, among those translation mistakes? I feel like coming at this point I don't even have to state it. *another sigh* Before diving into my ramblings, let's give a look to the gif of this month! I chose this one because I feel like I need to lighten the mood a little bit, since between the end of this one and -I'm sure- the next chapter, I'm afraid there won't be anything to laugh about.

Under the cut!

The Color Page

Anyone following this blog since some time, or who knows me well, probably doesn't need to be told that I completely loved the color page of this month! 🥰After 11 chapters, Akiho comes back to grace the opening page of a chapter of Clear Card. It's very simple, but in its simplicity I could feel all of Akiho's essence, while appreciating the usual symbolism of some elements of the color page. First and foremost, Akiho is smiling, and that wasn't a given for a color page appearing at the end of this story. We've seen Sakura making plenty of wistful faces lately, so it feels like we can't really take for granted to see our characters smiling. But her beautiful smile in combination with the nice shade of green Mokona-sensei chose for her elegant dress (which is totally in tune with what Akiho would wear) is really giving a kind of hopeful vibe to the whole color page. And I feel that for this chapter, we really needed that. Green is kind of an unusual color to associate Akiho with, but there's more to it. Together with the shade of yellow that sensei used to create a gradient on the skirt, this green is a clear callback to the color scheme of the lilies that Akiho is holding and wearing among her curls. And as we all know, lilies in this arc are primarily a symbol of the character who literally bears their name: Akiho's mother, Lilie (German for "lily"). As soon as I saw the presence of lilies in this color page with her, I went all "awwww" because I couldn't help but think "this is a sign her mother is watching over her and is always with her, right?" And inevitably, seeing Akiho gently holding those flowers made me wish even more that she could know something, anything about her mother. I also noticed that Mokona-sensei slightly changed the shading of Akiho's hair again, removing the yellowish undertone that was present in the most recent color pages that Akiho appeared in, making me sigh because I'll have to modify my color palette for my fanarts once again 😩it still looks lighter than her mother's, at least, and it's still very much ash blonde. The editorial text in JP on the color page is what Sakura told her at the end of chapter 73: "Let's get them back. The one you didn't want to lose".

Collapsing Time

Aaaaand this chapter for me started with a "I KNEW IT!" equipped with a loud laughter, because ever since chapter 75 ended I've really been wondering "will the group at home be able to follow their journey inside the fake moon, or will the connection be conveniently cut off?" OF COURSE IT'S THE LATTER, what else could've been? 😆 Tomoyo rationally wonders if the signal simply doesn't reach in the space inside the fake moon, but Eriol from the other end of the videocall tells everyone that these are rather some more specific, particular circumstances: he was able to see what was inside the fake moon for a split second before the connection was cut off, and what he saw is an environment where time isn't simply stopped, is actually collapsing. I want to start my long list of complaints about the translation in English of this chapter, with this mild inaccuracy: the ENG makes Eriol consistently sound unsure of what he's affirming above, using verbs like I suppose, while the JP text doesn't leave any trace of doubt - Eriol isn't supposing, he knows that time is breaking down in that environment.

Back to Sakura and Syaoran, our little heroes start to feel the effects of this powerful magic that is permeating the interior of the fake moon, with Syaoran noticing that the clock parts fluctuating aren't really deformed like they're seeing, but only appear so due to the strong pressure of the magic spell inside that environment. And here we have to stop once again, because this is another straight up mistake of the ENG translation:

ENG: "There's nothing wrong with the watch itself. The spell's placed too much pressure on it. It only looks broken"

JP: "It's not like the components of the clocks are really deformed...They only look like that because the pressure of the magic spell is too strong"

As you can see, skipping the translation of the word 部品 (components) made them completely misunderstand Syaoran's line and make it about the pocket watch in their hands, instead of the fluctuating clock parts! And it's like they wanted to give an explanation to why the pocket watch looks broken (hello??? The pocket watch gradually broke when Kaito was still active in the un-rewritten world!!), despite the adjective used in JP is deformed, not broken. But let's go on.

Sakura starts to feel that pressure on her head, in fact she points out that her head is hurting to a worried Syaoran (JP, lit.: "My head is..."). He answers that it's only normal, because the spell is so powerful that it's affecting them physically, and he can feel those effects too (he's only better at dissimulating it, apparently). (I'm just worried if it's clear in the ENG translation, by how they're phrasing things, that the spell Syaoran is referring to is the one that's active on the whole place, not the one he used to trace the owner of the pocket watch). Syaoran continues saying that it's happening the same to the interior of the "fake moon", basically everything is so warped and deformed (due to the strong pressure) that if the pocket watch didn't show them the way, they would've lost both their sense of orientation and even the "target" they were tracking with that compass. So while the readers might have thought that if Sakura and Syaoran got there successfully it was only thanks to the compass, CLAMP went out of their way to specify that it wasn't exactly like that: it seems like the pocket watch actively guided them through the magic beam that originated from the compass, preventing them from getting lost. I guess without the watch's intervention, the compass might have still shot that beam in search for Kaito, but it might have gotten all of them lost, because the magic spell at work inside that environment is so strong that it warps everything, beam included. Again, I wonder if this concept above is clear enough from how they phrased it in the ENG translation.

And if that wasn't enough, Sakura's sweet smiling face says that Akiho guided them there. Evidently she thinks that the pocket watch is not only permeated by that mysterious moon magic that they still don't know who it belongs to, but also by Akiho's strong will to look for and to find the person she never wanted to lose. Akiho is always with them, spirit tightly connected to that pocket watch, and I couldn't help but being so moved by how considerate and sweet Sakura is. Akiho is evidently at the center of her thoughts even now, after all, she departed for this mission precisely for her sake.

Syaoran says that the beam is pointing at this dragon that is sleeping in front of them, but then actually starts doubting it and says "wait, is this really a dragon...?". The mere fact that he had a second thought about it might already be a sign that there might be more than meets the eyes, behind this creature that we're seeing now. Sakura just needs to look at it for a moment to remember immediately: she met this dragon before, in a dream. Of course, she can remember about this only thanks to the "film strips of memories" that the Record Card supplied her with some chapters ago, since it's all stuff that comes from the "un-rewritten world". Then, Sakura takes charge of the pocket watch and thanks Syaoran for his help with the compass: it's clear that she wants to talk to the dragon, now. Clutching the pocket watch tightly and looking at the sleeping creature in an intense way, she gets closer to it.

The dragon finally opens its eyes and wakes up.

Sakura is such a sweet and well mannered girl, so I couldn't help smiling when she said this: (JP, lit.) "Please allow me to address you with "you" (anata), since I don't know your name". Yes, because Sakura's usual speech pattern includes calling people by their name, rather than using a direct "anata". Even with Syaoran, some pages ago, she didn't use a direct "you", but simply repeated his name instead. Her usual way to talk to people always sounds very soft, well mannered and warm to me, while probably using "anata" even with her closest people feels too "blunt" to her. Or, maybe, "impersonal". In this case, she really doesn't have any other choice, though. Alas, this was something that was hardly translatable in a literal way in the ENG version, and I think the way they chose works pretty well anyway.

And so, Sakura continues. (JP, but ENG is equally fine as well:) "I can feel 'something' coming from you, which is the same that I can feel coming from this watch as well. I guess Syaoran-kun would call it 'magical power'. Do you know the owner of this watch? Or.....is this watch YOURS?" How cute, this really shows clearly that Sakura's relationship with magic is not made of technicalities and such, and she still feels a newbie about it, so she is capable of feeling distinctly the magical aura coming off the dragon and the pocket watch, but she isn't still used to use technical terms like "magical power", "aura" and such. Syaoran is the expert for those things, and she seems to admire and respect him a lot for that! 😆

Sakura asks something to Syaoran to get a certain confirmation. I have the impression that she could feel it herself, but wanted the confirmation from her expert husband boyfriend. She asks him if the magical power that is permeating the environment of the fake moon is the same moon power that comes from the pocket watch. Syaoran confirms they're different (again, an inaccuracy of the ENG translation, which makes Syaoran say "something is different". There's no "something" in the JP, he was just plainly stating that the two sources of power are different).

I want to point out how cool Syaoran looks in his pose of this scene, his hand gripping the handle of his sword the whole time, ready to unleash it at the minimum sight of danger on Sakura. I really love it because Sakura doesn't really know the intentions of the dragon yet, so what she's doing is pretty risky in itself, but Syaoran didn't stop her, he trusted her and let free to do what she wanted to do. He's just, you know, going to stay in the background with his hand on his sword, ready for any scenario, just in case. 😂 Protective boyfriend (but not suffocating one) strikes again! This is what I mean when I say they came a long way ever since chapter 1.

I Know Your Eyes

Sakura can feel that even the magic coming from the "cage" (she uses a term in JP that sounds more like fence than the harsher cage, though) is different from the one the pocket watch is giving off, and this is all she needs to have the confirmation she was looking for: just putting 2 and 2 together from the difference in powers, she concludes that the dragon is there against its will, and someone else locked it up in there. Sakura asks the dragon if she's right, but it simply......stares at her, in silence.

Sakura watches those eyes....and they're all she needs to see. Because she realizes she knows those eyes.

And here, unfortunately, I have to prepare you for another translation mistake, an actual omission that irritated me quite a lot because I consider this a very important scene for a certain character's depiction and development. And you probably don't even need to ask who he is, because he's been bastardized this whole time by the ENG translation.

ENG: "I know you. I know your eyes...And not just because I've seen them in a dream. With your eyes, you watched over Akiho-chan. Somehow, that memory's still inside of me"

JP: "I know...your eyes. And not because I've seen them in a dream. Those eyes used to look at Akiho-chan with great care/affection. (That feeling) remained inside of me"

*draws a deep breath* Okay. I'll go with my grievances with the translation first and then I'll talk about my own reaction to this scene.

When Sakura is talking about the way Kaito used to look at Akiho (because it's clear as hell we're talking about him here, even if she doesn't remember who he is, yet), the JP text includes a very important adverb, 大切に (taisetsu ni, lit. "carefully, giving importance, cherishing something). And Sakura doubles down on it by preceding it with another adverb, とても (totemo, "very"). It is absolutely, unmistakably clear that Kaito used to look at Akiho with lots of affectionate feelings. That 大切に indicates how much he cherished her...how much she was important to him...and he never said it aloud, probably not even realizing it himself, but his eyes spoke for him. And Sakura saw it all.

The ENG translation completely omitted and skipped the translation of the adverb とても大切に, indicating only that Kaito "watched over" Akiho. Completely stripping the action of looking at her of any emotional involvement. To me, that is intolerable. Why?

Because this is the first time that a character, any character, clearly spells out how Kaito considers Akiho. And of course they gave the honor of pointing out the elephant in the room (gosh, this really looks like that situation) to the protagonist, our Sakura. I mean, we came to this point in the story precisely because nobody was able to say for sure what the hell Kaito thought of Akiho. Not even the person concerned himself! I've seen countless of theories along the years, and a worringly big amount thought that Kaito only wanted to use Akiho for his own selfish goal. I kept seeing speculations of that kind even after all he did in chapter 70. And that was particularly strong in the western side of the fandom, because of how the translation portrayed Kaito all these years. Now that we finally get a spoken, spelled out confirmation that he considered Akiho so important, he cherished her so much, and those sweet feelings seeped through his eyes and couldn't escape Sakura's attentive stare, what do they do? They remove any sign of it. They make Sakura say that he only "watched over her" like a regular watch dog, without touching any of the emotional involvement that was indicated in the JP original text. I remind you that 大切(な) is also the core adjective of the famous 一番大切なひと, "the most important person". If this will be connected to an eventual statement later on, this omission is even worse.

Of course, I cannot be anything else than dismayed at this perpetrated character assassination that this translation is operating on Kaito. Leaving aside all my bias for my two favorite characters, this omission penalizes Sakura's characterization too. The fact the she could recognize Kaito (without knowing it's Kaito) through the Dragon's eyes is a testament to how extraordinarily empathetic she is, and how her empathy is literally saving this story. Her empathy made her understand that Kaito couldn't be a bad person, deep down, because of how he looked at Akiho and how Akiho was so happy with him, leading her to make the decision of not confronting them openly, back in the un-rewritten world. Her empathy is what guided her here and what now is telling her "yes, this IS Akiho's most important person. And that person cherished her too". And how she was able to recognize that? Not because Kaito used to just "watch over" Akiho, what made that gaze special were the feelings that Sakura could see inside of it. All of this story is held up by the feelings between its characters. I think it's a huge mistake to not give the right importance to them, to ALL OF THEM.

I think I complained enough about this translation, so let's get talking about happier things. Because of course, in its original form, this scene became my favorite one from the entire chapter and moved me to tears. I was amazed by how Sakura was capable of recognizing Kaito's soul, his essence, only looking at the dragon's eyes. And you know, although being similar (they are some kind of tsurime too), they're not exactly the same as Kaito's, so it seems clear to me that Sakura recognized them basing on sensations and feelings alone. Eyes are, after all, a window to somebody's soul. And even though we could never really get into Kaito's head, or only partially did towards the end of the "un-rewritten world", I really have to say that his eyes spoke volumes of what he was feeling for the entirety of the manga. And for that, we can only praise Mokona-sensei's wonderful skills. I always loved Kaito's eyes, how they could be mischievous, happy, surprised, sweet, sad, tragic. The fact that I could be sure that he loved Akiho in any capacity till now, was also thanks to how he looked at her. So I was really glad to see the element "eyes" being used in this scene to make Sakura recognize him. And there's more to it. I delved into the use of the word 瞳 (hitomi, lit. "pupils") with the furigana "me" next to it (which is the pronounciation of another kanji used to indicate eyes, 目), and I found out/re-confirmed that 瞳 indeed literally means "pupils", but in manga, songs, novels and such it is a trope used to indicate the eyes when there's an emotional nuance attached to it. It is used to make things sound more "romantic" or drip with emotion. "Your eyes...looked at her with so much affection"... ...You can now understand even better why I am so peeved at the omission of the ENG translation for this part. All the other languages did their job and included the nuance correctly. CLAMP were trying to be very straightforward with their composition of Sakura's line, everything was indicating that this was a very important and emotional moment. Akiho, all alone in Sakura's memories of the double date, is at the center of the entire page, as if to indicate that she was at the center of Kaito's eyes too (because that's what Sakura is talking about in the bubbles). But we can see a "spotlight" beside her, an empty one: that was certainly where Kaito used to be when Sakura met them at the botanical garden.

The Escape

Okay, Sakura found what she was looking for. Or, rather, WHO she was looking for. And it doesn't matter if it's a huge, dark dragon trapped inside a cage. I found this almost hilarious, how she doesn't question even for a second that Akiho's most important person is actually a dragon! But I could quickly realize that it's all because in this manga, external appearances don't matter. What matters is who you are. These are all souls, loving other souls. Everything in between holds no meaning. And so if there's one thing that Sakura knows with all her heart, is that this dragon cannot stay here. So she tells him (yeah, I can finally say "him") to come along with them. But it's in that moment that a danger arises: the clock particles start attacking Sakura and Syaoran at great speed, so much that Syaoran has to turn around very quickly to realize it (I loved the effect in his eyes to indicate the speed). With a swift move, Syaoran summons his famous "Raitei Shourai" and his powerful thunderbolt repels and destroys the clockwork that was about to attack them.

We go back for a moment to Yukito's home, where everyone is staring intently at the tablet to see if Sakura and Syaoran give any sign. A worried Touya (and Yukito, too) turns his attention to Akiho, though, who is the quintessence of tension right now. Hard stare to the screen, she looks as if she's ready to fight anyone at any moment. And here, unfortunately, another translation mistake drops.

ENG: "We need to be sure we're ready to go...In case Sakura-chan calls for us" JP: "I have to be fully prepared...for when Sakura-san will call me"

First thing first, you probably caught it yourself, Akiho calls Sakura "Sakura-chan" in the ENG version, and that's a mistake. She hasn't suddenly changed speech tone in the JP, she hasn't dropped keigo, she still calls her "Sakura-san", as usual. And despite here there isn't a subject (again, a typical thing Ohkawa-sensei does in her scripts), it's pretty understandable that she's talking about herself and not the whole group, because of the imperative tense she's using. Moreover, Sakura told the rest of the group that MAYBE she would've called them if she ended up needing any help, but for Akiho she was SURE she was going to call her, so Akiho really does have to be ready to be called at any moment. Akiho in JP uses a particular word to indicate the concept of "be fully prepared, all set, take all possible measures": 準備万全 (junbi banzen) and when I looked for its complete meaning on the internet, to understand the context better, I found out that this is also the name of a skill in the game of the "Uma Musume" series. That made me laugh because coincidentally, Akiho's voice actress Minori Suzuki is famous for voicing one of the characters of Uma Musume, "Agnes Digital" and I know for a fact that CLAMP are fans of Uma Musume. Was Ohkawa-sensei trying to make a fun reference or an Easter egg, here? 😉 Anyways, Akiho's determined face here is really beautiful, I'd daresay there isn't only determination in those eyes, but also a tiny touch of...irritation? I've probably said it before, on other social media, that I hope Akiho will be the one giving an earful to Kaito, and yell all her feelings in his face while angrily crying 🤪if this is building up to that, I cannot be happier than this!

Everyone proudly looks at our little warrior getting ready, and unfortunately due to the misunderstanding above, Yukito's line is mistaken too, in the ENG version: they make him say "I'm glad we have eachother" while in JP he simply commented "You're so confident/reliable!", which is totally coherent with the face she was making before. The adjective he uses, 頼もしい (tanomoshii) indicates someone who's dependable, reliable, confident or even "sure-footed".

Needless to say, I was very happy to: 1) See an interaction with Akiho coming from Yukito, this is the first time and with this comment he acted like another お兄ちゃん to her (the more, the better); 2) See him defining her "confident and reliable", I've seen a JP fan I follow on Twitter making an interesting interpretation of his line, coming from a character that was always worried over not knowing what to do to help the people he loves, and seeing another magic-less character standing tall and facing this ordeal courageously might have prompted him to understand Akiho's position more than we could imagine; 3) Acknowledge that it really seems as if CLAMP are trying to establish new and more connections between the old cast and Akiho, probably because these connections will stay even after the end.

Back to the situation inside the fake moon, Syaoran yells to Sakura that he's sure he won't be able to break that cage only with his spells, so he urges her to find a way to free and get that dragon out of there while he fends off all the incoming attacks. Sakura immediately complies, and this back and forth between them was already awarded the title of "husband and wife interaction" from the JP fandom. 😂 Sakura remembers what Momo told her about the remaining Cards that are waiting for her call...and sadly I have to point out another translation mistake: while the JP was always vague about the number of Cards awaiting for her to call them, the ENG this time around traced back its steps and made Momo say that "There is one more Card that was left behind", despite in chapter 73 correctly translating Momo's words as a general "There are other Cards that haven't disappeared". So, not only they haven't even checked what they translated just 3 chapters ago and are unable to keep coherence with it, but they didn't even consider that the Card we're about to see isn't even the last one that is waiting to make an appearance ever since the Clockland Play happened. Therefore, it's NOT true that there's just one left.

But the inaccuracies aren't over, because in the next line, Sakura looks at Kaito's pocket watch, and this is the association that she makes with it:

ENG: "This is my mother's watch...and that card looked just like it. I don't remember creating it...but..." JP: "My mother's watch....I created a Card that looked like it, and I never found out when that happened"

Always thanks to Record, Sakura got also back the memories of Nadeshiko's pendant watch, how she got it, and that she found herself with a Card that looked like it but didn't know when she created it (hint: it was because Kaito rewound time, but the Card survived).

It's the moment for Sakura to call the Card: TIME!! And finally, this Card that many awaited in trepidation gets activated for the first time. In a very poignant moment, no less! Sakura, full of gratitude, thinks about her mother and how they made this Card "together", and she finally realizes that Nadeshiko's pendant watch found its way to her through great-grandpa Masaki precisely for this. To be used in this moment. And so she does. She orders to the Card to "activate" the time of the cage, so that she can "open" it, and Nadeshiko's watch goes to position itself precisely over what I think is "the lock" of the cage. I think this might suggest why the watch was changed into a key in the anime: it would make even more sense that it's a key the one that will open the lock. The lock, together with the cage, successfully dissolves, freeing Kaito/the Dragon. The Dragon seemingly "stretches" himself (poor thing, having to stay all crouched for god knows how long!!), destroying all the remaining clockwork in the process. Sakura gets her Card back and doesn't waste time, urging everyone to get out of there. Syaoran notices the opening they had "sliced" into the fake moon earlier, and says to go through that to get outside. I think the opening is appearing here in front of them so immediately because the spell that was warping and making that space so tortuous and convoluted is now broken. Sakura and Syaoran fly towards the opening, successfully getting out of it, but once outside Sakura notices something and looks back in dismay: the Dragon is not moving. She asks frantically why. But Syaoran yells to Sakura to pay attention: she turns around, in time to see a big group of arrows pointing at them, in full attack.

Aaaaand this is where the chapter ends, once again with a big cliffhanger!! Where is this attack coming from???

I'll give you a hint......

Remember a nice afternoon tea, interrupted by a clan of ass*oles allied with an Association of criminals, back in chapter 33? Yeah, Kaito sure remembers well. Lord knows how many of these attacks he had to repel over the months that passed from when he was excommunicated from the Association, officially starting "the war" between him and those bastards. Kaito back then easily fended off the attack by stopping time, again at the expense of his life, but I wonder what will happen now. It's clear it's something that's coming from them. However, I'm still not sure they're concretely sending the attack right now. It might be a "trap" they've left in place in case anybody tried to free Kaito, so maybe Sakura won't confront them directly. I still don't believe this is where it's going. But we'll see what will happen and what direction CLAMP decided to give to this.

My biggest concern is also the Dragon. It became apparent, in this chapter, that the creature is Kaito himself, in some capacity. I say "in some capacity" because we don't know if he was transformed, if this is the form the Seal of D forced on him, or if it's the effect of taking all that magic from the artifact that he got from Akiho. I am pretty sure this isn't his true form or anything like that, he was a human being to begin with.

We don't even know if he's conscious of what's happening right now, what he remembers from "before", from the un-rewritten world. If he remembers about Akiho at all. Unfortunately, he didn't give any signs of even understanding what Sakura was telling him. I have to say it pains me to see Kaito like that, and this is a possibility that I had been preparing myself for since long time, so that surely "cushioned" the blow.

However....

There is a theory going around, about why the Dragon won't move at the end of the chapter. I've seen it both from JP fans and from my mutuals too. And I have to say....it's pretty in-character. It's very convincing. The Dragon/Kaito doesn't move because he doesn't want to. Because he thinks he doesn't deserve to go out there and be saved. And it's to be noted that what Syaoran says is indeed 動かない (doesn't move), not 動けない (can't move). If we have to take those words literally, then we should exclude that there's anything "external" preventing him from moving. The reason is somewhere else.

If it's really Kaito being unsure/not willing to go with them because he doesn't think he deserves to, then that would also mean his memories are intact. Add agony over agony. If his consciousness is intact, I wonder what he thought when he saw Sakura and Syaoran? Was he surprised? I really think this could be the perfect spot where Akiho could finally spring into action. Because THAT is something only SHE can do anything about. If that's really the reason why he's not moving, then he needs to hear the full story. And he needs to hear it from the person his plan affected the most, the one he saved, yes, but also the one he's hurt the most with his blind "excess of love". But before that, Sakura needs to understand where the problem lies. I really hope she'll have the chance to talk to the Dragon again, and with her exceptional empathy, understand that Akiho needs to talk to him.

Next chapter, the 77th one, is going to be published on August 30th on CLAMP's Youtube channel, less than a month away! And by this release date, I can infer it'll go on sale with Nakayoshi on September 1st. At this point it doesn't even feel so "special" to announce it, but the next issue of Nakayoshi will see Sakura once again on the cover, and once again featured in the furoku! At the time of writing this post, no leaks have appeared regarding how/what the furoku will be.

Well! Sorry again for an endless post full of complaints about the translation, but this time around they really messed up. I thought something changed in the translation process in the past 2 chapters and they paid more attention/checked multiple times before giving the OK, but apparently this time that was not the case. As usual, I'll await any question/topic you want to discuss about in my ask box! See you at the end of this month for chapter 77!!

#cardcaptor sakura #card captor sakura #clear card arc #ccsakura #ccs spoilers #translation differences #sakura card captor #sakura kinomoto #syaoran li #yuna d. kaito #akiho shinomoto #chapter 76

[tumblingghosts]

katniss time travelling back to tbosas times ( & befriending sejanus because they deserved to interact )

[shortly after sejanus and katniss meet & become friends:]

Here’s the thing: Katniss likes Sejanus. He reminds her a bit of Peeta, with that kindness and desire to help, even if that’s where those similarities seem to end. It’s just…he’s a bit too enthusiastic to be her friend, and as much as Peeta had told her that she just had that kind of personality that ‘drew people in,’ she doesn’t see it, much less understand it.

It’s just so odd for someone to like her so quickly! For Sejanus to consider her a friend, invite her into his home, and get all the necessary paperwork so she can attend the school he goes to. It’s a lot, what he’s doing, what he’s done for her, and it feels like there should be a catch here, except he’s so earnest about it all.

She doesn’t mean to say it aloud. She really doesn’t. It just kind of…slips out.

“Don’t you have any other friends?”

His mouth twists. “My classmates aren’t too welcoming to someone hailing from the Districts.”

“Ah,” says Katniss. “Sorry.”

Sejanus sighs, but waves her off. “It’s…” it looks like he wants to say fine, but can’t make himself force the word out. “It is what it is,” he settles on. “I do have one person,” he continues, and his face takes on his soft, excitable look. “He’s…” Sejanus trails off, half-wistful and longing. Whoever the subject of this look is, Sejanus loves him, Katniss can see that much. “He’s kind to me.”

She doesn’t know how to continue the conversation from here, so she takes a tactic from Peeta and gets Sejanus to carry it instead. “Tell me about him,” she says.

Sejanus brightens. “Coryo is….”

And he starts to talk, and talk, and talk. She has to admit, this ‘Coryo’ sounds like a great person, if Sejanus talks so highly of him. 

[later, sejanus introducing katniss and coryo:]

“Hello, Miss Everdeen,” he says, as he extends a hand towards her, and there’s that first prickle of unease, because she remembers someone who only referred to her that way, and that person was, “Coriolanus Snow, it’s a pleasure.”

Katniss is silent, if only for the fact that she chokes on all the words that she wants to say. What the fuck, Sejanus?

Coriolanus Snow. President Snow.

“Coryo” is Snow.

Oh. Oh no. 

Absolutely not.

It takes all of her self control to not march up and deck him or worse. She doesn’t take his hand, and after a moment realizing she’s rebuffing him and a flash of irritation in his face, he drops it back to his side, seemingly taking the rejection in stride, but she knows better. She should have just shaken it, kept up the pretense, but she can’t make herself do it.

Coriolanus fucking Snow.

Katniss can’t rationalize what someone like Sejanus is doing with the likes of him.

#tbosas #katniss everdeen #sejanus plinth #coriolanus snow #tbosas time travellers

[karizard-ao3]

Drabble 1- Eremika dancing in Marley

I'm mining my social media followers for drabble prompts today (9/26/3) because my kid is sick and I'm home with him and I think it would be fun to write some short things that I can actually finish to counteract the long slog of chipping away at my current two wips. Here's the first one! (Also Drabble 2 is ready and can be found here)

Prompt: Drunk Marley Eremika where Eren summons the courage to extend his hand for her to take it and dance with him and the ensuing conversation

Eren licks his lips and looks into his cup. The alcohol was harsh with a licorice bite. Each burning sip spread through him, warming him from the inside out and softening his brain into a slurry. It feels good not to think, he reflects as he tilts the cup into his mouth and takes another draft. Drunkenness is a welcome respite from his constant ruminations on the horrors he is going to visit upon the world.

He looks around at his friends, all here inside this tent at the refugee camp, and he can’t help but smile at this unintended and impromptu celebration. They don’t know it’s his going away party. From tomorrow onward, they will all be walking a different path. 

Sadness slices through his drunken haze like torchlight through fog and he chases it away with another sip, his head nodding along to the warbling twang of instruments he does not recognize. Not far away, he catches sight of Mikasa sitting on a pillow with her eyes closed, drink in hand, swaying back and forth in time with the music. The tiniest smile curls at the corners of her mouth. His heart aches as he studies her. How can he leave her behind yet again? But, how else could he possibly keep her hands clean of the atrocities he has yet to commit? 

He sighs, watching her with glassy eyes, too drunk to notice or care if anyone sees him staring. This is going to be the last chance he has to really look at her.

The musicians finish their song and, after a brief, murmured conversation, they strike up another. This time the notes are soft and slow and yearning. Mikasa opens her eyes, a wistful expression settling over her face like the spring mist that lingered above the meadow near their old home in Shiganshina in the mornings when the night sky began to lighten into day.

Eren stands up and crosses to her, looking down at her as she lifts her face and smiles at him. He smiles back and extends his hand. “Dance with me,” he says.

She takes his cup and sets it down with hers beside the cushion, then he helps her to her feet, lacing their fingers together and resting his other hand on her waist. She lays her remaining hand on his shoulder. “Just like when we were kids,” she says as he begins to lead, turning them in lazy circles, navigating around the other partiers gathered in clusters around the tent floor, drinking and laughing. They are the only ones who are dancing and she is right. It’s just like when they were kids, when his parents would return them home from the festival nights early, before the revelers started turning rowdy, but the music still played out on the square, drifting through the open windows on the warm summer breeze. Eren’s father would sweep Eren’s mother into his arms and waltz with her around the kitchen and Eren and Mikasa would mimic them, orbiting around them like dual moons before everyone switched partners and the dance continued. Eren and Mikasa are grown up now and his parents are gone. It is just the two of them, bumping into the pillows on the floor and giggling, red-faced from the alcohol or maybe because Eren is holding Mikasa so close, his hand creeping from her waist to her lower back, drawing her in so that there is no more distance between them.

“I wish we could go back to those days,” says Eren. Everything had been so simple back then. Back then, it had been enough to be her family. Back then, he had believed he could be at her side forever.

Mikasa rests her cheek on his shoulder, nodding her agreement. He cranes his head to look at her and she tilts her chin so that their eyes catch. “I would relive any day I spent with you,” she says.

Eren blinks back the sudden sting of tears and smiles at her, dipping her low— her favorite of Grisha’s dance moves when they were children. Just like back then, her eyes explode in firework sparkles and she laughs, clinging to Eren so he doesn’t drop her. She is breathless when he rights her, gripping his suit jacket and beaming. He begins to twirl her around the floor again. 

“Do you remember when we had the picnic?” he asks. “When we stopped by the canal because I wanted to catch a fish to eat with it? But I fell in?”

Her fond sigh steams the air between them. “And then the neighborhood dogs ate all the sandwiches I had so carefully packed while I was getting you out.”

“And so we just went home. You were so disappointed. Would you relive that day?” Eren says, steering her around one of their passed out hosts. 

“I would,” says Mikasa with a soft smile.

“Do you remember the time we baked a cake with salt instead of sugar?” He wants to revisit each moment of their lives, to do it all over again one more time before he leaves her to go where angels cannot tread. 

“We ruined your mother’s birthday,” says Mikasa. “Her last one.”

They share a sad, nostalgic smile. 

“But…” says Mikasa. “Oh, how she laughed.”

From the corner of the tent, the song comes to an end and starts back up again, the musicians exchanging knowing grins as, unaware of the extra time they have been given, Eren and Mikasa hold each other and dance.

#eremika #eren jaeger #mikasa ackerman #dancing #eremika fanfic #fanfiction #Marley Eremika #light angst #romantic #canon compliant

[percentageweirdo]

Hi Percentage Weirdos!

This blog is not dead! Things have been busy but I'm working on The Unsleeping City.

Curse my insistance on doing these chronologically, because god do I wanna run the numbers on Jasper's terrible rolls on Burrow's End like Erika asked! Maybe I'll be able to catch up before Fantasy High Sophomore Year concludes... Imagine a world where I can publish the stats for a season within a week of its conclusion! [Wistful sigh.]

Another thing.

I have been thinking about wether to do stats for non-D&D seasons. At this point I'm really only tracking numbers of D20 rolls (per player, percentage of crits, spread of ability scores used, et.c.) and in a system like Kids on Bikes that doesn't work. I could track how often they explode and stuff, but I suspect the problem of players not announcing the number on the die unless it's a 1 or a 20 would persist, and maybe extend to not announcing the 1s either on the lower dice, reducing the accuracy/reliability of my statistics. but maybe that's baseless?

Oh hey this website has polls! What do you guys think?

#dimension 20 #dimension 20 statistics #dimension 20 stats #d20 stats

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

Hello! Can I request 24 and 26 for the prompt! Geraskier, please. Hope you feel better soon!

24. Going grocery shopping together

26. Encouraging them to finally buy that thing they definitely deserve to treat themselves to

“Oh good, Frosted Charms are on sale!” Jaskier picks up two boxes of the sugary, brightly colored cereal and tosses them into the cart.

Geralt sighs. “No, they’re not. One box is four crowns. The sign only says they’re two for eight crowns so you think you’re getting a deal.”

“Huh.” Jaskier takes a second look at the sign, sees that his boyfriend is right, and shrugs. “Oh, well, nothing stopping me from getting three boxes, is there?” He grabs a third box, grinning at Geralt. “What’s next on the list?”

“Since when are we following the list?”

Jaskier looks at the cart, which is surprisingly full, given that they only walked into the store to grab a few quick things. “Okay, I’ll follow the list perfectly from here on out.”

Geralt snorts. “Next is bread. You specify in parentheses that you want ‘the good shit.’”

“That’s because I’m making garlic bread to go with dinner. You need decent bread for that.”

“What’s dinner?”

“No idea! Maybe more garlic bread?”

Geralt sighs heavily, but his lips curl up at the corners as he steers the cart around and heads towards the bakery. He doesn’t say a word when Jaskier adds a family-sized pack of peanut butter cups to the cart, because all that witcher training has given him a keen sense for how to spot a losing battle. Jaskier hums to himself as they make their way through the bakery, selecting the most promising-looking loaf of bread before moving on. When he turns around, he finds Geralt eyeing the display of cakes, his gaze lingering on the carrot cake.

Jaskier loathes carrot cake with the burning fire of a thousand hells, especially when it has walnuts and raisins in it, as this one appears to, but Geralt is inexplicably fond of it. But Geralt is looking at the cake with the same wistfulness with which he used to look at Jaskier before they finally got their shit together, so Jaskier will endure the presence of raisins and walnuts in his home if it will make the man he loves happy. He leans around Geralt to snag the carrot cake and place it in the cart.

When he looks up at Geralt, he finds his boyfriend frowning down at him. “You hate carrot cake,” Geralt says.

“I do, as does everyone whose taste buds haven’t been ruined by drinking Lambert’s White Gull. What’s next?”

Geralt doesn’t look at the list, still watching Jaskier in faint bafflement. “Did you mean to get the chocolate mousse cake?”

“No.” Jaskier wonders if it would be overkill to buy two cakes, because that chocolate mousse cake does look good. “You like carrot cake and you were eyeing that cake like it was your long lost love.”

“I don’t need it.” Geralt picks the cake back up.

Jaskier puts a hand on his forearm. “Yes, but do you want it?”

Geralt just blinks at him. The thing about Geralt is that even though he thinks nothing of making sure all the people he loves—Jaskier, Ciri, Yennefer, his brothers, Roach—are happy and comfortable, he rarely extends that same care to himself. When Jaskier met him, the man didn’t even have a boxspring, just a mattress that sat in the middle of his bedroom floor. The most luxurious furnishing in his apartment was Roach’s memory foam cat bed. 

He’s come a long way since then, but sometimes they still run into these moments where Geralt doesn't see the point of treating himself softly. Everything must have a utilitarian purpose. Clothes are for covering his body, not to look or feel good in. Food is to keep him alive, not to enjoy. Sometimes, Jaskier thinks he would have made an excellent medieval monk. He used to think it was a witcher thing, until he met Eskel and Lambert, who have no problem treating themselves to the small luxuries. It seems to be a Geralt thing.

“Darling.” Gently, Jaskier takes the carrot cake out of his hands. “Look in the cart.”

Geralt glances down at the cart. “Okay?”

“How many of those things in there do we need?” When Geralt keeps looking puzzled, Jaskier continues. “I’m fully aware that three boxes of Frosted Charms, peanut butter cups, and garlic bread for dinner aren’t necessities in life, but I’ve had a long week and they make me happy. Just like the nice bottle of wine I’m going to go pick up next will make me happy. Do you begrudge me those little things?”

“No,” Geralt says. “Though Frosted Charms taste like stale piss.”

“Don’t distract me by slandering Frosted Charms.” Jaskier taps him on the nose. “Sometimes, you’re allowed to get things just because you like them, not because they serve a purpose. Look at Roach!”

That earns him an incredulous look. “What about Roach?”

“You got a cat because you wanted a cat to keep you company! She’s not a horse, so you can’t ride her. She’s not a dog, so she can’t guard the house. She’s not a goat that provides milk or a chicken that lays eggs. You got her because you love her and she makes you happy.”

“Are you comparing our cat to a carrot cake?”

Jaskier feels like he’s losing the thread here. “All I’m saying is that carrot cakes aren’t something we need, but you deserve to treat yourself once in a while. Even if your version of treating yourself is disappointment in cake form.”

“You just don’t like it because it has vegetables in it.”

“And I stand by it! Cake should not have vegetables. It’s an insult to Melitele, Lebioda, and also me.”

“Hm.” Geralt’s lips twitched. “If I buy the carrot cake, can we keep shopping? They close in four hours and I’d like to be home by then.”

Jaskier makes a face at him and puts the cake back in the cart. “Come on, what’s next on the list?”

“Meatballs,” Geralt says. “Because I’m not just having garlic bread for dinner, Jask. We’re not twenty anymore.”

“I can live with meatballs,” Jaskier says, looking forward to an evening of meatball-related innuendos that will horrify his boyfriend, but also get him laid, because Geralt secretly likes it when Jaskier is obnoxious.

They start away from the bakery section, Jaskier casting a longing glance over his shoulder at the vastly superior cakes they’re leaving behind.

Geralt stops in his tracks. “You want the chocolate mousse cake, don’t you?”

“Yes, but don’t you think two cakes is a bit ridiculous?”

“Since when does something being ridiculous stop you?”

Geralt knows Jaskier far too well. Dropping a kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek, Jaskier goes back to fetch the chocolate mousse cake. After all, it’s not enough to tell Geralt he should treat himself. It’s only right that Jaskier leads by example.

Also, he just really wants cake.

Domestic/Situation Relationship Prompts

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ghost's writing #prompt fills

[oh-snapperss]

7, with SOFT ethubs please, because i can't take any more heartbreak <33

7. Handwritten/Promised (x)

(Edit: This fic is on ao3! Read here)

It’s a no-sleeping night, Bdubs decides.

Nights like these are rare–Bdubs isn’t known as the sleep king for nothing. Some nights, however, Bdubs just… can’t rest. Some nights, his thoughts win out, and sleep is nowhere to be found.

Nights like these, Bdubs likes to set up a campfire and stargaze. It’s a tradition he’s developed over the years, typically accompanied by Etho, but the last few months he’s done it alone, in silence and a solitude he doesn’t exactly mind, but certainly doesn’t love.

Tonight, he sets up just outside of the monolith, campfire crackling away and a couple logs set out to sit on. The stars aren’t out just yet, but the sun is setting and he’s settled in for a long night of wandering thoughts.

Soft footsteps sound behind him, and Bdubs turns to see Etho, mask on and carrying several blankets. He doesn’t say anything, but places the blankets on the ground before disappearing back in the monolith. Bdubs waits, slightly apprehensive. They’ve not talked a ton since Etho turned up in the basement a few hours previously–it’s not that they weren’t talking, more that neither of them knew quite what to say, given the last few months.

Etho reappears, and Bdubs catches the scent of the tea they used to drink wafting through the air. Earl Grey for Bdubs, and some sort of strange lavender lemonade tea Bdubs is pretty sure Etho makes from scratch. He has yet to try it, as he’s content to keep to the known, but one of these days he’ll try it. Maybe.

(Not.)

“Mind if I join you?” Etho extends one of the mugs towards Bdubs, and Bdubs takes it gratefully, hands curling around the heat of the mug. Then Etho sinks to the ground on the other side of the campfire, legs crossed. He places his mask on the log next to him.

I love you, I made you tea.

For a moment, they’re both silent, watching the sky above. Stars begin to blink into existence, the moon rising from its place of slumber. And then–

“Where’d you go?” Bdubs fixes his gaze at Etho, still not used to the fact Etho is right there, finally.

“Here and there. My own world, mostly. Did some projects. Got a horse. Got chased by another giant cat. You know how it is,” Etho’s voice is steady, but Bdubs catches the wistfulness in his voice.

I missed you, I’m sorry for leaving.

“You gonna head back there?” Bdubs winces at the clear pleading in his voice. Please don’t.

“Nah, I got things to do here,” Etho keeps his tone light, sipping at his concoction and sighing in contentment. “I reckon it’ll be a bit before I head offworld again.”

“That so?”

Etho hums quietly. Casting his gaze upwards again, Bdubs notices how still the woods are, tonight. Typically the trees are filled with the noise of creatures scurrying, bushes rustling, and monsters groaning in the distance, but tonight the earth is quiet, like it's holding its breath. Waiting for something.

“You know… I would have given you the life. If I’d known.” Etho blurts it out, and Bdubs’ gaze snaps over. He’s staring at his own mug, and Bdubs is reminded of a time when they’d done something similar, only with a fence separating them, and the threat of… well, Bdubs looming over them.

Bdubs clears his throat once, twice, before he trusts himself to respond. “No you wouldn’t’ve,” and he knows he’s right. “But I wouldn’t have either.”

There’s another long pause, but Etho moves slightly closer, shifting out of where the campfire smoke started blowing in his face. “Yeah… I guess not. But I am sorry.”

“I know.” Bdubs closes his eyes to listen to the campfire crackling. He tries to forget another lifetime, when the campfire wasn’t close enough to feel its full warmth.

The moon is farther in the sky now. Bdubs shivers slightly at the chill creeping into his bones, that kind of cold that a campfire cannot drive out. Seconds later, he feels a blanket around his shoulders, wrapping him with care he’s not truly felt since before Last Life. Etho’s hands linger for a moment, holding the blanket around him until Bdubs’ hands brush his to hold it in place, then retract.

I love you. I want you to be warm.

Etho shuffles backward, but not to his original place. This time he rests an arms length from Bdubs, laying on his back to gaze up at the stars. His mug is empty, over on the ground across the fire. He always finished his tea first, fast enough to where Bdubs was almost sure he’d burned off his taste buds ages ago.

Bdubs finishes his own tea, now lukewarm, and… god, Etho is beautiful.

His breath catches at the way the moonlight is reflecting in Etho’s hair. His eyes are full of the stars, mask thrown off to the side somewhere across the campfire, and Bdubs can’t help but reach a hand over to Etho, lightly dragging his hand through his hair. Etho leans into it, craning his head slightly to move into Bdubs’ touch.

“...’m not gonna leave like that,” Etho mumbles, “not again,” and Bdubs feels a part of him crumble.

“You… you left me. Alone.” He doesn’t move his hand from Etho’s hair, but pauses his movements to gather his thoughts. “You left me, and I waited and waited, and the moon….”

Bdubs doesn’t look up at the sky, now. “It fell. And you weren’t there for the start of the season, or anything…”

I love you, and you weren’t there.

Bdubs shivers under the blanket again, and this time Etho pushes himself up, moving to sit against Bdubs. His arms wrap around Bdubs, holding him tightly against his chest. Shifting, Bdubs lets himself curl into Etho.

“That’s not gonna happen again.”

Bdubs can feel Etho’s heartbeat, with his head resting against Etho’s chest. It’s steady, much steadier than the last time he felt it. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Etho presses a kiss against Bdubs’ hair, lingering a moment longer than necessary before pulling back.

They both know Etho will leave again, for months. But it’s clarity, at least, and Bdubs trusts Etho to at least tell him next time.

I love you. I want you with me.

Bdubs turns his head up towards Etho, and Etho meets him. His hand brushes Etho’s face softly as he pulls him into their first kiss in months.

I love you.

And overhead, there’s a shooting star.

#ethubs #etho #bdubs #hermitshipping #shoutout to tunastime for giving me permission to reference their hot tea fic! #<3 #hope you like anon #hot tea concept my beloved it was time to write this i think #my fics

[sfb123]

Hands Down

Chapter 1: "Dear No One"

Catch up here!

Pairing: Liam x Riley

All characters belong to Pixelberry

Summary: Can Liam and Riley still find their way to each other despite Riley turning down Maxwell's invitation to Cordonia?

Rating: G

Word Count: 2,591

Song Inspiration: Dear No One - Tori Kelly

A/N: We're officially off and running, thank you all so much for the warm reception of the prologue. Your excitement is making me even more excited to get this out to you!

A/N 2: Spoiler alert, there's no Liam in this chapter. But I promise it's still worth reading.

A/N 3: Thank you @txemrn for pre-reading.

Tags are below the cut/in the comments. If you'd like to be added or removed, please let me know!

Riley was on cloud nine as she walked the familiar path back to her apartment, making a mental checklist of everything she would need to do over the next month. She was excited and nervous, but this was everything she had ever wanted. 

Over the last few months, Riley had been focusing on school. It was her last year of college, where she majored in dance and minored in education. When she wasn’t studying, she was working. In addition to her job at the bar, she was assisting at the dance studio that she had attended as a child. 

The last month had been the busiest: finals, graduation, and the studio’s annual recital. Once all of that was finished, she jumped right into working the studio’s summer camp, all while spending her nights working at the bar. However, today was the day that made it all worth it. After the students had left for the day, the owner of the studio pulled Riley aside and offered her a full time teaching position when classes started up again in the fall.

This job was exactly what she had been working for. When she was growing up, the studio was her favorite place to be. The students and teachers were her friends, her extended family. When she was nine, she decided that she wanted to teach dance, and be what her teachers were to her for other kids who were trying to find their place in the world. She would have been happy teaching anywhere, but to be able to teach at her studio, her home, was the ultimate dream.

She entered her apartment, dropping her keys on the table by the door. She plopped down on the couch, her head falling back as she let out a wistful sigh. 

“Finally!” Her friend and roommate, Daniel said as he entered the living room. “I need your help,” he lifted his arms, each containing a dress shirt on a hanger. “Which one?” He held them up to his torso one at a time.

“Another date?” 

“You know it,” Daniel smirked. 

Riley rolled her eyes as she pointed to the green shirt. “That’s three dates this week.” 

“Four, you forgot about my double header Saturday,” He corrected her. “How was camp?” 

The corners of Riley’s mouth turned upwards, a wide grin slowly spreading across her face. “Pretty well, Christie offered me a full time teaching position when the season starts up in September.”

Daniel’s fingers froze in place on the button he was trying to secure. “Shut. Up.” Riley nodded her head, unable to contain her excitement. “Ri, this is amazing!” He rushed to the couch, she stood just in time for him to wrap her in a bear hug. “That’s my little Debbie Allen.” 

“So, now that I’m going to be teaching full time, I’m only going to need the one job.” She said tentatively as she pulled out of his embrace.

“Yeah, I kind of figured that was coming.” The moment was interrupted by the chime of Daniel’s phone. He pulled it from his pocket, and took a quick look at the screen. “Oh crap. Riley, you know I’d stay and celebrate, but I’ve gotta-” 

“No, totally. Get out of here.” She playfully punched him on the arm. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Oh please,” Daniel groaned. “If I did that, I wouldn’t be going out in the first place.” He leaned down, kissing her on the cheek before hurrying out of the apartment. 

Riley sat back down on the couch and picked up the remote, turning on the television and sighing to herself. Getting this job was the best news she had probably ever received, her dream was coming true. She should be celebrating, but she was sitting home alone, watching reruns. 

She understood; the world didn’t revolve around Riley Brooks. Her friends all had plans; she would never ask them to cancel for her. It was moments like this where she missed having someone to celebrate with. Since her last relationship ended, she had put dating on the back burner; she wanted to focus on her studies, but more than that, she felt she needed to take time to heal her heart. However, Riley had always been a hopeless romantic, waiting for Prince Charming to come sweep her off her feet. 

And when he finally did, she was too scared to pursue it. 

If she were being honest with herself, that was part of the reason she had kept so busy in her final semester. She was trying to ignore the nagging regret that had consumed her since she rejected the invitation to compete in the Cordonian social season. Not a day had gone by since her night on the town with Liam that she hadn’t thought about him. Missed him even. But she had blown her chance. The social season will be coming to an end soon. Liam was about to choose his bride. A woman that would probably make him forget all about her. Riley pushed past her thoughts of the man she could never have, and turned her focus back to the television.

***

A few days later, Riley was at her father’s house for a family dinner that had been put together both as a congratulatory gathering to celebrate her new position, and because her sister Danielle had an announcement to make. 

“Did you tell her to be here earlier than the rest of us?” Riley’s mother, Tina, asked her ex-husband as they sat in the living room of Riley’s childhood home. 

“I told her to be here thirty minutes earlier than I told you two,” Riley’s father responded. “She must have caught on.” 

As if on cue, the front door opened, and Danielle entered, followed by her girlfriend Sophie. They walked into the living room, unphased by their tardiness. “Hi everyone!” Danielle said to the annoyed and impatient faces of her family. “Jeeze, good to see you guys, too.” 

“It would have been better to see you forty five minutes ago, when you were supposed to be here,” Riley teased. “Can we eat now? I’m starving.” 

“No, not yet. We have an announcement!” Danielle said, raising her right hand to halt her family. “So as you already know, Sophie and I were out of town for the last couple of days. But what you don’t know is that it was to celebrate our engagement!” 

With that, she and Sophie each raised their left hands, showing off matching oval halo diamond rings. Tina sprung up from her seat, pulling Danielle and Sophie into a hug. 

“This is wonderful,” her grip tightened. “I’m finally going to be a mother of the bride!”

“Way to make it about you, Mom,” Danielle’s voice was muffled against her mother’s shoulder.

“Congrats, kiddo,” David said, prying the couple away from Tina. 

“Thanks, Daddy.” 

Riley approached them next, “Congratulations, Dani.” She pulled her sister into a hug before turning to Sophie. “My condolences.” She said to her future sister-in-law, who chuckled in response. “No, seriously. We’re stuck with her; you’re choosing to be with her.” Riley joked. 

“Ow!” She yelped when she felt a slap on her shoulder. Her head turned to the side to find her mother scowling at her. “Congratulations.” She muttered as she dramatically rubbed her arm. 

“Thank you,” Sophie replied. “Thank you all. You guys have always been so welcoming to me, and I’m really excited to become part of the family.” 

“Oh please,” David scoffed. “You’ve been a member of the family for years now. This just makes it official.” He patted Sophie on the shoulder. “Now let’s eat!” 

As everyone made their way to the dining room, Riley lingered behind. She was happy for her sister, she really was, and Sophie was perfect for her. A perfect addition to the family. It just served as another reminder that, despite her professional achievements, there was still something, or someone, missing. 

Throughout dinner, the conversation focused on Danielle and Sophie’s news. Everyone wanted to know how it happened, what Sophie’s family said, and if they had made any wedding plans. 

“We’re going to keep it pretty small,” Danielle explained. “Just close friends and family. It helps that Ri won’t need a plus one,” she joked. 

Tina and David chuckled while Riley narrowed her eyes at her sister. “I’ve been focusing on finishing school, and getting a job,” she protested. 

“We’re both still in school, and managed to get engaged,” Danielle shrugged. 

Riley crossed her arms over her chest. “Yeah, but I was in my last year, and I have been working toward a very specific goal. You have switched majors three times, and you’re only in your second year!” 

“Alright,” Tina’s mother interrupted. “That’s enough. This is supposed to be a happy occasion. You both have major milestones to celebrate, and there isn’t one that is better or more important than the other. Your father and I are proud of both of you,” she assured them. “And who knows? A couple of years from now, we will probably be sitting around this table celebrating Dani’s new career, and Ri’s engagement.” 

Riley and Danielle mumbled their apologies as they typically did when they would get into arguments. As their attention moved back to the meal, David decided to redirect the conversation. “So Ri, how many classes do they have you in charge of?”

“I’m teaching ten of my own, and assisting five.” She replied, pushing her food around on her plate. 

As much as she appreciated her father trying to bring things back to her, she couldn’t help but feel like she had been overshadowed by her sister’s news. Once again, she felt that pang of loneliness in her heart. 

At the end of the night as everyone was saying their goodbyes, Tina pulled Riley aside. “Ri, are you alright?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?” 

“You got quiet after your fight with your sister.” 

Riley sighed. “It’s just annoying. I came in here all excited about my news, and I just felt kind of overshadowed.” It was a half truth, she felt silly telling her mother the rest. 

“Riley, you have worked so hard to get where you are, and I couldn’t be prouder of you,” her mother assured her. “As for the other part,” Riley arched a brow, “I’m your mother. I know you better than you think.”  

“I know it’s hard to be alone, especially after having someone for a while. But you have been focusing on yourself, and that’s more important than anything else. You have to love yourself before you can love someone else.” 

Riley rolled her eyes. “Sure, Mom.”

“It’s a cliche for a reason. Besides, you and your sister are different people; you always have been. You’re the level headed one, the one who plans and worries. Your sister just,” she waived her hand back and forth, trying to come up with the right words. “She just goes with the flow. You’re doing everything right, and you’re going to get everything you want.”

“How do you know?” 

“Again, I’m your mother. I know things.” 

Riley chuckled and pulled her mother into a hug. “Thanks, mom.” 

***

The next night, Riley and Daniel entered the bar together for their shift. They were greeted by their manager Eli, his welcoming smile quickly morphed into a scowl when he realized that it was them, and not a customer. 

“It’s about time,” he hissed.

Daniel rolled his eyes while Riley took a deep breath. Eli was never in a good mood, so she knew there wasn’t going to be a right time to talk to him. She decided to rip the bandaid. “Eli, can I talk to you for a minute?” 

“You had better make it fast. We have customers that need to be taken care of.” Without another word, Eli stormed toward his office. Riley looked over to Daniel, who offered an encouraging smile. “Today, Miss Brooks!” Eli called from the back of the room, catching the attention of some of the patrons. Riley trotted in the direction of his voice.

Once she stepped inside, Eli closed the door behind her. “Let me save us both some time. The answer is no.” 

“The answer to what?” Riley asked, confused by the statement.

“I’m not a fool,” he began. “And despite what you and your friend think of me, I am not oblivious to the things going on around here. I know you just received a bachelor's degree, however I also know that it is not in a field that would benefit this establishment in any way. Therefore, your degree does not entitle you to a raise.” 

“Oh,” Riley replied in a surprised tone. “No, it’s not that. It’s about my graduation, but I’m not looking for a raise. I actually received a full time offer to teach, and it pays enough that I will only need the one source of income. So I… Well, this is my two week’s notice.” Riley had never quit a job before, and she hated confrontation, so the words spilled out of her at a rapid pace. “But I’ll have my regular availability, and I could probably do some extra hours if -”

Eli lifted his hand to halt her word vomit. “I don’t need your life story.” He said coldly. “Your resignation is accepted.” Riley let out a breath, she felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. “That doesn’t mean you just coast for the next two weeks.” He reminded her curtly. 

“Oh no, of course not.” She replied quickly.

“Then get back to work!” 

Riley exited the manager's office, the sound of the door opening pulled Daniel’s attention away from the customer he was waiting on. He locked eyes with her. She gave him a shrug and a half smile as she made her way to her post behind the bar. He scribbled down the order and hurried to Riley.

“Well?” He asked, nudging her with his shoulder. 

Riley chuckled as she slid a pint of beer across the bar. “It’s done. I will only be a waitress for two more weeks.” 

Daniel gave her a questioning look as he passed his customer’s order to the kitchen. “Then why do you look like your dog just died?” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Riley, this is amazing! You’re starting your dream job, and in two weeks you’ll have your nights free, you’ll be able to have a social life again!”

“Right,” Riley scoffed. “A social life, because I’m so good at those.” 

“That’s what you’ve got me for.” Daniel grinned. “I’m going to get you out and having fun. Maybe even get you on a date or two,” he winked. 

Riley rolled her eyes at her friend. “Yeah, sure.” 

“Listen,” Daniel started in a more serious tone. “Baby steps, I’m not going to force you to go to parties every night, or surprise you with random blind dates, but you deserve to be happy, Ri. Not just dream-job-college-graduate happy, you deserve to be everything happy.” 

Riley smiled softly. “Thanks, Daniel. You’re the best.” She pulled him into a hug. 

Their tender moment was interrupted by the ringing of the kitchen bell, notifying them of an order that needed to be delivered to a customer’s table. “That’s me,” Daniel said as he pulled away and went to the kitchen to gather his order, promptly returning with a plate in each hand. “Let’s get you through the next two weeks first,” he encouraged. “After that, everything’s going to change.” 

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#the royal romance #trr #choices #choices trr #choices the royal romance #play choices #choices stories you play #cfwc #cfwc fics of the week #king liam #liam rys #king liam rys #liam x mc #liam x riley #trr liam #trr king liam #trr riley #trr riley brooks #trr au #the royal romance au #trr fandom #trr fanfic #trr fan fic #trr fanfiction #trr fan fiction

[sheplayswithlifee]

After a long day at work, Stacey's desire to dive into past cases took precedence over relaxation. Halea, Omari's occasional companion after school, lingered in the living room as Stacey delved into her studies. But just as she was getting into the groove, a familiar complaint interrupted her focus.

"Omari won’t lemme play with him. He’s being meannn," Halea's voice echoed through the room, her frown a silent plea for intervention.

Stacey glanced up from her computer, meeting Halea's expectant gaze. "Omari, let her play," she interjected dryly, her tone a mix of firmness and weariness.

"Fine, she can, I’m tired anyway," Omari relented, the promise of peace outweighing his reluctance to share.

As the tension of childish squabbles dissipated, Stacey's phone rang, its intrusion pulling her back to reality. With a resigned sigh, she answered, recognizing her dad's number on the screen. "Hey dad," she greeted, bracing herself for whatever he wanted to talk about. She assumed it'd be Atlas.

The conversation was brief, her dad extending an invitation for a visit. Stacey's heart sank at the thought of adding another task to her already busy evening. "Denise and Halea are over. They’ll be with me," she informed him, "we'll be there shortly."

As Stacey's dad swung open the door, he wasted no time in sharing his latest purchases for Omari, brimming with excitement at the prospect of entertaining his grandson. The tent and jungle gym gleamed in the hallway, a testament to his grandfatherly enthusiasm. Stacey couldn't help but feel a twinge of displacement, a subtle reminder of the shifting dynamics within the family.

With Omari's attention diverted to the new toys, Stacey's dad turned his focus to her, the unspoken question lingering in the air. As they exchanged pleasantries, his curiosity about the man from Harvest Fest bubbled to the surface, punctuating the casual conversation with a hint of interrogation.

Stacey's responses were guarded yet honest, a delicate balance between revealing too much and satisfying her dad's curiosity. The mention of holidays and family gatherings drew a wistful smile from Stacey, a reminder of the evolving nature of her relationship with Atlas. Yet, her dad's probing questions nudged her to consider the deeper implications of their connection.

The topic shifted to the complexities of Atlas's life, his status as a single dad and the lingering shadow of loss. Stacey's dad, ever the inquisitor, sought to understand the broader context of Atlas's existence, prompting Stacey to confront her own ignorance about his family background.

Caught off guard by her dad's inquiries, Stacey found herself grappling with the realization that she had yet to uncover the intricacies of Atlas's past. The silence hung heavy in the air, a poignant reminder of the uncharted territories of their relationship. With a quick shake of her head, Stacey dismissed the thought, offering a curt response that belied the turmoil brewing beneath the surface.

#Things Are Happening #The Sims 4 #TS4 #TS4 Gameplay #The Sims 4 Story #TS4 Story #BlackSimmer #Black Simmer #Stacey Marshall-Keita #Gen4 #Omari Keita #Gen5

[mommy-medusa]

nobody asked, but here’s a snippet of Ares being the best brother, and Aphrodite being a badass

However, just before the weapon could lick a slobbering, bloody wound across her neck, something crashed into Zeus, throwing him off-kilter and causing him to stumble backward. His hand released Athena, and she slumped weakly down to the ichor-smeared pavilion. Even with her crushed, gushing nose, she could smell ash and smoke, and when she looked up, she saw none other than Ares grappling through the rain with their father.

Dark streams of smoke were billowing out of Ares’ mouth. He looked like a fire-breathing dragon, his expression all contorted with anger, but he wore a wide smirk, tusks already smudged with a few drops of ichor.

Athena had always looked down on Ares’ fighting style, but watching him now, parrying and striking, she knew she greatly underestimated her brother. As reckless and wild as he was, Ares was strong. Zeus landed several blows against him, but Ares was the type to not care about how many times he was hit, so long as his enemy fell before him.

However, despite his best effort, Zeus would always be stronger.

Zeus was holding back against Athena. He could easily kill her, but he didn’t because she was still useful to him.

But Ares? He would gladly smite Ares. Maybe he’d just been waiting for the perfect opportunity.

So when Zeus managed to blow Ares down onto his back, Athena felt a sharp pang of terror spear itself through her stomach. She tried to get up, but the pain of her wounds made her falter. Her broken arm was slowly reshaping itself, and her smashed nose pieced itself back together, bit by bit.

“Ares,” Athena rasped, reaching for her brother.

“While in this sorry state of hers, Athena is finally beneath you, and yet, you leap to her aid,” Zeus said to Ares. “Disappointing. But not surprising coming from you.” He raised a lightning-infused blade high. “I’m happy to allow you to share her punishment.”

“No— Ares!” Athena cried.

Zeus’ blade came down, and the sound of metal scraping against metal filled the air. The hooked sword went flying across the garden, lodging itself in the mud.

“Oh, you have no idea how long I have been waiting to do that,” said Aphrodite, standing guard before both Ares and Athena, a thorn-coiled battle axe with a blade of rose gold hefted on one of her shoulders.

“You too, Aphrodite?” Zeus said.

Aphrodite gave a dainty shrug. “I couldn’t let these two have all the fun.” Then, she stomped hard on the ground, and thorny tendrils erupted from the earth, whipping madly around Zeus.

“Help Athena,” Aphrodite ordered Ares, who looked extremely starstruck. “I’ll keep him distracted.”

Ares shook himself out of his dazzled stupor and nodded, rushing over to where Athena was still sprawled prone on the ground. He extended a hand to her, and Athena took it, allowing her brother to pull her to her feet.

“Are you alright?” Ares asked her.

“I’ve been better,” Athena grunted, smacking her side firmly and popping a dislocated rib back into place.

Aphrodite’s boisterous laughter caught Athena’s attention, and she looked up to see the goddess dueling with Zeus in the storm. She was handling herself a lot better than Athena expected, effortlessly swinging her battle axe and summoning snarls of rose vines to aid her in combat. Athena often forgot just how powerful Aphrodite truly was; she was practically a primordial, older than even Zeus and his siblings. The only reason why her strength wasn’t commonly exhibited was because she simply chose not to show it off.

Now, that cap to her wellspring of power was removed, and she whooped and hollered in excitement as she contended against the King of Gods.

“What a rush!” Aphrodite boomed. “I haven’t felt like this in forever!”

At Athena’s side, Ares gave a wistful sigh. “Isn’t she incredible?”

“Keep it in your loincloth, Ares,” Athena said.

#aphrodite is sometimes a war goddess so here we are #also you can’t tell me this bitch isn’t incredibly fucking powerful #ouranos is her father #girl is absolutely a powerhouse tell me i’m wrong #also i. really like soft ares #not sorry #greek myth #greek mythology #greek gods #greek myth retellings #gods and goddesses #medusa’s child #ancient greek mythology #athena #ancient greek #ares #aphrodite #zeus #book snippets