#the other half is never having even the faintest idea of what's happening

[supercorpkid]

Yours Truly, Pink Kryptonite

Supergirl. Kara Danvers x Reader!, Alex Danvers, Lena Luthor

Word Count: 3003.

"As you can see here, we'll start this presentation with an overview of the current business –" You look out the window to see Supergirl staring at you and waving excitedly. "landscape, and, um, the importance of embracing innovation." 

You look around, making sure no one is paying attention to the Kryptonian calling out for you from the other side of the window. What the hell could she possibly want right in the middle of your most important work presentation ever?

You obviously know Kara does a lot of things, but working 9 to 5 isn't one of them. She runs off from CatCo whenever she wants or has an emergency.

Emergency! God, there must be an emergency!

Your mouth dries, and your eyes widen. "Or, you know, everyone knows this." You look at your boss, furrowing his brows at you. "We know our company and where we stand. So instead of wasting our time with the introduction, why don't we just skip to –" You press the control skipping through basically half of your presentation. "the expansion to new markets. And who better to talk about that than my team! I'll leave it to you guys, and will answer to this very important call from our program developer. We know he hates to wait. I'm sorry. I have to –" 

You slip out of the conference room, heart on your throat, completely unaware of what you just said in there.

Supergirl meets you at the balcony of your office with a wide smile. "Kara!" You close the door behind you, looking around you to make sure no one is paying attention or seeing the both of you through glassy walls. "What's the emergency?"

Kara tilts her head to the sides, like a confused puppy. "Emergency?"

You touch her arms, looking for something that could explain why she is here in the middle of the day. "Yes! I mean, isn't there an emergency?"

"Not that I'm aware of." She smiles widely.

It's your turn to master your most confused face. "Then why are you here?"

"Oh!" Kara lets go of your arm, and puts a lock of your hair behind your ear. "I came to ask you out."

"What?"

"On a date! Tonight!" You're still looking at her like you haven't got the faintest idea of what's going on. "Maybe lunch?" She tries to get a different reaction. "Now?"

You look around. This must be a prank. Is someone filming this? Is today April Fools? Surely not. 

"You're not saying no." Her smile brightens up, like this is the most amazing thing that's ever happened. "So that means I can fly the hottest woman out of here right now?"

"What?" You repeat, yet again, baffled by everything that is happening. "You can't. I — I'm working."

"And you sounded so smart in that board meeting, baby." 

"Baby?" You whisper to yourself, more confused now than before. If that's even possible.

"But work is boring," Kara strokes your cheek lightly. "and you're honestly so pretty that I'm sure you'd never have to work if you wanted. Oh! You know what, we should do that!"

"Never work again?" You ask and she agrees enthusiastically. "It's not like you do anyways." You try a little joke and Kara laughs like you just said the funniest thing in the universe.

She composes herself, after a loud snort. "Ok. So you're smart, and pretty, and hot and funny. Golly, how did I get so lucky to get you to go on a date with little old me?"

You open your mouth a couple of times, but keep your comments to yourself. She is literally Supergirl; You never said yes to any date; and WHAT THE HELL! Are some of the things you refrain from saying.

"Kara, I have to go back to work. This presentation is really important." You point to the door and she agrees, once again, vividly with her head. 

"Ok, ok. But lunch?"

"I can't. I have a meeting with the developer." She pouts like a child, and you can't say no to her. Not when she looks so adorable. You breathe deep. "Dinner."

Kara bites her lower lip, holding back a huge smile. "Dinner is perfect. I'll organize everything, and you just have to go and be pretty, which is basically what you do all day anyways."

You furrow your brows one more time and agree with a nod. You make your way to the door, and make a mental note to call Alex and ask her what the hell! 

"Hey baby," You look over your shoulders and back at her one more time. "Your butt looks awesome in this outfit." 

"Thanks?" While your face burns red in embarrassment. 

You spend the rest of the day trying to concentrate on your work, but you can't really because you need to understand what happened between you and Kara this morning.

Sure, you two are used to a little bit of flirting. Subtle and awfully vague. Just little jokes that usually makes Kara completely uncomfortable, and makes her blush in no time. And now, just out of fucking nowhere, she is calling you baby and asking you out on dates?

You: hey! Kara's a bit off today. Something happened? Alex 🌈: oh, yeah. Pink Kryptonite. Why? You: great! One more! What does this one do? Alex 🌈: not sure. Just discovered it. Send me a list of symptoms.

A list of symptoms. Ok. You can do this. 1. She looked extremely happy. But that's not a symptom. 2. She had the courage to ask you out. Could that be a symptom? No. Surely not. Asking people out is not a symptom of being exposed to kryptonite. 3. She called you baby. Yeah, you don't have a list.

You: IDK, just weird. We'll meet up later and I'll try to investigate further. Alex 🌈: great! Will do the same from here.

Not good enough. You look down on your phone one more time. Change conversations.

You: hey! did you happen to see Kara today? Lena the witch: Yeah… You: everything alright? Lena the witch: If by alright you mean weird, then sure.  You: weird how? Lena the witch: She spent the entire duration of our lunch saying you butt looked great today. You: got it ✨super weird✨. Lena the witch: What's up with that? You: unsure. will let you know as soon as I figure it out.

You get ready for your date. It feels weird thinking about it. You've been kinda flirting kinda joking with Kara for a long while. You never thought this was going anywhere. It's not like you didn't want it to happen, but Kara Danvers is not gay. Which is unfortunate for you.

Except today she was the gayest of the gays. Queen of the lesbians. So you can't help but look in the mirror one more time, before saying out loud this time, "What the hell!"

Of course you like the idea of you and Kara going on a date, but it feels hard to enjoy this when it is so sudden and out of the blue. Just yesterday when you were leaving the Tower late at night and said goodbye with a simple, 'see you later handsome', Kara blushed so hard, she lost all her words and stumbled on her own two feet on the way out the elevator. How was she so smooth this morning?

You open the door, after the doorbell rings once. Kara is on the other side, the brightest smile on her face and flowers on her hands. "Hey baby."

You blush furiously. Can't keep your body in check, no matter how much you want to not enjoy this moment before you find out exactly what's going on with Kara.

"You look incredible. You always look incredible." She makes sure, a thumb sliding on your cheek delicately. And it's only the second time she's done this, and you're already addicted to it. "Oh, I brought your favorite flowers."

You look at it, bite your lower lip and hold your breath. She looks beautiful. Like an angel in front of you. Blonde waves cascading down her shoulders, blue eyes as bright as the day sky, smile as wide and white as possible, and she is here holding your favorite flowers. How the hell are you going to resist her?

"Thanks, baby.” God, no! What are you doing? No flirting! 

You turn around, putting the flowers on a vase, and trying to keep your hands and yourself busy so you don't jump on her and kiss her senseless. "Hey, what does Pink Kryptonite do?"

"Um, Pink Kryptonite?" Kara plays coy and you don't even have to look behind yourself to know she is smoothing her hand over her vest, right after touching her glasses. "Where did you see that?"

"Well, baby," You turn around to face her. "it seems that you've been exposed to it." Kara's mouth drops, not knowing what to say. You close the distance. "And believe me, I'm loving what's happening here, but I need to know if this is you or the kryptonite talking. So, what does it do?"

"It turns Kryptonians alittlegay." She mumbles under her breath, and it is only with much effort from your part that you understand it.

Your face drops. "Right." 

It's not like you're shocked about her revelation, she was acting like the lesbian jesus right after being exposed to a hot new type of kryptonite (why so many?). You breathe out, looking at the flowers and trying to ignore your selfish heart and desire to just go along with it.

"You should go."

"What?" Kara's eyes get full of tears. "But, the dinner."

"You're not in love with a woman, Kara. The effects of the kryptonite will fade and you'll regret this whole thing. So before we do something that can ruin our friendship, you should go." 

A tear falls from her eye, and she bites her lower lip to keep herself from crying out loud. Your heart is squeezing in your chest and you're having to summon all of your strength to keep going with this and not just simply kiss her better. 

"But that's not it." She tries, sounding small and in pain.

"Kara, it's ok." It's your turn to stroke her cheek lovingly and carefully, wiping the single tear away. "It was fun, but it isn't you. And for this to happen, I need to be you. Ok?" You're explaining yourself with caution, almost as if you're talking to a child. She agrees with her head, slowly, looking small in her tall body. "Don't worry. It will wear off soon, and you'll be yourself again. And you’ll be glad this didn’t happen." You kiss her cheek and give her a wistful smile.

Kara makes her way out of your apartment, crestfallen and so disheartened you almost feel bad. You take a deep breath. She'll be fine. She'll thank you for this when she wakes up free of the Pink Kryptonite.

Gee, a kryptonite that turns them gay. What the hell was going on in Krypton? But also, you wish you were there. The parties must have been wild.

You turn around in your bed, the flowers that Kara brought keep haunting you, because you decided to put them right next to your bed. You sit up, rubbing your face awake. Why the hell did you kick Kara out the door? It could've happened! It could finally have happened! Why didn't you take advantage of it?

Oh yeah. Yours truly, Pink Kryptonite. Ugh. She didn't really want you, she was just gay for a day. You roll your eyes to yourself. Now you'll just have to live with the awkwardness and the desire while you're around her. Great.

You hear a light tap on the glass and you let out a shit-scare scream, only to see Supergirl flying on the other side of your window. You hear a soft, "sorry." when she realizes how shaken you got.

You open the window to find a glowing Supergirl, and it doesn't take much deducing to understand she's been under the yellow sun bed for a while.

"I flew as close as I could to the sun." She explains, still on the other side, but it's quick to make her way inside. "The yellow sun emulators are alright, but there's nothing better than the real thing."

"Yeah." It's all you can say.

"I wanted to get rid of the Pink Kryptonite as fast as possible." Kara explains it further, and finally puts her glass back so she can change back into her normal clothes. "I was going to wait until tomorrow, but I heard you were still up. I wanted to apologize."

"Whoa, I knew you'd regret it, but God that was fast. Must be some kind of new record for me." You sit back on your bed with a loud sigh.

"No, no." Kara is quick to follow you, kneeling in front of you and holding your hand. "I wanted to apologize for waiting for the kryptonite to finally show me what my life could've been like if I had a little bit of courage."

"Kara, you are the epitome of courage."

"No, I'm not. I've been wanting to ask you out for months and haven't got the courage." She confesses. "Do you know how many times I almost called you baby these past few weeks?"

"You said Pink Kryptonite turns Kryptonian gays." She shakes her head agreeing. "For you to be turned into something, you can't already be that something."

"It turned me extra gay." 

You bite your lip to hold back a laugh, but she's not scared of showing you her wide smile. "Let me show you."

"Show me what?" 

Kara perches up, thumb sliding across your cheek until her hand cups your face. "Let me show you that it wasn't the Pink Kryptonite that turned me gay." She brings your face closer. "Let me show you how you were the one that did it."

"Are you sure this isn't the Pink Kryptonite talking?"

"I'll tell you what," Her breath is hot in your mouth, and you're holding your own breath in anticipation. "why don't we go to sleep and when we wake up you can ask me again?"

"Ok." But your resolution is weakening by the minute, especially after she spoons you in bed and places a little goodnight kiss on your neck.

You wake up with more flowers and breakfast in bed. Kara has a warm smile, and she looks so damn beautiful just fresh out of bed it's annoying.

"Good morning, baby." She holds your face between her hands, thumb caressing your cheek in the way that makes your heart flutter. She’s obviously able to hear it.

You swallow deep. "Is this you or the Pink Kryptonite?"

"Why don't you ask me again after work?" Kara says feeding you a strawberry, and you agree weakly with your head.

She shows up at lunch time, and holds your smelly tuna sandwich out of your reach, convincing you that you deserve better food. She has it all set out on your balcony, a whole picnic that makes all of your colleagues so jealous of your lunch date. Little do they know she actually flew to Italy for that pasta.

And it's another thumb stroke and another, "Is this the Pink Kryptonite?" question that makes her head tilt a little bit farther and she reaches the corner of your mouth, instead of your lips.

"Ask me again at our dinner tonight."”

After work pick-ups and holding hands and perhaps it's Pink Kryptonite. Flowers and dinner dates and maybe it's just the exposure. Movie nights and cuddles and what if it is still turning you gay. Slow dancing to the TV light and thumbs slowly stroking your cheeks and why don't you ask again tomorrow. And that goes on for weeks.

Alex texts you that Kara was exposed to real Kryptonite this time. You know, not the one that turns her into the queen of gays, but the one that turns her bones into flaming hot goo. You run to the Tower and watch her unawake under the yellow sunlight. 

"Hey, it's ok." Alex holds your shoulder while you cry. "She'll be fine. A few hours under the sun and she's good as new."

"What?"

"Yeah, the effects of the kryptonite aren't lasting. It wears off if we deal with it fast."

"With all of the different types?" You furrow your brows at her and Alex agrees with her head.

Well, haven't you been wasting precious time?

You run into the medbay, and sit beside her bed. Like clockwork, a couple hours later, Kara's eyes open and she looks at you on the other side. "Hey baby."

"Oh my God, baby!" You run to her, not caring about anyone on the other side of the glass that might be able to see you both. You throw yourself at her, kissing her entire face. "You scared me."

She smiles widely. "And would do it again to have you kissing my face like that."

You hold her face between your hands, and slide your thumb across her cheek. "Don't you dare." She smiles, but soon her eyes widen when she realizes what's coming next. You meet her lips with yours softly. But soon she deepens the kiss, and next thing you know she's pulling you up the bed while sitting herself up. You’re full on sitting on her lap, while your lips crash and tongues slide and hands explore visible skin. And honestly, the yellow sunlight doesn’t help when you’re body already feels like it is on fire. 

Kara parts the kiss for some air, and looks at you with full-blown pupils. "Is this you or Pink Kryptonite?"

You roll your eyes and give her a chuckle. "Shut up and kiss me again before I think the Green Kryptonite is also turning you gay."

Kara’s tongue is almost inside your mouth again when you hear a yell from the other side of the glass.

"NO! Absolutely not! We can see everything!” Kara is quick to move her hands out of your butt. “That was more than enough!" 

Alex's face is red from yelling, Lena's face is red from embarrassment, and Nia's cellphone case is red from all the pictures she's been taking.

"Keep going! I'm gonna turn these into GIFs!"

You and Kara look at each other, "We should go." "Yeah."

So Kara was right, it wasn't the exposure that turned her gay. Still you do appreciate yours truly, Pink Kryptonite, because at least it gave her courage to be her true gay self.

#supergirl #kara danvers #kara x reader #reader insert #supergirl fanfiction #supergirl imagine

[cherryslyce]

Second Son (II) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: Getting acquainted with Regulus was inevitable, but your relationship only continues to grow as you figure out a way for your friendship to outlast the closing summer break.

Part I / Part III / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: Harry's arrival. Regulus is warming up to Y/N. Little cliffhanger at the end.

It was an ingenious idea.

"That is certainly an idea."

Regulus was very much trying to be supportive of your plans, but you could see the veiled apprehension in his gaze.

Over the summer, you were able to bond with him over the traumas of your life. You were proudly on day 34 of friendship.

In a way, he had become your closest acquaintance in the absence of Harry.

Regulus was endlessly fascinated by Harry when you had explained the lore of the poor boy's life. You would pay a good sum of your inheritance to see the gobsmacked look on his face again after you told him Harry was famous for surviving the Killing Curse.

"Calm your horses, Reg. It will be fine. I wouldn't risk such a thing if I weren't confident."

"Oh, it's not your confidence I doubt," his curls bounced ever so slightly as he shook his head, "I'm just hoping that you aren't in over your head here."

"It will be fine. I have this thing where I am averse to killing friends."

"Friends?-"

Before Regulus could finish, you whipped out your wand and murmured a firm reducio.

His painting gave the faintest quake before quickly shrinking on the floor.

"Reg? Are you okay?"

"Fine. Everything is just humongous now. But I'm no more cramped than I was before."

You pick up the small frame, brushing your thumb over the gold edge. Regulus‘ painting was now quaint enough to fit in the palm of your hand, his shrunken figure gazing up at you in relief.

"See, I told you. Everything's fine. Now I can take you with me everywhere I go."

His eyes glimmer in pleasure at the prospect of actually be able to see the outside world.

"I concede, you were right. However, in the event that you die, what will happen to me? Merlin forbid they bury me with you."

Regulus made it a point to bring up your almost imminent demise at every chance he could, strongly disapproving of your close association with the Dark Lord's current greatest adversary.

It was funny to think the greatest threat to the Dark Lord's reign was a group of teenagers struggling in Arithmancy.

"Don't worry, I'll look up some kind of rune to transport you to a safe place in the event that I am slaughtered. Though, you should have more faith in me, Harry and I have managed to survive a lot of unimaginable things."

"None of which even scratch the surface of the Dark Lord's power."

"Yeah, yeah, but I'm less concerned about the Dark Lord and more concerned about the Ministry. They're completely defaming Harry and I have half the mind to march on in to Fudge's office and slap him."

Regulus let out a noise of amusement and you began to fiddle with your wand in contemplation.

"Hey Reg, do you know anything that could allow you to communicate with me without giving away your whole predicament? I think I'll be shipped off on the first carriage to St. Mungo's if someone catches me talking to myself."

You were hesitant to tell anyone about your summer discovery, but Regulus was vehemently against it. He told you that telling others of his existence would only give him a headache, and you had a creeping suspicion he wasn't on the best of terms with the Dark Lord and his followers or his brother.

"There might be something in my room. I was researching various concealment charms before I died. For now, I'll just remain silent until you address me first."

A warm feeling beat at your chest. Regulus had never outright told you, but you knew that he trusted you and even liked you enough to agree to stick around.

It was probably due to your unrelenting honesty and efforts to make it clear that you didn't hate him for his past juvenile decisions.

Though, he was still quite secretive about his past.

"Well, off we go then. And Reg?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks." For trusting me and for being my friend.

"Think nothing of it."

Brushing Reg's frame one last time, you slip the small item into a wide pocket inside your jacket.

You huff out a heavy sigh and make your way out of the room, slowly cracking the door open. As you peered out into the hall, you let relief wash over you as you realized the coast was clear.

Slowly shutting the door behind you, letting it warp and disappear, you bound down the staircase and towards the end of the hall on the second floor.

You stopped a few paces away from your destination, taking in the sight of the worn door. It felt almost like you were about to cross the threshold into somewhere sacred.

"Y/N! There you are, we've been looking for you! What are you doing?" You curse silently under your breath, spinning on your heel and away from Regulus‘ bedroom door.

Hermione and Ron were looking at you expectantly, confusion flitting in their eyes at your recent reclusiveness and secrecy.

"I was just exploring."

"Near that door?" Ron's voice was coated in a mixture of disbelief and pride, approving of your sudden mischievous nature.

"Yeah, I mean I've always liked a good mystery. Though...keep it a secret for me? I don't want to sit through Sirius‘ lecturing."

This time it was Hermione who spoke, a sudden glint of excitement sharpening in her gaze, "No matter about that! We heard from the adults that Harry should be arriving soon!"

You broke out into a grin at the news, though your eyebrows began to furrow as you let the information stew in your head.

"Wait. Why now? Did something happen? Dumbledore would never allow it unless something urgent occurred."

Hermione and Ron exchange a serious look and a sinking feeling drags down your middle.

It is not until they drag you into your shared room that you're informed of the news, and you honestly could not be less surprised.

Chaos followed Harry everywhere, and a Dementor attack happened to fall into the ‘shit that only happens to Harry‘ category of life.

Harry arrived less than an hour after you received the news, and you could see the relief flood into his eyes as he realized you were all there waiting for him.

You let Hermione and Ron smother him in their hugs before you're up on your feet and gently patting his back, his face shoved into your shoulder as his whole body sagged.

"I'm glad you're here now, Harry. Dumbledore forbade all methods of communication with you, and he's unfortunately methodical. I tried just about everything to reach you."

The tired boy nods at your explanation, clearly still in shock at the events that unfolded to properly react.

You were beginning to relax against Harry until a sudden pop had you gripping your chest painfully.

The bloody twins and their bloody apparition.

"Fred! George! I swear I'm going to castrate you one of these days!"

You were still quite irked with the twins even after they apologized to you and formulated a plan to make up for the scare.

They thought it would be lightwork to use an extendable ear product of theirs to listen in on the meeting going on in the kitchen downstairs.

"As lovely as that sounds, I have to finish reading up for the summer."

"Blimey, Y/N. Don't tell me you're turning into Hermione."

"Well I think that's great, Y/N. And if you bothered to do what we were doing, Ronald, maybe you wouldn't have to ask for our notes every year."

You quickly flee the scene as the others were distracted, shutting the door quietly and striding towards Regulus‘ room down the hall.

Without hesitating like last time, you hurriedly twist the creaky knob and fling yourself into the room, not giving anyone the opportunity to catch you sneaking around.

"Okay, Reg. We're alone now. Sorry I couldn't leave sooner, I'm sure it was a bore for you."

You fetch the portrait from the inside of your jacket, grinning down at the pretty boy who was looking back at you passively.

"It was quite entertaining. It's better than the usual empty silence I'm used to."

"Right...I'm glad. Well, where do you keep your charms books at?"

"Left trunk underneath the bed. The green one."

You place the small painting down on the tableside next to his bed, propping it up against a dust-coated lamp. You heave the trunk out and let out a small exhale from the effort, nimbly unclasping it and flipping it open.

The sight of rows of books greeted you and you had to hold in a gasp at the wide collection and their near pristine quality.

Advanced Charm Casting

Chadwick's Charms Vol. III

Charms and Their Origins

The Dark Forces: Praesidium Carmina and Spells

"Wow. You have quite the selection. Praesidium Carmina?"

"It's latin for protection charms. There should be a few handy charms in there, but I didn't get to finish it so you'll have to read it thoroughly yourself."

You run a finger down the spine of the book appreciatively, grinning at the boy like a child finding a chest of candy.

"Reg, you are truly amazing."

"You can keep it. You can take all of them if you wish."

Your mouth falls open at his words, a pleased expression falling over your face. Regulus, for the most part, looked unaffected by your touched demeanor, but you could see a self-satisfied smile tug at his lips.

"Are you sure, Reg? These look precious."

"They are. But I have no use for them nor does Sirius. Besides, I can trust that you'll use them well."

"Wow. This is the first gift you've given me. You know this means that our friendship has entered the next level, right?"

Regulus shakes his head in amusement, smiling at your enthusiasm.

"And how would you define this new level of friendship, dear Y/N?"

"Well, we're like a couple secrets away from being best friends. Sorry though, I don't really know how I could give you an actual gift."

Regulus seems to consider this for a few moments, merely opting to shake his head in response.

"Getting me out of that room is already a debt I'm unable to repay."

"I'm glad you said that because now you're really stuck with me forever."

And it could have been the trick of the light, but you swear he didn't look totally bothered by the idea.

After shrinking down Regulus‘ trunk and a small pouch he insisted on you taking as well, you made your way down towards the kitchen, pockets full and feeling satisfied from your mission.

As you entered the kitchen, you stop in your tracks as everyone's attention darts to you.

Isn't that fun.

Suddenly, Sirius stands up and gestures for you to come sit, his mouth set in a firm line instead of his usual playful smirk.

"Y/N, there you are. We need to have a talk."

Relax. There's no way he knows anything.

Was what you would have thought, but Hermione and Ron couldn't quite look you in the eyes. You were superbly fucked.

tag list: @krazyk99 @venomsvl

#regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus black imagine #regulus black fluff #regulus x reader #regulus black scenario #regulus black deserved better #regulus black series #harry potter series #harry potter and the order of the phoenix #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfiction #regulus black fanfiction #the noble house of black #sirius black #hermione granger #ronald weasley

[daydreaming-in-letters]

Earth & Fire

Chapter VII - In darkness

11/07/2023

Pairing: Hades (Hozier) x Anthea (OFC)

Word Count: 4,625

Warnings: language, fluff, fingering, loss of virginity, unprotected sex

Summary: With Orpheus gone from the Underworld, the darkness of night finally unveils what has yet been left unspoken between Anthea and Aidon.

A/N: I know it was a long wait, but I needed to get this right. I think you might understand.

Earth & Fire - Masterpost

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

If you like my story, you are very welcome to like, comment or reblog. Please don’t copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

Anthea had no idea whether it had been mere minutes or hours since she had left the empty throne room behind and had begun to wander the endless corridors instead. To her astonishment, they were equally deserted. A fact that seemed strange after seeing the throne room bustle with creatures, almost bursting from the seams. Where had they all gone to and how could they have vanished so quickly? 

But those questions did not distract her for long before her mind wandered back to the one thought she tried so hard to avoid. And the one person she tried to avoid just the same. For how could she even be in the same room without giving herself away? It would not need any words from her mouth. She was sure he would see right through her, glimpse the very essence of her soul and with it the secret she was carrying inside ever since…their trip to the pond? Or the night before, when he had consoled her so very gently? Or even before that?

Anthea was not sure when exactly it had happened, but she could not deny any longer that it had. If only she knew what to do with that realisation. She had never felt anything even remotely similar to the feelings she now held for him. How did one speak of the things that are barely possible for the mind to grasp? 

Anthea had rounded just another corner when suddenly every thought was washed from her mind. And all that remained was the soft melody that wafted through the empty space between herself and a door at the far end of the corridor. It had been left ajar, just a tiny bit, probably unintentionally. Still the faint sheen of blue light seemed to lead the way. 

Heedlessly she followed its lure, pulling open the door just enough for her to fit through, and then another, without sparing her surroundings even the faintest of looks. All she wanted was to be close to that melody, to the soft vibration of strings and the soothing hum that accompanied it. 

It was only when her eyes fell on the familiar figure sitting on the ground that she knew where she was and the realisation made her stop in her tracks. He had not yet noticed her, far gone as he was, completely lost to the music. His eyes were closed as his face contorted in the most beautiful way, in tune with the notes he coaxed from the lyre in his arms. It was a fine instrument, though not as splendid as the one Orpheus called his own, but it was the last thing she could focus her attention on now. 

For he was magnificent, hypnotising her eyes to follow the movement of his hair as the half he had not tied back swished over his shoulders while he strummed the strings. One stray strand of wispy hair must have come loose and caressed his forehead now. Oh, how Anthea would have liked to brush it aside and feel its softness against her fingertips.

There was a certain fragility to him that once again made it easy to forget the power he actually wielded. The power of a god. 

Fates, she had been so foolish for coming here. What if he actually did see right through her the second he opened his eyes? What if it upset him? What if she angered yet another deity, and in consequence would lose not only his sympathy, but also the refuge he had offered?

To her horror, she realised that she was bound to find out this very instant, as the lyre fell silent and his eyes open to land directly on her petrified form. 

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out in her panic. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

But instead of anger or disgust or any other appalled expression Anthea had envisioned, the only thing she found was a soft smile on Aidon’s lips. “You’re not.”

It did not take more to calm her, the warmth of his smile and the honesty in his tone were all she needed. She even allowed herself to take a step forward instead of listening to her flight instinct. 

“I had no idea you could play the lyre. And so beautifully at that.”

“Ah, no, stop. It’s not that good.”

His cheeks had turned the colour of a ripe pomegranate even before he had finished his protest, but Anthea just shrugged as if she had not noticed.

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s horrible. Almost made my ears bleed.”

Immediately his expression changed, that flustered little grin turning into the warmest, most heartfelt laughter she had ever heard and Anthea could not help herself but laugh along.

“It looks quite complicated though.”

“It’s not really.” Aidon looked down at the instrument in his hands with a fondness people usually held for a close friend or family member. Still, it was not long before his eyes found her again, and the almost childlike enthusiasm they reflected took her completely by surprise. “Would you like me to show you?”

“Mh-hm, yes,” she heard herself agree without even thinking about it.

“All right. Great.” His smile grew an impossible inch wider. “C’mere to me.”

His hand was warm and impossibly soft against her own as he helped her down. And before she knew what was happening, she found herself sitting on the floor, completely surrounded by him. His legs circled her own, his left hand still holding the lyre, while his right was reaching for hers to guide her fingers towards the instrument and along the strings. 

He was everywhere, his cheek lightly brushing along hers while she could feel his chest move against her back with every breath he drew in. She was tempted to close her eyes, to give herself to the moment fully, to enjoy leaving the world behind until it seemed to hold only the two of them.

“See, I told you. It’s easy,” his voice gently pulled her back, but only for an instant. An instant in which Anthea did not hear the soft music they created together, did not even feel the strings brush against her fingertips. All she felt was him. The soothing warmth of his body, the tenderness in his touch.

Between them stood nothing more but a heartbeat, one deep exhale that carried the last shreds of doubt. The rest came easy. A turn of her head, unhurried, and the music died away. A look that said more than a thousand words ever could have. And one last breath, not more than a sigh, before their lips met and they lost themselves in each other. 

She had pictured her first kiss a thousand times in her mind already, had envisioned every possible scenario, but this was so much more than she ever could have imagined. She could taste her beloved ocean on his lips, his breath on her skin like the warm breeze of a late summer afternoon, while his scent carried the familiar notes of dry earth—and she was home.

There was no demand in the way his lips moved with hers. He did not claim her or sate his desires, instead he gave himself to her completely and she loved him all the more for it. 

For a long time, even after their lips had parted, they stayed exactly as they were, Anthea leaned against his body, her fingers playing with a lock of his hair as he kept on coaxing the most beautiful sounds from his lyre. The faint vibrations of his soft hums seeped into her skin, lulling her in until she felt nothing but peace, the kind that settled deep inside the bones and brought warmth from the inside.

Still, there was one thing that did not leave her be. A seed the God of Mischief had planted earlier, and that now stood very insistently between her and a state of utter bliss. That fucking Hermes. This would be the last time she would let him get into her head.

“Aidon, can I ask you something?”

He stopped humming immediately, but his fingers kept on playing.

“Anything.”

“What did you do to Minthe?”

The second the words had left her mouth, she knew she had messed up. They sounded all wrong and accusatory, designed to hurt, and when the music fell away, it was clear she had once again allowed herself to be nothing but a pawn in the cruel game of the gods. 

“What did I…? Why would you think I did anything to her?”

The pain in his voice was unmistakable, still he did not raise it at her or push her away.

“I know it is probably just one of his tricks again and in a moment I will look like a fool, but Hermes insinuated that you removed her from the palace.” Her eyes fell to the ground, the next words coming in a whisper, “and that it was my fault.”

For a moment there was silence, heavy and even more painful than the hurt in his voice had been. But then Aidon moved, slowly he set the lyre aside, before he turned his full attention to her. The warmth of his palm against her cheek almost made her close her eyes, but she knew that now was not the time to look away.

“It’s true. I did send her away from the palace for a while. But it’s not your fault. Nothing you have done has led to this situation. It’s entirely between Minthe and myself.”

His words should have relieved her, still his last remark, however careful he had phrased it, stung and Anthea had to avert her gaze.

“Oh, I see.”

Tender lips pressed to her forehead.

“No, I don’t think you do. Minthe is in love with me, she has been for quite a while now, I believe, and even though the feeling is not mutual, I did something stupid, and I hurt her, deeply. Everything else is just a consequence of my negligence and has nothing to do with you. You’re just…”

Aidon stopped, obviously reluctant to tell her. But Anthea would not have that. Not now.

“I’m just what, Aidon?”

She knew what he was about to say long before the words had left his mouth, and yet she was not prepared in the least for the might of their impact.

“You just happen to be the one I am actually in love with. But that also is not your fault.”

“I see.” She could hardly suppress the unbridled smile that wanted to break free. “Just as much as it isn’t your fault that I am in love with you.”

“Right.” At first there was no hint of any emotion her confession might have sparked. Anthea even began to wonder if he had heard her at all, when a tiny hitch in his breath finally gave him away.

“Right.”

Her voice had been nothing more but a mere whisper. It would have been impossible to speak up anyway, for he had been so close already and then leaned in further still, and by the time his lips met hers again, it seemed like a miracle she had even been able to form a full word after all.

The kiss was deeper this time, more passionate, and she could taste the same need for more on his tongue that she felt in her own heart. Soon he pulled her closer against his chest while her hands wove into his hair to feel him closer still. It was magic, a bliss she had never known before. 

He loved her. And she loved him. A truth so simple and yet so utterly unique. For what were the odds of finding someone who made you feel safe enough to give yourself to completely and for them to find in you the one person they felt the same about?

Anthea had no idea how much time had past. It did not matter. Nothing mattered as long as she felt his arms around her and heard the steady beating of his heart against her ear. 

“Are you tired, love?”

“No,” she protested immediately. A weak protest, judging from the slur in her voice, and a soft yawn betrayed her even further. “Well, I might be, just a little. But I really don’t want to leave.”

“Who says you have to leave?”

The loss of his soothing heat hurt and she was inclined to scowl up at his now standing form, when she found a hand already waiting for her to take it and a smile so balmy it almost made up for the absence of his body against hers.

They did not have to walk far before Anthea found herself inside a room that was incomparable to anything she had ever seen before. Stunned by its sheer magnificence, she could do nothing but stare openmouthed at the splendour in front of her. It was not that it was pompous, on the contrary. In fact, it held nothing but a bed, huge but rather plain. And still it was inviting her to rest her head on the large, black pillows after slipping underneath the equally black covers.

What really made it stand out against any other room in this palace however, was the myriad of tiny little stars floating above the bed, twinkling magnificently while drowning out the cold blue that illuminated the rest of the Underworld. 

“Do you think this will do?”

Would this do? It was perfect. Still she would have agreed to lie on the cold, hard ground if—

“If you’ll join me.”

Of course he did. And soon she found herself in the exact spot she had envisioned, her head gently resting on the fluffy pillow while Aidon held her close, limbs weaving together before they stopped moving altogether. Anthea could not remember a time when she had ever felt this complete, just existing. It was the last thought that crossed her mind before the world around her fell away and, like every night, she gave herself into the skilled hands of Hypnos. 

Her senses had caught on to his distress long before she had fully returned from Hypnos’ dominion. Still, by the time she woke, her heart was racing as fast as his own, and she jolted from her sleep. Aidon was sitting next to her, his laboured breaths coming out in violent huffs.

“What’s wrong, darling?” she asked while sitting up next to him, one hand reaching out for his cheek to make him face her.

“Eurydice.”

“What about her?”

“She has returned.”

“Returned? But I thought—”

His face darkened, contorting into a grimace she had never seen on him. And when he spoke again, she knew exactly what it was.

“I should never have granted him his wish. I merely gave him a chance to disappoint twice, allowed him to distress poor Eurydice’s soul even more than she already was.”

“Aidon, please, none of this is your fault. You couldn’t possibly have known that he would fail her.”

“Couldn’t I? I knew who he was when I allowed him to guide her out of my realm. And to claim now that I didn’t suspect he would let her down would be lying to both of us.”

Anthea kept silent for a moment. And Aidon was glad she did. He could not stand facing her disappointment in him when his own disappointment in himself was almost killing him. He had been so stupid, allowing that weaselly Hermes to play him once more, not giving a care in the world that he would harm an innocent soul in the process. 

He was surprised Anthea could even look at him. He had known it would come to this. Nothing good ever came from the line of the All-father. And still he had allowed it to happen anyway.

“What made you so sure he would fail her?”

Her voice made him look up again, the gentleness it still held, and that he now also found in the dark brown of her eyes. It almost made him blurt out the truth.

You did, he wanted to say, but he feared it would make him sound like a lunatic. Still it was true. He finally knew now what it meant to truly love someone and he was sure Orpheus would not have felt the need to turn if only he had loved his Eurydice the same way he loved Anthea.

But instead of telling her just that, he merely shrugged. “We all eventually do.”

Her eyes never once left his and he cold see her thoughts racing behind them. But then something about them changed. They were probing now, searching his own. For what, he could not tell yet.

“Will you fail me?”

He could not lie. Not to her. Not even if it meant that he would lose her forever. 

“I would love to say I won’t. But that’s a promise not even the gods can make.”

He would have understood if she wanted to leave now. But she did not. Instead she came closer, pulling him down gently until his forehead rested against hers.

“Then promise me you’ll be gentle in failing me.”

“I promise.”

He meant it, with all his heart. And even if the truth tasted bitter, it was all drowned out by the sweetness of his kiss. It held even more honesty than his words and Anthea knew that if he could help it, he would do everything in his power to avoid letting her down. 

With a sigh she sank back against the pillows, pulling him with her until she could feel the weight of his body against her own. Their lips never parted, not for a second, not even when their hands worked to free each other from the last barrier that stood between them. It was only the sensation of feeling him skin on skin that made her mouth fall open in a gasp.

“Aidon.”

“What is it, love? Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” she whined. Stopping was the last thing she wanted him to do. “It’s just…I’ve never…been with a man.” 

He said nothing, but the soft brush of his thumb against her cheek bone encouraged her to go on.

“Will it hurt?”

“It usually does the first time, yes. But I can take the pain away.”

His hand never left her face, so she could not see what exactly it was that he did, but she could feel it. All of a sudden she felt a little lightheaded, the fear that had befallen her heart moments ago cleared from her mind completely, just for an instant, before he pulled his hand away.

She was quick to grab it and bring it to her lips to press a tender kiss to his fingertips. “Make love to me, Aidon.”

And he did, love speaking from every single touch, from every kiss and every moan that fell from his lips as he explored her body. It was only later that she realised it had been just as much for her sake than for his own. But she had enjoyed it all the same, had basked in his rising passion, in the way his hands had tended to her breasts, his lips had pressed to her skin and tasted her soft flesh with the same urgency that surged through her veins. She wanted to acquaint herself with his body just as much, rake her fingers through his chest hair, let them glide along his stomach and real in the shiver that followed in their wake. It was addictive and she never wanted to stop, wanted more, all of him and then keep it forever. 

In her enraptured state, she had not felt his hand wander, but now that it slid in between her thighs, it was all she could concentrate on. He was careful but determined, venturing further until his fingers had found her womanhood. Softly he began to caress her, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Does that feel good?”

Good? Oh, fates, yes, it felt good. And so much more than that. But all she could muster was a silent nod, while wide eyes kept on holding his gaze. After a while she could feel moist heat collecting in her core, and her legs fell open with a needy moan. With every circle his fingers drew, he coaxed another heady sound of rapture from her mouth and soon they began to mix with his own as his head dipped down to steal a kiss from her slightly parted lips.

His touch was everything, almost overwhelming her inexperienced body, and yet it was not enough. For a while she tried to suppress the ardent wish that grew deep inside of her, tried to hold on and enjoy what he made her feel for just an instant longer, but she could not help it. She needed to feel him closer still, as close as he could get. She needed to be one with him. And from the way his hardened arousal pressed into her hip, she knew that he felt just the same. 

And so she reached for his wrist and stopped his sweet caress. She had expected the confusion she now found on his face, the bewildered wrinkle of his forehead that spoke of his concern, but it eased away just as swiftly as it had appeared when she smiled up at him.

“Please, Aidon, I need you.”

He moved without protest, settling in between her legs, his body hovering above hers. Anthea could feel her heart speeding up with the first press of his head against her entrance. She needed to see him, wanted to look into his beautiful eyes, but his face was almost veiled from her by a curtain of wild curls that surrounded it. And so she reached up, her hands cupping his cheeks and brushing away his hair. He was so beautiful, the placid smile on his lips, the slight gleam in his eyes, and she thought she could not love him more when he turned his head a little and pressed a sweet kiss to the inside of her wrist. 

Slowly he dove into the heat that awaited him. The unfamiliar stretch stung, but even before she could tell him, his hand was there, warm and soft against her stomach, and the pain subsided, leaving behind the insatiable desire to feel all of him. 

On instinct her legs closed around his hips and pulled him all the way inside of her. A loud moan rose from the depths of his chest, sending a violent shiver through her, but he stayed perfectly still. It took him a moment to collect himself and another to taste her lips again before he finally moved.

Anthea had never felt anything even remotely similar to the sensations that flooded her whole being now. She felt strange, light, as if her soul was about to leave her body. Was this what dying felt like? The soul being at peace while the body was in unmatched agony. The sweetest kind. 

It did not take long until the world around her was spiralling out of control. Or was it the world within her? Whichever it was, it was sending her into pure chaos, the same that had been before the beginning of all things. And like the cosmos, she emerged from the void, slowly, step by step, and then all at once, to be reborn in his arms.

Aidon felt the warm breeze of air crawling along his chest with every steady breath she took. She had fallen asleep in his arms a while ago, sated and blissed out, and he was sure that he had never seen anything more beautiful than her flushed face after they had both glimpsed Elysium together. 

He could not tell how long it had been since she had slipped away from the world of the conscious, but he knew exactly how often he had debated with himself to kill the lights and let her rest in peace since then, but as always, it seemed impossible. There was only one thing he disliked more than darkness, and that was to disrupt the serene state she was in.

So, with just a flick of his fingers, the stars above them went out, and time seemed to stop. Strangely he felt even closer to her now, so close that in the darkness he felt like melting into her. Even in her subconscious state, it was as if she could feel it too, her body moving until her heart touched his and they became one for the second time tonight.

Darkness. He had never known it could hold such magic. The very darkness he had dreaded all his life. Because it was all he knew. 

Like all beings, he had been eager to escape it on the day of his birth, to feel the sunlight touch his skin and fill him with its unmatched warmth, just to be confined to it again by the actions of his own father. After what had felt like a myriad of eternities, unable to even tell day and night apart, he had become sure that this was all his world would ever be. Darkness, and the distant voices of his siblings, wailing in despair and cursing their father for his cruelty. Then, as unexpectedly as it had come, the darkness had been split in two and the bright light that had fallen around his brother’s smirking face had almost blinded him. 

In that moment, he had promised himself that there would never be darkness again, not even when Helios vanished behind the horizon and Nyx and Erebus took over to let night fall across the mortal realm. There had not been a single night in which he had dared to blacken the artificial stars above his bed. Especially not since he had come here, devastated that he had drawn the lot he had dreaded most and thus inflicted darkness upon himself yet again, safe in the knowledge that this time, there would be no escape from it. 

From that moment on, he had had plenty of time to muse about it, and one day he had finally realised why darkness held such agonising power over him. It was because it heightened everything, isolated him, left him alone with himself until he came to see the very essence of himself. And that wasn’t always pleasant. 

But in this very moment, the horrors of gloom seemed long forgotten. Nothing but a vague memory of a former life. And with the heaviness of his trauma lifted off his shoulders, he felt light as a feather, soaring blissfully in the void it had left behind. Because choosing to lie in complete darkness with her was something entirely different to the darkness that had been forced upon him all his life. And for once, it was not the truth of his own self that was waiting in the blackness of night. It was hers, ready to be explored, and he was eager to venture even deeper into darkness if it meant he would find her there. 

He felt almost drunk from the absence of light now. Intoxicated to a point that it made him bold, more so with every passing moment, made him hungry for whatever it would reveal about her. He wanted to know it all, her light, her darkness, whatever it was that made her her. And once he knew, he would learn it by heart so that he would recognise every detail about her as if it was his own. Even in darkness. Even without turning to look at her.

Chapter 8

taglist:

@ashesofblackroses

@lowkeysimpinloki

@appreciating-fanfics

#hades!hozier x ofc #hades!hozier #hozier #hozier fanfiction #greek mythology au #earth and fire

[rainbowvamp]

an unsent letter: June 1791

You have never touched me, and yet at night I lay awake and swear I feel your hands upon me. The soft touch on my shoulder of an old friend. The hard touch on my neck of a captor. Your body that is lithe, and yet holds power I could surely never know. Your mouth that could pin me in place with just one word. 

If you told me to stay like a dog, I might just do it. If only to please you. If only to earn one single smile. So rare to look at, but so utterly glorious. I stand at an altar dedicated to you and worship the idea of you, because in truth I know nothing about you. More unknowable than God himself, and all the more tantalizing. Do you mean to keep me always wondering? I don’t even ask anymore, who you are, what you are. I’ve accepted you will never tell me, but I am filled with the desire to know. You who visits once every hundred years to have a little chat about the state of the world. Ever changing, but always the same. 

I would venerate you like a god if you asked me to. I think I know you would never ask me to, though. Not you. You’ve never wished such things from me, and perhaps that’s why I wish to give them. I wish for you to hold me in whatever way a god might hold a simple being and I wish to show you my affections, paltry offerings though they may be in comparison to the power you surely command. Is it not worth more to be offered all that a destitute has than to be offered some of what a rich man has? At my poorest, I’d have given you the shirt off my back. At my hungriest, I’d have given you the food from my mouth. This devotion expects no reward, and it receives none. It is given because it would feel wrong not to. When you come close enough to touch but stay always out of reach, I only look from this ever shortening distance and offer up everything I have in honor of you. 

Ask it, and I shall complete it. Want it, and I shall gladly give it to you. Whatever you wish for, be it in my power, I would deliver from my hand into your untouchable grasp. You with a gaze like starlight, distance and unknowable but through hours of scrutiny you would never allow. I observe as I can, once every hundred years. Would that I were an artist so I might paint your likeness onto canvas and capture it forever. But no canvas could do you justice. No canvas might capture your essence with the clarity I have in my mind’s eye. I think of you in dreams, often I wish they were real that I might reach my hand out to feel the skin of your hand, face, shoulder. Would that I were a sculptor that I might cut your likeness into stone, more at home there than any canvas, but still imperfect, still incomplete. No stone might capture the depths of your eyes or the perfection of your faintest smirk. I close my eyes and see you looking at me with those dark eyes in the firelight and I wanted you. I wanted to taste and feel and smell you, but I kept myself at bay. Even in dreams I keep myself at bay because you are the untouchable, unknowable thing and I am just a man who cannot die, dying to stand beside you once again. To take your words into my ears and your breath into my mouth. I put my lips to the cup you might have drank from, had you drank anything at all, and I imagine the taste of your mouth. Fire or Ice or both. 

The knowledge that this longing may one day destroy me does not stop me from feeling it. I have no love for tragedy, though I fear I may be living in one. Every time you walk away I think I must be the most unlovable man on this plane or any other, but then you come back, and I know I am the luckiest man on earth. 

The glory of our centennial meetings is that they happen, every time, without fail, and I am always relieved to lay my eyes upon you.

How can I wait another 98 years to see you? When I feel consumed by even the thought of you? 

I would offer myself to you if you would just accept me. 

I would offer anything if you’d stay. 

——

This letter, written while half mad with sleep deprivation, met a waste bin and was carried away to be burned like trash. In the book of unsent letters it has edges that are charred and ink stains that obscure the bottom two lines entirely, though if one willed it to be so, they would be visible. 

----

AO3

#dreamling #lore’s dreamling letters

[mishkakagehishka]

Hey Korka I saw a thing so of course I have to shu-ify it because it can fit this idiot who never says what he actually thinks unless it's strictly necessary.

Anyway thinking about something going wonky with some thing or other and being able to hear Shu's inner voice... Like getting to hear his actual feelings with a sort of echo effect after he says his usual harsh words... Maybe using that to your advantage to tease him a little bit and fluster him while making it not completely obvious so he doesn't evaporate on the spot

I think we don't have to really use any logic because "Well, we just want to see it happen!!" is enough. For the sake of an argument, let's imagine uhhhhhhh [checks notes] the time and space matter is falling apart because of the perpetual timeloop and it's showing in the fact that Shu's thoughts are now shared with whoever he's speaking to in the moment. We could bring up the idea of a soulmate AU, but I won't torture you tonight.

idk the word count i wrote it directly in post (so no spellchecker! should be fun!!) and i . didn't really plan on doing that.

Shu's usual biting remarks - something that takes lots of getting used to, and even then can hurt quite a lot. It's not like he wants to be mean, but that's how he comes across to most. To most, with a few notable exceptions, to most except to those who, after all, know him.

But it takes practice to know how to translate Shu's words, to know that his "Even a child could do it" doesn't necessarily mean you're stupid so you should be able to do it - it doesn't mean that he considers you on the level of the imaginary child he is mentioning, but that he expects someone of your skills and knowledge to be able to breeze through it. To know that his scoffs and "Don't bother me" and "I'm only doing this because it'd be an inconvenience to me otherwise" are just ways of masking his own care for you. That his scoffs are to hide his smiles, his shooing of you just a way to make sure he's not distracted by wanting to talk to you, that he just cannot come clean about his true intentions - it's not in his nature to show vulnerability.

And one day, all that practice, all that difficulty is just. Gone. And suddenly you have access to Shu's inner thoughts. How? Who knows. The author doesn't particularly care, either. But the reality is that you were left sitting in your seat, listening to Shu berating you for not bringing an umbrella, yet very much hearing the echo of, what would I do if you got sick? Why do you always insist on worrying me like this? And how were you supposed to pair it to "Are you a moron? Do you not check the weather like an adult before leaving the house?!"

Easily. By batting your eyelashes at him, by saying, "Sorry, did I worry you?" He paused in his berating, mid-sentence, mid-calling-you-an-imbecile. Eyes widened, mouth still left half-open. Is that the faintest rosiness of a blush you see on his cheeks? "Don't be ridiculous. Whether you get sick or not is none of my business, but think about the work you'd be pushing onto others because of your lack of care. It is highly irresponsible." Yet the echo was panicking. Panicking! Screaming, is it that obvious? Am I that obvious? I don't look worried, do I? You may have just found your entertainment for today.

"Well, I just forgot my umbrella. I'm sorry, but I don't think I deserve to be called names for it," you defended yourself, just wanting to see if he'd think anything vaguely remorseful. "I'm simply stating facts. Forgetting such a trivial thing makes you seem dumber than you are." - If you feel bad about being called names, then quit behaving so carelessly.

Well, Shu will always be Shu.

I hate making you feel bad, too. I wish you would smile at me." And wasn't that your perfect sign? Your wonderful cue to shoot him the brightest, most blinding smile known to humanity, in such perfect timing. And as if an arrow had struck him, he froze. Even his thoughts - empty. But he was under your effect, that was certain, with that faint blush easily deepening, splashing his cheeks in a far more noticeable way. In a way that was, quite frankly, very taking-advantage-of-able. "Are you okay? You're looking a bit red?" Don't come closer, don't come closer, don't come closer, DON'T- Of course you came closer. Of course you placed your hand on his forehead, pressing ever so lightly. "Do you have a fever?" "NO! I'm fine. Don't touch me!" Though he attempted to swat your hand away, it was clearly rather low-effort, and your hand remained on his forehead. He almost leaned into it, and you could hear words so unfitting of Shu's voice, yet undeniably in his voice. Ah~ Your hand is so soft... I wish time would stop so you would never pull away... It's so warm... What a capricious man.

"You're burning up, Shu! And you scolded me about getting sick..." "I'm not sick, I told you! Let go this instant!" Please don't let go please don't let go please don't let go "Why don't you move away? Nobody's holding you." Really, nobody was. You only kept your hand on his forehead, but he was free to even just take a single step backwards. But you knew the reason. And he knew the reason as well. The blush spread to the tip of his ears, making him look nothing less than like a rose in bloom. Or an embarrassed tomato. "You're not sick? So what's with your face? You're red all over. Could it be you're embarrassed?" You happily watched his composure crumble, his breathing turn uneven, his eyes trembling. What's happening?

Suddenly, his cheeks were cupped, squished until his mouth was stuck in a pout. A most undignified state that had him scrambling, trying to push your hands away, but ultimately it was a fruitless endeavor. What's happening!??!?! "You're so cute." "UNHAND ME!" But, like a puppy, his thoughts just repeated the compliment over and over. I'm cute... I'm cute...? He seemed to enjoy it, his heart pounding in his ears at the words, at your touch, at how close your faces were. "You're adorable. Do you like it when I compliment you like that?" I love it "You do, don't you? So cute."

A loud smooch to his cheek. And his knees buckled. Pathetically. "Wha-what is the meaning of this? You're behaving most inappropriately and-!" "Are you crying?" "I'm NOT!" He was not... technically. The tears that collected in the corners of his eyes were those of frustration with himself, frustration with the situation. I would want for nothing more than to embrace you and kiss you, but... Even his thoughts hadn't a ready excuse. It was simply not something that would be in his nature. But I could never take the lead with such acts.

And isn't that all you needed to know to grab his face once more, albeit less like a fussy baby's and more gently now, to cup his jaw and press your lips against his? To cradle his face in your hands, to feel his body tensing up for a mere moment, before his arms caught hold of your shoulders, attempting to ground himself. His breathing evening once more, though his heart continued pounding hard enough that you could feel it against your own chest. And his inner monologue nothing but an unending scream of, what you assumed to be, excitement. It probably wouldn't be horror, else he wouldn't have been kissing back as fervently as he was. Pulling away was equally as entertaining as listening to his inner screaming throughout the kiss, rather, watching him quickly trying to mask his softened features back into a frown, getting ready to scold you, but... No words came out.

"You..! You..! You.....!" He tried his best, he really did. I cannot believe you did that i cannot believe we did that that was so good that was great i want to do that again i never want to be away from you i want to hug you more i want to kiss you more i want to "Me? Me? Me?" You mocked, a victorious smile on your face, knowing you had one over him. Him, who was still out of breath, tried as he did to hide it. "You're that into me, huh?" At this point, he had the bright idea to hide his face. "I already saw how red you are, no use hiding it now. Come kiss me again." Peeking through his fingers, no, glaring through his fingers. He pondered on a response for a second, face still heating up, embarrassment still evident. But, for once, his thoughts and words overlapped, "Can I?"

#very low effort but watch one day i'll write a proper makeout fic with shu #ensemble stars #asks #my writing #fuck it gets the tag #shu itsuki #shu itsuki x reader

[bhaalsdeepbat]

I saw some discussions about how evil Gortash was when Karlach worked for him, and how she should have been aware, but there are a few things going on that make me believe she never got the whole picture. I think she only saw what Gortash wanted her to see.

She's a victim of powerful people who see other people as tools and pawns for their own ambitions. She's a soldier who was tempted by the promise of a good life doing a job that she believed in (at the time), only to find out the horrors happening under her nose. And I don't think she was ever aware of them!

Karlach makes it clear she wouldn't have worked for Gortash if she knew half of what he was actually doing. She didn't even get the whole picture until she returns to Baldur's Gate with the squad.

And again. She was a child when she started working for Gortash. He must have known what to say to her, specifically, because she believed in him SO much before he ripped everything away from her and betrayed her. I don't think she'd have trusted/respected him if she had even the faintest idea of what was going on.

And that's kinda the story with a lot of soldiers, y'know? They sign up to get themselves out of poverty, they grow up a bit, and they either double down in their beliefs or they realize the life of a soldier isn't what they thought it would be. I think she represents this kind of person really well, tbh.

Then, she spends her entire time back on the Sword Coast protecting people and doing the things that she wanted to be doing with her life, before getting caught up in the service of people out for their own power and conquest.

She is the goodest girl, but even the best people can be caught up supporting the worst people, especially when subterfuge and forced servitude are involved.

#bat plays bg3 #gortash is so charismatic too he would know just what to say #zariel shes literally leashed to but gortash? #he had to know he would need to control what info karlach was privy to so he could maintain his grasp on her #karlach respected him so much i dont think she could feel the memory of that respect #if she knew literally anything #but ye i keep thinking abt this #she's the best girl who keeps continuing to do good despite the cards she's dealt #and she was misguided as a youth but like #children shouldnt have to make choices like “should I become a child soldier so i can keep food in our bellies and a roof over our head?” #bc that was the choice Karlach had to make #and im sure there were worse avenues she could have gone it was baldur's gate for durge's sake #but she would have went with the one that seemed like the lesser evil if not a net good #and i think the latter is what she saw in Gortash's ambitions #not realizing the trap she's getting caught in #karlach #bg3

[sesamestreep]

can’t do my homework and i can’t think straight

(read on AO3)

(read the series in order)

SUMMARY: Foggy spends a month and half thinking about that New Year’s Eve kiss with Matt and resolves to do something about it, finally. A/N: a Valentine's Day follow up to my New Years fic/1960s AU! Hooray!! LOVE! Content warning for some period-typical homophobia stuff but not a lot honestly and nothing explicit/violent. Mostly it’s just idiotic pining and being excited to kiss your BFF! Enjoy! MWAH! 💋♥️

People warned Foggy that something like this would happen. They said that his last semester of law school would be the toughest, not just because he’d have to worry about the bar exam and finding a job on top of his schoolwork, but because he’d find that he suddenly wanted to give up on all of it and do nothing instead. And he does! He’s getting precisely nothing done for any of his classes and even less done for his other responsibilities. He, apparently, wants to squander twenty-something years of hard work in school, tank his grades, and abandon all of his ambitions at once. But that’s unfortunately not the worst of it. Foggy has a bigger problem. It’s one thing to not want to deal with his responsibilities, but the thing he does want to do instead is…dangerous. It’s not something he should be considering at all.

On New Year’s Eve—or, rather, in the first moment of the New Year—he’d done the most foolish, drunken, idiot thing that he’d ever come up with in his whole natural life and he’d kissed his roommate at the stroke of midnight. It wasn’t a serious kiss—he’d been going for Matt’s cheek, trying to be friendly about it, but Matt had turned at the last second and he’d caught him on the mouth instead. All told, it had only lasted a moment, but it had been on his mind ever since. Neither of them had gotten carried away, or done anything really that Foggy regrets, except the part where they eventually broke apart and acted like nothing had happened. That had been regrettable and, if Foggy’s being honest with himself, it’s the breaking apart that he most regrets.

In the month or so since, they’ve successfully gone back to normal. They’re the same as they’ve ever been, except now Foggy knows what it’s like to kiss Matt—earnestly and chastely, sure, but a kiss is a kiss. And the really dangerous thing is that he wants to know more. He wants to know what it’s like to kiss Matt with the guarantee of privacy, when they’re not in uncomfortable party clothes at a stuck up classmate’s apartment, when they don’t have the excuse of New Year’s Eve. He wants to know what it’s like to kiss him just as earnestly but not so chastely. He’s distracted by daydreams of pinning him to his bed and kissing him for hours and then—he doesn’t know what, then, but he’s thinking about it rather than studying right now and he doesn’t have the faintest idea what he’s supposed to do about it.

It’s proven to be a persistent distraction. In the library, he thinks of talking Matt into sneaking off and kissing him in the dusty old reference section where no one would interrupt them. When they’re grabbing food on campus, he thinks of kissing Matt briefly on the lips when he thanks him for grabbing him a cup of coffee or passing the salt shaker, like Foggy has seen old married couples do. When they’re alone in their apartment, trying to get ahead of all their work for this semester, Foggy thinks about sitting on Matt’s bed, where he does most of his studying, and gently taking off his glasses and putting them aside so he can kiss him until they both forget about law school and the bar exam and the future.

It’s a wonder he hasn’t flunked out already.

It’s just nerves, he figures. Foggy doesn’t want to deal with reality, where he has to graduate and get a job and become an actual adult in the next six months, so he’s picked something outlandish and impossible to distract himself with. He’s never wanted to kiss another guy before this, so it’s odd that it’s started now. Too odd to be a coincidence. It has to be some sort of avoidant behavior.

Then again, he has spent the last six years of his life talking about how great Matt is and grumbling good-naturedly about how all the girls want him instead. Was this something he was always thinking of in the back of his mind during those moments? He calls Matt handsome a lot, after all. And why had he even gone to kiss him on the cheek that night anyway? Matt had talked about not wanting to kiss someone at midnight that he’d never see again and Foggy had been, well, a little drunk but also unimpressed. Matt loved to flirt with girls and never see them again. It was a constant source of annoyance among the female population of their acquaintance. Foggy had just felt fed up with Matt’s excuses and reckless and drunk and he’d…well, he’d thought it was his right, as Matt’s best friend, to shock him out of his bad mood and cheer him up. And so he’d kissed him. No matter how much he tries to do the math, he can’t make it add up right.

Foggy’s not the sort of guy who cares about these things, usually. He’s been called a pansy and a sissy and a lot of less nice words his whole life, because he’s a little soft and a little sensitive and he doesn’t care about a lot of the things guys his age are meant to care about. He can’t keep the rules of football straight enough to care about catching the game, he doesn’t know anything about cars because he grew up in the city without one, and he wants to be a lawyer to help people, not to be able to afford a country club membership one day. That’s apparently enough to be considered effeminate these days, as some men are only too happy to tell him. Foggy doesn’t let it get to him often; he knows who he is and he earned that the hard way. People that don’t get it don’t have to bother with him.

He never felt weird about it growing up. He was always a mama’s boy anyway, and his mother didn’t try to toughen him up or anything silly like that. She appreciated the help in the kitchen and with the housework and she insisted that if he was going to go off into the world, he would know how to hard boil an egg and sew a button and iron his own clothes, so that he wouldn’t be dazzled by the first girl who could do those things for him. It was, she claimed, to ensure he ended up with someone worthy, someone he actually liked and respected. Respect was a big thing with his mother, for obvious reasons, he supposed. She’d been insistent with teaching him and his brother how to act right around girls. She taught them to take no for an answer, and to listen when girls talked about their dreams and their needs. She’d had to teach their father these things after they got married, and she considered herself lucky that she’d got herself a husband who was even willing to put in the effort, but her sons were going to do better. They would be respectful and kind and decent. They would be gentlemen.

Foggy’s brother got married right out of high school and started providing his parents with grandchildren immediately, so the pressure had been off Foggy for a while. Thankfully, too, because Foggy met lots of nice girls who were interesting and pretty and none of them seemed to feel the same way about him. He’s dated, of course, but it always stalls out somewhere. The closest he got to something serious was with Marci during their sophomore year but she ran hot and cold on him for a almost a year before they ultimately called it off. Foggy wanted someone who wanted him all the time, and he suspected Marci also wanted that too. That she wanted to want him more than she actually just wanted him. She got engaged to someone else a few months ago and Foggy had drank himself into a stupor about it more out of general dissatisfaction with his life than personal injury to his pride. Matt had rubbed his back and lied through his teeth about how Foggy would find someone too someday during the subsequent hangover.

Which brings him back to Matt, like always. Foggy’s comfortable around Matt, in a way he’s never been around any girl, but he always assumed that was pure socialization. His mother and everyone else on earth had been drumming into his ear from the age of 10, if not earlier, that he wasn’t to take liberties with girls, that he should never be alone with them, that they were different creatures from him and that they wanted different things—nicer things and softer things, purer things—and that they’d be insulted by his base desires so he’d better keep those damn things on a leash around them. Foggy doesn’t mind being respectful, but he’s met his fair share of girls in college and law school, and some of them want things that make him blush. Some of them, he imagines, would be just fine with the things he wants to do with them, if their parents and teachers and whoever else could just ease up on the expectations every now and again.

He doesn’t feel that guilt when he thinks about Matt. He doesn’t feel like he’d have to lie about what he wants with another guy. He wouldn’t have to avoid or acknowledge the specter of marriage if he was with another guy, because it’s not a possibility. He wouldn’t have to panic about getting anyone into trouble—well, he wouldn’t have to worry about getting anyone pregnant, at least. Fooling around with a man is, technically, illegal, so he could get someone into a lot of trouble, actually. But he and Matt already live together. There’s a lot less danger with that kind of thing in your own home, or at least he thinks. He doesn’t know for sure.

He’s only ever been with girls, and only a few. He doesn’t even know any gay men, as far as he knows. He just…gets hot when he thinks about it, and he suspects that’s enough. Maybe it’s the sort of feeling that only matters when you act on it—maybe if he finds a nice girl and settles down and never thinks about doing something filthy to his best friend in the law library again, he can safely claim he’s just a straight man for as long as he lives—but Foggy already thinks that’s bullshit and he hasn’t even done anything yet. Just the thought is enough, for him. Maybe not for other people, that’s not really his business, but the minute he started thinking and feeling this way, he knew something about himself. Maybe not something he’d necessarily been hiding or ignoring, but something that was true nonetheless, whether it was new or not.

And now he’s thinking about Matt and running his hands up his sides and combing his hair with his fingers while he kisses him senseless for endless stretches of time and his essay isn’t getting done and he’s hard underneath his desk. He leans back in his chair, disappointed in himself as usual, and counts back from one hundred by threes until he calms down. Something must be done about this, he decides, then and there. This is getting out of control.

By the time Matt comes home an hour later, he’s come up with a plan. A stupid plan, probably, but a plan nonetheless.

“Matt, thank God,” he says, as Matt strips off his coat to hang it up by the door. That action alone does not make his heart race, at all, and he would swear to it under oath. “Save me from this essay.”

“Going that well, huh?” Matt asks, coming to stand by his shoulder, and smelling of the sharp, cold winter air.

Foggy leans back in his chair, until his head rests against Matt’s stomach. Matt puts a hand on his shoulder, looking down at him sympathetically. “Spectacular,” Foggy says. “My best work yet.”

“Good to hear,” Matt says, giving him a friendly, encouraging pat before starting to turn away. “I’m going to take a shower to thaw out. You mind?”

“No,” Foggy replies, definitely not thinking about warming Matt up himself. “I mean, it’s not like the heat in this place is anything to write home about.”

“I meant, you don’t need the bathroom before I go in there?”

Foggy shakes his head, clearing out the cobwebs. “Oh, no, go ahead.”

“Thanks.”

“Wait, Matt…”

“Yeah?”

Foggy licks his lips, thinking about his incredibly stupid plan and decides he’d rather get it over with now, so that if it crashes and burns, Matt will go take his shower and Foggy can suffer his embarrassment alone and in relative peace. He can even sneak out of the apartment, if it goes really, really poorly.

“I just remembered, I, uh, had a question for you,” he says, trying to seem nonchalant about it.

Matt shifts to face him more fully and crosses his arms over his chest. “Okay. Shoot.”

“Are you doing anything Friday?” Foggy asks, feeling like his heart is beating in the vicinity of his throat. “Night, I mean. Friday night.”

“Uh, no?” Matt answers, hesitantly. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“I was thinking we could go to the movies,” Foggy says. “I mean, I want to go to the movies and I hate going alone, so if you’d—it’d be my treat, since I want to go and you maybe don’t—but if you’d go with me, that would be, well…good.”

“Oh,” Matt says, softly and with some confusion. “Well, I don’t really go to the movies much, for…obvious reasons.”

Foggy’s face heats. “Right, of course. I know. I just…I could describe stuff, when there’s no dialogue. I’ve done that before…with you…”

“Sure,” Matt says, looking slightly uncomfortable. “But the, uh, other thing is…well, Friday is Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh, I hadn’t actually realized,” Foggy replies, faintly. He had known, of course. He was counting on everyone around them being gooey in love to embolden him and maybe soften the ground a little. Holiday love rituals had gotten him this far, after all. “You probably have plans, or you want to keep it open for a girl, or something.”

Matt shakes his head, frowning. “No, no, it’s not that,” he says, stuffing his hands into his pockets uncomfortably. “It’s just that the movies will be packed with people on dates and we’ll be ruining the mood talking through the whole picture.”

“Yeah,” Foggy says, sadly. “You’re probably right. I, uh, just thought…well, I needed a carrot on a string to get me through this essay and I thought if I said I’d go to…never mind. I’m acting nuts and I hadn’t realized, about Valentine’s Day and all, so it’s—”

“Foggy,” Matt interrupts, gently, “you know, if you’re still upset about Marci getting engaged and Valentine’s Day is going to be tough for you this year, you can just say that.”

Foggy just blinks at him, utterly surprised by this. “What?”

Matt huffs, like he doesn’t really want to have to say any of this but he has to. “I just, you don’t have to lie,” he explains. “If you need company on Friday, just say so! I don’t mind. Valentine’s Day puts ideas into girls’ heads anyway, so I don’t mess around with it. We can do something the two of us. But be honest enough to tell me the real reason, okay?”

Foggy is nodding along with all of this like it makes all the sense in the world, when really his insides are in turmoil. Because his lie absolutely didn’t work and Matt saw through it immediately, but he’s also given Foggy the perfect new excuse—a better one, even. Matt will absolutely forego any other plans to support Foggy in his time of need. He’d get what he wants, which is to spend Valentine’s Day with his…well, his crush, and he wouldn’t have to admit anything right now. But he’d get it by lying, and that’s the sticking point. Because Matt just asked him not to do that and Foggy’s stupid and idealistic and, deep down, honest. He wants this thing, but he wants even more to get it honestly, which is just not going to happen.

He’s still nodding when he says, “That’s sweet of you, Matt, but you—you’re wrong. I mean, that’s not why I asked.”

Matt’s head tips to the side in interest. “Oh?”

The nice thing about being in love with someone who’s blind, Foggy realizes now, is that he doesn’t feel any pressure to look Matt in the eyes when he confesses his feelings. He’s staring at the floor, in fact, when he says, “I asked you out because I want to take you out. On a date.”

“You want to—on a date?”

Foggy laughs, a little bitterly, at the shock in Matt’s voice and doesn’t check to see if it’s visible on his face. Everyone wants to date Matt; how could this possibly be that much of a surprise?

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

“Why?”

Foggy laughs again and then sighs. In for a penny… “Well, what I’d really like to do is kiss you again and I think the old adage is that I should buy you dinner first.”

There’s a pointed silence after he says that, like Matt is trying to make him think about what he’s done and really stew in it. And it should be brutal, really it should, but the truth is, he feels better than he has in at least a month. It’s hurt more than he’s realized to keep this in, to lie and make excuses when he stares at Matt a little too long or wants him too much. There’s a chance this will ruin their friendship forever, that Matt’s actually deeply offended and sickened right now and will demand he leave or something equally dramatic, that Matt will react violently, as some men do, to the idea that another man wants him like that. But, more likely, it will just make things weird between them for a while, it will change their dynamic in some ways, but mostly, Matt will just know. About Foggy. And that feels…nice, in some way. Just to tell someone, to not be alone with the idea anymore. Even if he doesn’t get what he wants out of it.

“I thought a movie ticket would suffice,” Foggy continues, since Matt clearly isn’t going to say anything. “And a popcorn. I’m not a cheapskate, after all.”

“Foggy,” Matt interjects, sounding raw. It’s only then that Foggy chances to even look at him and his expression is open and…hurt. That’s not what Foggy was expecting at all. “Please…”

“Please what?” Foggy asks, breathless. He doesn’t dare to hope…

“Please don’t do this,” Matt says, and crushes that faint ember of hope immediately. “It was one kiss. It’s not a big deal. We don’t have to—“

“I know we don’t have to, Matt. I’m saying I want to. I want you.”

“You don’t. You’re confused, and lonely, and it’s just—“

“Matt, please,” Foggy says, holding up a hand to forestall him, “it’s okay. You can reject me, that’s fine, but do me the courtesy of not telling me how I feel, alright? I know how I feel, much better than you do.”

“I’m sorry,” Matt replies, shakily, like he’s trying hard not to cry and of all the things in this conversation that could break Foggy’s heart, it’s that. Not the parts about him or his own feelings, but knowing that he’s made Matt want to cry. Matt’s his favorite person in the whole world. Foggy never wants him to cry, least of all because of him. That’s the worst case scenario. “I’m glad you told me, really—“

“Okay,” Foggy snorts. “There’s no need for you to lie either.”

“I mean it, though! I am glad. And I’m—I love you, Foggy. This doesn’t change anything.”

It will change plenty, Foggy thinks, but he knows what Matt means. He means that they’ll still be best friends, and roommates, and they’ll still be here for each other. It means that Matt doesn’t mind that he’s…well, queer and that’s…something. It would be worth a lot more to him if it wasn’t on the heels of a rejection, so Foggy imagines one day he’ll be able to appreciate it, once the hurt of the other thing fades. If he’s good at one thing in this life, it’s brushing off rejection. He’s had his fair share of practice.

“Thanks,” is what he manages to say, staring at the floor again.

“It’s for the best,” Matt says. “It wouldn’t be like you think it would. I’d disappoint you, I promise, and then we’d ruin everything.”

Foggy picks his head up at that. As rejections go, it’s an odd tact to take. He’s had more than one girl do the whole ‘you’re too good for me and that’s why we won’t work’ routine with him and it never feels genuine. Matt’s talking like that now, except he’s shaking and stuttering his way through it, which either means he does genuinely believe it or he’s the world’s greatest actor. Foggy assumed the genuine feeling in what Matt’s saying was because he genuinely loves Foggy as a friend and hates to hurt him. But what if—?

“Matt,” Foggy says, softly, “I need to ask you something. And I promise I’m not being a sore loser or anything like that, but I need you to answer honestly.”

Matt fidgets where he’s standing, looking very much like someone who’s going to lie no matter what. “Alright,” he says, instead, the word coming out like a breath.

“Are you saying no because you really don’t want me at all?” Foggy asks, heart in his throat again. “Or are you saying no because you think you should?”

Matt’s expression turns pained. “Foggy…”

“Because I’ve been listening to what you’re saying—really, I have—and I haven’t actually heard you say that you don’t want this. That you don’t want me, I mean. You’ve just said it’s a bad idea, and it would go wrong, and you’d disappoint me, but you haven’t actually said no…”

“Don’t make me say it,” Matt whispers, with a white knuckle control over himself that Foggy envies. “Just, please, don’t.”

“I need you to,” Foggy says, and is disappointed to feel tears in his own eyes now. “I need you to, Matt, so I can stop hoping.”

Matt shakes his head, and Foggy prepares himself for it. To hear the word ‘no’ and start living in a world where he was stupid enough to ask for this in the first place. He thinks he’s tough enough to bear it, but it will be something to bear. He won’t be able to carry it off lightly, not for a long time, he imagines.

Matt takes another shaky breath, and lets it out slowly. “This is a bad idea,” he says, and Foggy’s never crossed a room faster in his life.

He’s never going to forget, not as long as he lives, the way it feels to take Matt’s face in his hands and move to kiss him, only to find him waiting for it, eagerly. The last time had been an accident, a mistake, a surprise and it had been clumsy and shy as a result. It hadn’t been his most passionate and artful kiss in memory but it had haunted him nonetheless. This kiss is something else. It isn’t artful either but it is the expression of a month’s—of who knows how long’s—worth of passion contained haphazardly, stuffed away where it wouldn’t bother anyone. If saying what he felt out loud for the first time was freeing, this is reality altering.

He knew Matt could kiss. Of course, he could. Being handsome could get you dates, but the sort of passionate pursuit Matt so often inspired could only come from being an actual good time. But Matt can really kiss, Foggy’s just now understanding. He’d normally be more gracious and more deferential about just slipping his tongue into someone’s mouth right away, but Matt’s parting his lips and allowing him in instantly, begging for it, really. Foggy knew he was passionate, but there’s a difference between knowing and knowing and now he knows. It’s like he’s holding fire in his hands.

“Still think this is a bad idea?” Foggy asks, against his mouth. He can feel Matt’s teeth against his bottom lip, not biting down, just there as they indelicately pant into each other’s mouths.

Matt groans, and Foggy feels it like it’s everywhere. “It’s the worst fucking idea of all time,” he says, shaking his head.

Foggy nods and moves to give him a series of brief, but equally messy kisses, all of which Matt meets just as eagerly as the first one. “We could stop,” he says, “if you want.”

“You can’t—“ Matt laughs, kind of miserably. “That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair? We can stop! I’m not kidding.”

“I don’t want to stop,” Matt replies, burying his face in Foggy’s neck. “I mean, Jesus Christ, Foggy! You know I don’t.”

Foggy threads his fingers through Matt’s hair, his first fantasy to come to life so far. “I don’t know anything you haven’t told me, baby,” he says, emboldened by Matt swearing. He almost never does that, and he always looks all guilty and repentant afterwards. He doesn’t look guilty now, though.

Matt groans into his neck, which feels incredible, and Foggy takes the chance to kiss his temple where he can reach it. “Oh, God,” Matt says, not sounding pleased.

“What?” Foggy asks, maneuvering him so he can see Matt’s face again. “Was it the ‘baby’ thing? Because that just came out, but if you don’t like it…”

Matt shakes his head and rubs a hand over his face. “That was—I don’t know. ‘Fine’ is definitely not the right word, but…I don’t mind it.”

“You don’t mind it?”

A charming pink color rises in Matt’s cheeks. “I liked it,” he grumbles, as though it’s been bullied out of him.

“Then, what’s the matter? And don’t say nothing, because you took the Lord’s name in vain back there, so I know it was something.”

Matt shakes his head again, like he can keep whatever is bothering him at bay by just denying it enough. “It’s just…such a mess,” he says, quietly, like reality can hear them.

“It’s not such a mess, is it?”

“I don’t—I’ve never—I didn’t know you—“

“Matt,” Foggy says, holding his face, “baby, breathe, okay? It’s not—we don’t have to figure it out tonight.”

“Right, but—“ Matt pauses, chewing on his lower lip. “Everything’s different now, isn’t it?”

Foggy considers this, because a rash answer seems like the likeliest way to cause harm here. He’s had a month of thinking this over, deciding what it means in relation to who he is, figuring out how he feels about it. If he knows Matt, and if he’s had any sort of similar feelings since their first kiss, he’s shoved them somewhere dark and deep and refused to think about them at all. He’s trying to make sense of it all right now this second, which is a tall order for anybody and an even taller one for the likes of Matt.

“Some things are the same,” Foggy says, brushing a thumb over Matt’s cheekbone tenderly. “You’ve got me, same as always. We’ll figure out the rest eventually, okay? There’s no rush.”

Something about Matt’s expression says that he really wants to argue about this, but the daunting task of parsing everything this could possibly change for both of them, individually and together, must outweigh his stubbornness, because he eventually surrenders and nods. He lifts a hand up to curl around Foggy’s wrist where he’s still holding Matt’s face, his fingertips brushing against Foggy’s pulse point.

“Okay,” he says, sounding entranced by Foggy’s false confidence. “So, what now?”

“Well, I was going to let you take your shower, finally,” Foggy says, stepping back a little, “after I rudely distracted you.”

Matt wets his lips and nods, looking very distracted. “I’m not really cold anymore,” he says, with a laugh.

“One of my many talents,” Foggy replies, smiling. “I’m basically a furnace.”

“I already knew that.”

“Yeah, well…”

“I could probably still use the shower, though,” Matt says, thoughtfully.

“Yeah, go ahead. I need to work on this, anyway, and like I said, I didn’t mean to—“

“I think,” Matt interjects, slowly, like the idea’s still coming to him, “you should join me, actually.”

That stops Foggy short. “Join you?”

“Yeah,” Matt replies, licking his lips still, which…he really needs to stop that immediately.

“In the shower?”

Matt hums in agreement, and waits expectantly. “You don’t want to?” he asks, sounding surprised and…yes, disappointed.

“I don’t, um…is this something—is this code for something?” Foggy asks, feeling embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m doing! I just thought if I acted like I was confident, it would—“

Matt comes closer again, and wraps his arms around Foggy’s middle before pressing a kiss to his sternum, which is covered in a thick, cable knit sweater and a few other layers besides, but he feels it like it’s directly on his skin.

“You’ve never showered with a girl, then, I take it?” Matt asks, and it’s very clear he’s trying to be patient and maybe not laugh, which Foggy appreciates, all things considered.

“Uh, no,” Foggy replies, mind reeling. No girl has ever offered and he’d never thought of it. He feels very sheltered all of a sudden. “I haven’t. Is it—is it fun?”

Matt clearly tamps down on his smile for Foggy’s benefit. “It can be,” he says, gently, “but if it’s too fast, we don’t have to…”

“Not too fast,” Foggy interjects, even though his heartbeat is already galloping away at the idea. Excitedly, though. Matt, naked. Matt, warm and wet in his arms. He can see the appeal. Easily.

“No?” Matt asks, eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. Foggy’s excitement was maybe too obvious, in retrospect.

“I mean, it’s one way to conserve hot water,” Foggy says.

“Ever the pragmatist,” Matt says, and kisses him again, searching and slow and deep. Like he’s trying to pull Foggy under with him. “We can still take it slow,” he adds, when he’s got Foggy good and pliant.

Foggy nods, obedient. He’s struggling to think what Matt could ask for right now that he wouldn’t give him, but that doesn’t matter. They seem to want the same thing at the moment.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says, against Matt’s mouth. “Together.”

“Together,” Matt agrees, as they continue to get lost in each other.

*

After they’ve showered and gotten themselves decent again (which takes…a while, obviously), Foggy makes them both grilled cheese sandwiches and heats up some leftover soup while Matt sits on the counter, telling Foggy about his day and looking pretty. It’s the happiest Foggy can remember being in a very long time.

Once dinner’s done and eaten, Matt banishes him from the kitchen so he can clean up and orders him to work on his essay again. It’s been a productive and rewarding study break by any metric, so Foggy doesn’t argue, even though he wants to. He doubts his professor gives extensions for lovesickness, anyway. Not without a doctor’s note, at least.

Matt’s iron will only lasts an hour, until he comes to find Foggy working in the living room and starts kissing his neck without preamble. It’s pretty clear from that that the studying portion of the evening is now over, so Foggy picks him up and presses him into the couch cushions and does his level best to get Matt to take the Lord’s name in vain some more.

A few hours, and a lot more fooling around, later finds them in Foggy’s bed, because the radiator in Matt’s room has been making weird noises that they’ve had no luck talking their super into fixing so far. There’s the comforting sound of the functioning radiator running in the background, and the light rhythmic tapping as sleet hits the windows, and the noises of traffic on the street below, but mostly Foggy is just listening to Matt breathe as they lie together in the dark. He’s also playing with Matt’s hair again, because his daydreams didn’t do justice to how soft it would be and how quickly Matt would turn into a lap cat when he did it.

“Foggy,” Matt says, into the quiet, his voice soft and nearing sleep.

“Hmm?”

“You said something about Valentine’s Day.”

“When?” Foggy asks, wondering if he’d somehow fallen asleep and muttered to himself without realizing it. “Just now?”

“No. Earlier. You said you wanted to go to the movies.”

“Oh, right,” Foggy replies. “I was just…we don’t have to do that, I mean…”

“I still think the movies might not be a good idea,” Matt says, carefully. “But I, uh—I’ll still be around, you know. If you wanted to do something else…”

Foggy’s heart flips over in joy and excitement and a dozen other emotions he can’t identify, but he tries to maintain an outward appearance of calm, at least. “Are you saying you want to be my Valentine, Matt?” he asks, smiling unrepentantly.

There’s a long pause that very clearly telegraphs whatever Matt says next will be a lie. “I’m not saying that,” he replies, finally, almost a full minute later.

“Right,” Foggy says, just barely suppressing a laugh. “You’re just saying that you’re free on Friday, which just so happens to be Valentine’s Day, and that you’d like to spend it with me…”

“Right.”

“But you don’t want to be my Valentine.”

“I’m not saying that either.”

“So you’re not saying you want to be my Valentine, but you’re not saying you don’t want to be my Valentine? Have I got that right?”

“More or less,” Matt mumbles.

“I’d be your Valentine,” Foggy says, “for what it’s worth.”

Matt nods distractedly, looking slightly seasick and completely out of his depth. “Okay.”

Foggy decides then that the nice thing to do here is to put Matt out of his misery for the time being. “How would you feel about maybe staying in?” he asks, leaning in to kiss him again. “Rather than going out?”

Matt meets him in the middle, happily, qualms momentarily forgotten. “I feel strongly in favor of the idea,” he says, as their lips meet.

“It’s a date, then.”

#please imagine me putting a daredevil themed valentine sealed with a sticker #with a heart shaped lollipop taped to the front into the makeshift mailbox on your desk at school #because this is my valentines treat to you #I know it’s early but I wrote this in like December so… #I have been chomping at the bit to share it #30 days challenge resumes tomorrow or whenever I get my shit together again #here is a longer and dare I say better fic to tide you over until then #mattfoggy #daredevil #matt murdock #foggy nelson #valentines day #valentines day fic #series: having a coke with you #homelywenchsociety #that’s my writing tag! don’t worry about it!

[cosmica-galaxy]

So I came up with my own player (again), or at least an idea. I was inspired not just by your writings but these three songs.

:Inevitabilis『Homura's Theme』 【English】:

:Who Will Know (24 Bigslow):

:God Shattering Star:

…

A player that's emotional and quick to form attachments, a player that tries to give their vessels the best outcome each run but can't, someone always gets hurt, and it kills them on the inside.

Once they got transported to the game they instantly became an overseer of the grunts inhabiting the world, taking the sun's place and becoming the moon. Or the equivalent of it, they refuse to come near the world in fear that they might lash out due to their emotional instability, making things worse. You know, like how the moon has an effect on our tides if it gets close.

Their face is covered up by a shadow, there's three phases to it, “new moon” is when it's covering the whole face with the faintest light surrounding the outline of their head. While “half moon” and “full moon” are pretty self explanatory.

Their strings have the solidity of violin strings and shimmer in the light, a feeling of drowsiness takes over the puppet when the strings take hold of them.

Has a soft spot for Hofnarr, therefore they stole him oway before he had the chance of becoming Tricky, one of their greatest failures from previous attempts, he's in a coma the whole time he's up there because the god don't know what to do with him, or how to stop his inevitable transformation.

They did learn how to communicate through dreams, though the grunts that are subjected to them have a hard time remembering the dreams, except the feeling it left with them. So Hofnarr isn't completely unconscious, they try to keep him company through the dreams.

Due to their insistent attempts at making their vessels' lives better and failing they changed from trying to change it directly to something more discrete once they ended up in the world. No more will their vessels bodies burn from old scars, instead they will appear on the deities back in the shape of debris, burns, bullet wounds and so, so much more. They've grown used to it but too much at the same time can prove critical. Much like how the other side of our moon that's facing the vast unknown has been damaged by asteroids.

Their pain is tremendous but their love is bigger.

…

But everyone has their breaking point, they just hope they're far oway enough that they don't harm anyone when, or if it happens.

And that's where the last song comes in, this last (in progres) phase is called “Mourning Star” in which their face is lit up ablaze, their choice of weapon is a morning star plucked from their back. They are no longer shredded in darkness, showing off their pain and sorrow that's overshadowed by their rage field might. No longer holding back their emotions and laying waste to the land they once sought to help prosper. This phase will most likely never be seen, not unless the employers get involved or there's more players, but even with those scenarios it would be a slim chance. If anything they could help the suffering player.

There like a glass cannon, they can conflict dubious amounts of damage but can just as easily be killed due to taking so much of others pain, letting their selfless actions become their hubris, Hank just needs the courage to kill another sun.

Side note, I'm thinking of renaming this phase to “Burning Star” and calling the much more mentally well and heald phase “Mourning Star”, showing that they're still sad but they're no longer holding it in to an unhealthy degree. I just really like the name is all.

Also it's not just there vessel they visit in their dreams but some npc's too, because they've grown attached.

…

Thoughts?

I think it's overall interesting! The Player takes up a celestial watcher role and begins to alter what would happen. It's kind of a catch 22, however. Now that they changed the route of Nevada's history by removing Tricky from the equation, various things are now bound to change and happen. Hank won't lose his jaw. The Auditor and Tricky demon hybrid won't occur. Depending on the time the Player spirits away Hoffnar, it will also impact the eventual downfall of Nexus City. In short, a LOT of things will change. Especially since the sky was still grey (which means they still had the sun) at the time of Hoffnar being stolen away. A key element in Nevada's history has been removed, which means the usual story and events won't occur. Plus, maybe the moon will change and most of the populace takes notice. Maybe the Player is even hiding from the employers and decided to disguise themselves as a celestial body in the skybox of Nevada. It's a clever plan, especially since they'll be looking down at Nevada, not up at the moon and sun. I also get the vibe that this Player would embody the whole "the road to hell is paved with good intentions" meaning. They save Hoffnar and take hits for their favorite vessels, but they risk injury and have altered the normal path of Nevada. Which could backfire horribly, now that they have no idea what will happen. Maybe without Hoffnar, the plan to siege Nexus City fails and Phobos lives, making Gestalt arrive 30 years earlier than intended. Maybe Hank doesn't have someone equally as powerful as him now that Tricky is gone and still has his face intact.

Maybe the Sheriff never gets to activate the improbability drives because Jeb is in Nexus Prison from a failed coup attempt. Thus, allowing Hank to kill him undisturbed.

There are lots of what ifs that could happen from the Player meddling with the timeline to protect what they can. Unbeknownst that they are putting everything at risk at the same time.

#shegairownmyamo #haxorus imp #hax speaks #cosmica galaxy #madcom tag #long post

[theknightswhosay]

“Something’s not right,” said Wee Jon, twirling in his ball gown. The skirts hung limp and lifeless. Where they should have swished out dramatically as he spun, they dragged along the floor, the fabric twisting around his legs.

“Where does this bit even go?” said Frenchie, holding up a yellow, triangular piece of hard fabric.

Lucius frowned, taking the piece into his hands and experimenting with places on Jon’s gown where it might fit, “I think it’s supposed to make your arse bigger? But I thought that was supposed to go underneath…wait, that doesn’t work.”

“No, no, no,” said Frenchie, “this is the bum cushion bit.” He held up a bundle of white cotton.

“No way,” said Wee Jon, “those are the petticoats, see? If you unfold it, it’s a whole bunch of skirts.”

Lucius tossed the petticoats aside, “Ok, ok, this is not working we need to call in some expert help. Let’s go find Stede.”

The man in question entered his quarters right on cue. Frenchie, Wee Jon and Lucius paused as their captain surveyed the scene. The various components of several ball gowns were strewn over the sofa and armchairs. Wee Jon stood in the centre of it all in a bedraggled state of half-dress.

“What’s going on here?” asked Stede.

Wee Jon was the first to reply, “Cap’n, we need your help. How do fancy ladies’ clothes work? Frenchie was supposed to help us out-”

“In my defence, I only helped hoity-toity gentlemen get dressed and turns out gentleladies’ clothes are very, very different. How was I to know?”

“-so if you could just help us figure it out that would be great.”

Stede froze and his usually overly-optimistic smile became strained.

“Of course! You’ve come to the right man. Naturally, I know all about fine clothes. First of all, this piece here, this is supposed to go over the front…Er, wait a second…”

As a pirate captain, it was important not to reveal one’s weaknesses to one’s men.

Naturally, he had the most experience when it came to fine clothing, but he was not about to explain to his men that he had never in his life disrobed a noble lady and didn’t have the faintest idea what happened underneath their fine silk gowns.

Whilst he was floundering, pulling random, half-remembered ideas from his mind, the men suddenly noticed that Crowley had been in the room the whole time. The demon had sat so still in the corner for so many days that the crew had forgotten he was there. It was only the rustle of petticoats that had finally roused him from a deep doze.

If there was anything that could engage Crowley, it was the opportunity to demonstrate his knowledge of fashion. That, and the chance to show off.

The demon clawed his way out of his nest of pillows with some considerable effort and the sound of scales sliding over each other, walked past Lucius, Frenchie and Stede and calmly started to untie Wee Jon’s yellow outer skirt.

The men went quiet as they watched Crowley work. His motions were competent and practised as if he had done this a million times before. (He had).

First, he lifted the yellow silk over Wee Jon’s head, who had obediently raised his arms to give him better access, “This layer is supposed to go last. The layer with the most colour and decoration is designed to be seen, but it won’t have the right form if you haven’t got your undergarments on correctly.”

Wee Jon nodded, an expression of concentration forming as he sought to memorise Crowley’s teachings.

“Most important of all is the stays, this hard structure that goes around your midriff. Everything centres on that, the skirts are tied onto it, and the outer gown is pinned into it. You’ve put this on right, but you’ve got to put the shift on beforehand - have you got one of those? Oh, yes, here it is. This layer goes first, so nothing else should directly touch your skin.”

Wee Jon obediently stripped off everything he was wearing, standing stark naked before the crew. None of them batted an eyelid at his nudity except for Stede, who flushed and looked away. Crowley helped him put the loose cotton shift over his head, and the long, formless garment settled nicely over his figure, the length reaching down to his ankles.

“The next layer should be a linen petticoat, yes, this one, thank you Frenchie. Once that’s tied in place, the stays go on.”

“Of course,” said Stede, “I knew that.”

“And then we put the hip pads or ‘bum roll’ as you so elegantly called it…”

“Hey!” said Frenchie, “just telling it like it is. That’s what it does.”

Crowley kept going, grabbing some strips of cotton and using them to fill out the chest area of the stays’ bosom, “It’s useful to add a little padding here, where you might be lacking compared to a lady. Trust me, it works well…Alright, now we have one more petticoat, this goes over the hip roll, and if it were colder you might have several more or even ones made of wool but that’s not going to be an issue in this climate…yes, there we are, all tied into place, then the stomacher…” he held up the triangular piece of material.

“That’s a what?” asked Frenchie.

“A stomacher, it goes over the front of the stays,” he miracled some pins into existence and began pinning the fabric into place, “And then it’s just the outer skirt and jacket, bear with me, this will take a few minutes… and viola! Oh, except for the stockings, we skipped that bit…”

When his work was complete, Crowley stepped back, one finger resting on his chin as he surveyed Wee Jon, getting him to twirl to check the skirts. The final touch was the hidden ribbons inside the outer skirt to lift the material into polonaise puffs.

Crowley turned around to find four pairs of eyes staring at him with awe.

“What?”

“It’s lucky for us you know yer way around women’s clothing,” Wee Jon said with a wink. Frenchie grinned at Crowley, nudging him with his shoulder and wiggling his eyebrows.

The major downside of wearing sunglasses constantly was that no one could witness a good eye roll. Crowley hoped that it was usually implied.

Wee Jon’s wink meant something along the lines of you must have ravished dozens of fine ladies. This was not the case.

The truth was that Crowley had spent several decades living as a woman at the start of the seventeenth century. He had even started the trend in England of wearing larger and larger skirts. He liked to see whether he could knock people over just by twirling.

(By 1645, he could).

His Bosses Downstairs hadn’t seen the value of Crowley’s fashion interventions over the years which was why he had stopped mentioning them in his reports. If asked, he could go on a lengthy rant about the distress and jealousy that new fashions would cause and the minor evil spread by petty fighting, rumour and gossip, but the truth was that the demon simply enjoyed it.

He was particularly proud that he had convinced Queen Elizabeth herself to wear a skirt wider than her dinner table. How fantastically absurd was that? He took some pride in these things.

Crowley decided against explaining all of this to the pirates. He didn’t expect them to understand.

Instead, he summoned up enough patience to walk Lucius and Stede through the whole process again but this time pausing regularly so that Lucius could note down everything and make sketches along the way.

When Wee Jon had been redressed for the second time, he squeezed Crowley in a breath-taking hug, “Yer alright, really, even though you call yerself a demon.”

“Er…if you could let go of me…”

“And what will you wear to the ball, Big Crow?” asked Frenchie.

“What? Oh, nahhhhh, not really my thing.”

Stede gasped. “You’re not joining us? But you must. It’s not every day a pirate crew gets to attend a ball!”

“I’ve been to enough balls,” which was true. He’d invented them, “It’s probably time I hit the road again. I need a break from the sailor’s life. I don’t know how you lot live in such close quarters for so long without going stir crazy.”

“It’s simple, really,” said Lucius, “we have lots of sex.”

Frenchie and Wee Jon burst into giggles whilst Stede went bright red.

Crowley made an unimpressed sound, “Works for some, I guess.”

Celestial vessels weren’t built for that sort of thing. Or rather, it took a lot of effort. In his experience, it was never worth it.

“It will be a shame to see you go,” said Stede, and meant it. Ever since Crowley had rescued him during the battle aboard Le Terrible, his attitude towards their wayward guest had improved marvellously.

“Before you go,” said Lucius, “would you at least let me sketch you?”

[Good omens x ofmd crossover in the style of the book Good Omens]

#ofmd #good omens #go #crossover #humor #comedy #fanfic #fic #my fics

[madamspeaker]

Bob Weir was cold.

It was a partly cloudy July night and temperatures were falling as Dead & Co. played before tens of thousands of fans in San Francisco, ancestral home of the band’s legendary forebear, the Grateful Dead.

Typical summer weather in the city, and Nancy Pelosi knew what to do.

Socks, she told the Birkenstock-shod guitarist on a visit backstage. And a hat.

It may be easier to picture the former speaker, still one of America’s most influential women, surrounded by suits and wingtips than beads and sandals. But Pelosi, who grew up listening to opera waft through the streets of Baltimore’s Little Italy, is a genuine tie-dyed in the wool Deadhead, as cultists and aficionados of the group are known.

She’s friends with Weir and drummer Mickey Hart, having seen the Dead and assorted iterations more times than she remembers. On several occasions, the elegantly styled lawmaker has been seen dancing in the wings, 4-inch heels and all.

It wasn’t certain she’d make the band’s valedictory performance that night, one of the last of Dead & Co.’s recently concluded farewell tour. The House of Representatives was pitching another fit, with balky Republicans acting up, must-pass legislation stalled and restless lawmakers anxiously eyeing the exits.

But in the end, the House approved the necessary defense spending bill with time to spare and Pelosi easily made it home for the Friday night show, mingling with the band and scoring the evening’s set list as a souvenir.

When Weir returned for the second half he was still sockless.

But he had on a hat.

Going through a closet not long ago, Pelosi came across a “Deadheads for Dukakis” purse from the 1988 presidential campaign; she was a freshman lawmaker at the time.

Nearly 20 years later, several of the band’s alumni played at a Washington gala celebrating Pelosi’s path-breaking election as speaker. (A review describes an uptight audience mostly sitting on its hands, though “Iko Iko,” the New Orleans standard, finally got some of the Beltway slugs moving.)

Hart was in the House gallery watching as Pelosi claimed the speakers’ gavel for a second time in 2019.

How and when did they meet? “I haven’t the faintest idea,” she says. Over the decades, San Francisco’s yeasty music and political scenes have blurred together, though, no, it’s not because of some bad acid.

It’s been a long, historic trip.

“They’re wonderful musicians,” Pelosi said of the Dead and company, putting a lie to the notion — propounded mostly by haters — that the group’s kaleidoscopic catalog can only be enjoyed in a drunken stupor or chemically induced haze. (Pelosi doesn’t drink and has never used drugs.) “It’s great music.”

Maybe it’s a congressional Democrat thing.

The late Harry Reid, another teetotaler and a Senate leader when Pelosi was speaker, had a Dead poster signed by the entire band hanging in his home in Searchlight, Nev. He called it his “prize possession.”

Perusing the menu at San Francisco’s Delancey Street Restaurant — a favorite of local politicians, staffed by ex-convicts and recovering addicts — Pelosi savors the freedom of life as just another member of the House.

“You have to remember,” she says, “that for 20 years, either as speaker or [minority] leader, I was responsible for everything that happened on the floor ... in terms of what happened with the Democrats ... and I didn’t even realize that it was a burden until it was gone and I was like, ‘Oh, my God. What a relief.’ ”

She continues studying the menu.

“I still, obviously, take an interest in the legislation,” Pelosi goes on, “and I still raise money for the Democrats,” though not the $1 million a day she pulled in as speaker. “It’s a completely different story.”

Other diners crane to see the celebrity in their midst, seated in a booth slightly away from the main dining area.

Orders are placed. Soon lunch arrives, an international smorgasbord of latkes, kale salad, a chicken quesadilla and matzo ball soup.

“Liberated” and “emancipated” are words Pelosi often uses in her new incarnation. She’s started on a book — not a memoir, but an account of certain decisions. Her husband, Paul, continues healing from the ghastly hammer attack by a QAnon crazy who broke into their San Francisco home last fall, looking to take the ex-speaker hostage.

Will she run again next year for a 19th term, something many in this politically hyperactive city are panting to find out? “I have to make up my mind,” Pelosi responds, purposely opaque, “and then see what I want to do.”

Back to music.

She ran a finger along the crumpled set list pointing to several favorites — “Fire On The Mountain,” “Ramble On Rose,” the trippy sound-collage “Drums/Space” and “Standing On The Moon,” with its indigenous lyric:

Somewhere in San Francisco/ On a back porch in July/ Just looking up to heaven/ At this crescent in the sky.

So beautiful, Pelosi rhapsodized, “I could listen to it forever.”

When it comes to music, Pelosi says, she’s something of an omnivore, with an appetite for “everything from rap to opera.” Drake, Taylor Swift, U2, Keith Urban, Elton John, Metallica, Stevie Wonder.

The Democrat is on a first-name basis with Bono and Cyndi Lauper as well as the other Paul and Nancy. (That would be McCartney and his wife Nancy Shevall.)

She’s hard-pressed to pick a favorite show of all time, but recounts seeing Bob Dylan with the Rolling Stones in Argentina — the “Bridges to Babylon Tour,” Pelosi specifies. She brought along a fellow Democrat, former New York Rep. Nita Lowey, who was seeing her first rock concert. (Naturally the performance included “Like A Rolling Stone.”)

At one point during the show there was an announcement, Pelosi says, seeking donations to fight HIV and AIDS. A young man circulated through the crowd and after receiving a contribution from Lowey, handed her a thank-you gift. “She’s like, ‘I don’t know what this is,’” Pelosi recalls, “‘it’s all in Spanish.’”

A pause.

“Condoms!” Pelosi exclaims.

The dishes are cleared. Time for dessert.

Pelosi considers the profiteroles, but abstains. She had three peppermint patties on the way to lunch, she confesses, and ice cream for breakfast.

These are fraught times. She turns serious.

“I’m a strong believer that the arts are the secret, our best hope for the future,” Pelosi says.

She describes the warm reception she received years ago when she was introduced at a Barbra Streisand concert.

“In that audience ... they’re not there because they’re Democrats. You’ve got a very mixed group of people. And it just completely drove home the point ... which is that [music] is a unifier. People forget their differences, they don’t even think of it. They laugh together, cry together, are inspired together, find common ground together and I do think that’s our hope.”

“That’s our hope,” she repeats.

#nancy pelosi #madam speaker

[bellshazes]

do it again directors commentary part 2

He and Etho had shown up at her favorite diner for takeout midnight breakfast while she had been hanging out at the bar, chatting with Scott, and without even thinking about it she’d joined their argument, switching sides periodically to keep it going. Years enough have passed that she can’t remember now what it had even been about, but she remembers Bdubs’ instant adoption of her as an ally and the wounded look he gave her when she conceded Etho had some good points, too. Etho had smiled brightly with his eyes and given her the faintest nod of approval, opening up the takeout boxes and settling down on the seat next to her.

this is very explicitly inspired by all the times i've gone to waffle house and the encounters i've had meeting old friends there who i never expected to see again. it's about the familiarity but also the capacity to shift and surprise and change the dynamic if it's funny. so it goes

Bdubs smiles knowingly at her. He heard all the goings-on of her tabletop campaigns and knows exactly what happened to her old D&D group. He’d been an exceptionally good sport about it, showing up for many late-night dinners to let her vent, as if it were a recap of his favorite TV show.

this and other things allude to the cleo-big b breakup that i never found a good place to make more explicit. i like the idea of it being some nebulous D&D situation partially because i despise D&D and because i think it's fun that since cleo continues to care that big b betrayed them, it should show up in silly ways, because it's fundamentally a betrayal in the specific context of a game. but it matters, what we did or didn't do, etc.

Cleo pauses and holds eye contact. For half a second she imagines a red bandana around Bdubs’ head, but it’s only the force of Bdubs’ belief that snares her.

another thing i never quite made explicit but is true: cleo received an unusually high number of lives, as did bdubs, and it's that fact that makes her more susceptible to remembering. if i had got to make it more explicit, i could've got into the exchange of lives as memory and as permanency, as debts and owing and relationships built across lifetimes... but I didn't. so this is what you get.

“That is a lot to ask of a guy, Cleo,” he says, but he stands up when she does. “If I for some reason am prevented from talking to Etho by such things as him being asleep all day, or un-overcomeable anxiety -”

i hate this line? i think i nailed bdubs' voice in the first half but i've spent so long trying to come up with something better than "un-overcomeable anxiety" and never did. i think he says things in super fucking weird ways but that's not right. it was worth leaving because i do believe in the dynamic of cleo playing mediator insofar as it's funny to them, and in cleo chastising bdubs, and their back and forth.

“Bdubs,” he says. “Hey, Bdubs.” He squeezes his hand again. “I wanted you to know. I’m so glad you were my partner.”

this whole Death Coffee Incident is borrowed wholesale from opera25's mll au, but it was fun making something kind of fantastical work. etho never was given any lives, and only gave one up to tango for the you bet your life game; he remembers here solely due to the life-threatening duress of consuming wayyyyyy too much caffeine. it was fun to write but also the pivotal moment in bdubs becoming convinced etho always had remembered and thinking then that the only reason he'd behave the way he did if he remembered was out of bloodlust... not that bdubs had yet unlocked memories of enjoying that murderousness and play back and forth.

there's a level to which this misunderstanding is a satirization/playing with fandom conceptions of if you view LL in a vacuum you get some crazy interpretations. but as they both learn, the threats were fun BECAUSE they had history and both enjoyed it. four more chapters for that to sink in though.

The process of checking into the ER is as onerous as he expected – trying to fill out the paperwork for Etho, who is still more out of it than Bdubs was when he had a head injury, having to put his foot down that he’d like to stay with his partner as much as possible and yes he had the paperwork to back him up, because Etho had made him keep a copy of important things in his wallet after he fell of the roof in case of something like this.

this part is in spite of my severe medical phobia, but also because of me working in insurance-related fields for the last 4 years. this document is called an advance directive or living will and if you live in the USA you should complete one by searching "advance directive [your state]" and filling it out and filing it according to the directions on your attorney general's website or whatever. it's genuinely imporant esp if you're not married and queer in any way. this is my one genuine PSA of the fic. but also they would. etho requesting to dot Is and cross Ts bc he thinks bdubs will be the one who needs and and then needing it himself... well. anyway.

He remembers fragments from his last death: that he had made some promise that didn’t save him, that cost him his last life. That he died calling Etho’s name, calling out to an Etho who took great joy in menacing him and making him paranoid, who had attacked him in that long dark stairway. It does not comfort him to know Etho thinks he’s responsible for whatever happened.

this chapter ends with bdubs trying and sort of succeeeding in believing in etho, but that last sentence is the lynchpin of what comes after: etho feeling even a little responsible for bdubs permadying - esp when bdubs remembers being a ghost for session 7 but was not present for etho's permadeath in session 8 - makes him think etho knows more than he does, and holds him accordingly responsible. the metacommentary is there but it wasn't the point; it's true, but incidental. the reveal eventually is that the trust was there, and that bdubs' permadeath was stupid and willing because it's about the novelty and the endless beginnings. spoilers but whatever if you're reading this you must not care by now.

chapter 4

He can feel his heart beating in his chest, and he has a sense-memory of falling down with all the vivid, terrifying sensation of jumping from the height of a swing in the park as a child, down to the faint awareness that the intervening years meant it was no longer quite the same body, that something had been knocked out of alignment by time.

it's a little tonally dissonant, but i'm still proud of this. you can tell later on i floundered for plot in this chapter, but the image of being both in the past and in the present and the overlay is important to me. it's very poetic.

Etho snagged a nametag off the apron that had been draped over the drinks counter, presumably in a now-ruined hope of ending the shift quickly, and slipped it into his pocket before turning back to smile placidly over Bdubs’ shoulder.

etho stealing the nametags is another MLL AU concept i stole and can't take credit for, but again trying to find a plausible concrete explanation for it was really fun and was the impetus for this whole chapter. grateful for it, and he's an ass and also nosy like that. he would.

Etho punched the crosswalk button and tried to remember that conversation but couldn’t. He remembered getting coffee, and that he’d almost finished it off by the time he’d gotten home. [...] “No,” he said, sounding strangled. “That hadn’t come up, actually.”

the limited alternating third person POV is restricting at times, but i really enjoy the contrast between what we already know of bdubs' perception of the Death Coffee Incident re: etho's knowledge and etho's POV making clear he doesn't know jack shit, but he cares. bdubs is reacting this way because etho saying he took the crazy coffee to stay up to see bdubs sounds like a threat, but it's also an expression of caring and not knowing how to bridge a distance.

if theres anything i believe it's that these two motherfuckers don't capital-T talk. they exclusively communicate through threats and shenanigans and team-ups and every time they mention talking outside of Events it shocks me. and yet their friendship persists over more than a decade! what miracles.

“You can’t take dreams too seriously,” Etho said, cat purring loudly under his hands, a soothing anchor. “It’s just your brain picking up on whatever’s going in your life and making up stories about it. No good worrying too much about them.”

this is mine own opinion on dreams, despite my sincere involuntary belief in signs and omens, but more importantly it is another point at which bdubs is implicitly in his own POV goign oh my god this son of a bitch is manipulating me. miscommunication for ages.

 He spends a few nights on the couch, methodically trying to rule the variables out: the quality of moonlight through his bedroom window, some oppressive sense of confinement, embracing the possibility his roommate is testing him and trying to prove to his subconscious that fishing rods are nothing to be worried about.

etho being experimental and scientific about this all is important to me. almost as much as half-remembering bdubs misinterprets this exacting need to know as being meaningful and knowing when it's not, especially when he was trying to elicit some response. guy gets a response and thinks the worst even though he's causing his own problems? there's a thesis in that

Etho bites back a comment about Bdubs’ dedication to sleep schedules and waves the criticism off instead. “I’m trying to sleep right now,” he lies. “Not my problem if you want to haunt me.”

if i ever let myself revise this chapter (and this chapter is the one i want to revise most) i want to include the detail from beau's comic of this passage of etho having his glasses on when he says this. my dude was definitely not tryign to sleep AT ALL and i forever wish i'd thought of that indicator myself.

When he sits down to start his own work for the day, he thinks about the drawing and decides then and there what his plan is to fix all this.

i wrote this line bc i have such a sense that chapter endings, like the endings of short stories, should have a paritcular cadence and effect - but neither etho nor i knew how "to fix all this" and in fact the subsequent chapters indicate he definitely was not laying his final plans yet. i've let it stay because putting this line in let me move on to write the rest of the fic... but it's untrue and a red herring and i hate it. i will fix you eventually. but not yet because i still dont' know how to satisfyingly transition.

etho doesn't get his next POV chapter until the second half of chapter 6 at the diner with cleo, where he finally confronts that his dreams might be real enough to have to deal with, and even then he goes through great lengths to validate cleo's theories by messing with tango... so who knows. but it's fine. it's fine. i hate it. it's fine

#peter writes #do it again au #for whatever it's worth i'm still always thinking abt them #even my anon fic was in my braims about DIA!ethubs. #but also these 2 chapters have several lines i hate but won't revise until/if i ever do a real revision

[waltwhitmansbeard]

go on, claim my heart: chapter five

see my masterpost for what came before this. inspired by @romeoandjulietyouwish's medieval au.

Vex is alternating between packing her gear for the journey ahead and barking out orders to her lieutenant, a young human man clearly trying not to seem overwhelmed as he frantically scribbles down everything she's telling him. It is difficult for her to decide what equipment might be useful for the expedition, but then, that's what happens when you charge off half-cocked toward unknown but certain danger. She pauses and takes a deep breath. She knows exactly why they're leaving as hurriedly as they are, and even though she herself would rather they take some time to plan, to strategize, to research, it is not her child who was so cruelly snatched from her bed in the middle of the night, and so she must defer to her brother.

Vax. All these years together, all the terrible things they have faced, and she has never seen him so desolate, so broken. Her brother has allowed such little joy into his life, has thought himself unworthy of it, but in these past two years with Keyleth and the few precious months he's had with their child, Vex has watched him blossom into a man of delight, of exultation, of bliss. When he holds Vilya, Vex swears he must be looking into the realm of the gods, so consumed by wonder and reverence is he. She feels a yearning tug in her own belly whenever Vax trips over his words in an attempt to wax poetic about his baby girl, and each time she and Percy leave an evening spent at the cottage fawning over her niece, she finds it difficult to meet his eye, wondering if his mind is racing in the same circles as hers.

Now, though, she feels nothing but fear regarding the idea of children of her own, for the notion that an infant could be plucked so easily from her home is nothing short of terrifying. Vex adores her little niece, and each time she thinks about what could be happening to her at this very moment, it is as if a red-hot iron poker has been skewered into her chest. So she hurries, ready to charge forth into the wide world without any real course of action, because that is what one does for family.

Her orders to her lieutenant are interrupted by rapidly approaching horse hooves. She shoves her head out of her office in the northern guard tower and sees a familiar horse galloping from the direction of the stables. She rushes down to the ground floor and spills out of the guard tower just Vax pulls Simon to a halt in front of her. "Why are you already on your horse?" she asks. "I understand the need for urgency, brother, but you must let us prepare ourselves for the journey."

"Keyleth left," he grits out. "I'm going after her."

Vex blinks, shocked. "Left? What do you mean left?"

"I mean she asked to go with us and when her father and I told her it was not a wise idea, she took off on Minxie on her own. I have no idea if she has supplies or even the faintest notion of where she's going."

Vex has to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling. It is endlessly foolish, of course, for a princess with no survival skills to abscond from the castle on her own, particularly in her current emotional state, and yet Vex cannot help but feel proud of Keyleth for not taking no for an answer. She cannot imagine a world in which her own blood is put in such acute danger and she is forced to stay behind while others go out to save the day. Vex has watched Keyleth take to motherhood like a duck to water, and she sees, beneath the delicate royal sensibilities and the general naïveté about the world, a simmering fire, a savage ferocity that Vex has witnessed in many a bear while their young are nearby. She understands her brother's concern, of course, for Keyleth's safety, but one thing she cannot understand is his surprise. Of course she stole away to go find her baby; that anyone could expect anything less of her is the true surprise.

"Go," she says, seeing the pack already on his back. "The rest of us will catch up. We'll bring extra supplies, just in case."

"She won't need supplies," Vax argues. "As soon as I find her I'm sending her right back here."

Vex sighs, then reaches up to place a hand on her brother's leg. "Vax...perhaps having her with us will not be the trouble you imagine it to be. She will stop at nothing to bring Vilya home, which to me is an asset, not a liability."

Vax looks down at her with a mixture of shock and betrayal. "You would have me risk my wife's life so easily?"

"I would have you remember that your wife is incredibly capable, as she has demonstrated on multiple occasions, and she is a person who ought to decide for herself what risks are worth incurring in the name of saving her child."

They glare at each other, each willing the other to see sense, before Vax lets out a frustrated huff. "I'm leaving. The rest of you come when you can." Then he snaps Simon's reins, and Vex watches them tear off toward the road out of Zephrah with a sigh.

.

In a lifetime marked by some truly, fantastically reckless decisions, this, far and away, must be the most reckless Keyleth has ever made. She is bent low over Minxie's mane, the hood of her plain, dark cloak pulled up to shadow her face from anyone she might encounter on the road. She managed to throw together one satchel of food in the brief time she had to collect herself, and she's grateful for all of the late-night escapades down into the kitchens for snacks that colored her childhood, giving her the precise expertise needed to get in and out unseen. She has no camping gear, no spare clothing, no weapons save one of Vax's daggers left in her chambers in the castle. For the first time in her life, she is outside the bounds of Zephrah without an escort, and she has only a vague idea about which direction to travel.

But the gods be damned if Vax thinks she's going to stay behind in their empty house while everyone else takes action to bring Vilya home. Doesn't he understand? Doesn't he remember? Keyleth had been so sure that she was not going to survive Vilya's birth, but never once did it cross her mind not to go through with it. She has been prepared since she first learned of their child's existence to give up everything for her, a clarity of purpose that she has never had in relation to her someday ascension to the throne. She is a mother, and to ask her to stay back while her baby is in danger is like asking the sun to move eastward across the sky.

She pushes Minxie as hard as she dares, knowing that her favorite horse is accustomed to casual rides through the countryside as opposed to hard road travel. It is about four days' ride to Syngorn, as Keyleth well knows, and another week past that to Whitestone. Keyleth's plan, such as it is, is to stop in Syngorn and request supplies from the High Warden. She has to imagine that after all of the commotion and tension of her last trip to the city-state, her presence will not be celebrated, exactly, but she cannot believe that they will turn a friendly royal away in a time of such great crisis. If they do, however, Keyleth hopes she has learned enough from Vax to steal what she needs to press on toward Whitestone.

A bit past midday, she stops in a heavily forested stretch of the road, taking Minxie a ways into the trees and tying her up behind a large oak to keep her from being too visible. Keyleth grabs just an apple from her sack, trying to conserve as much food as possible, and lets her horse munch on the low flora as she eats it. She's anxious to get back on the road again, knowing each minute stretches the distance between herself and Vilya. When she's down to the core of the apple, she remembers something she did once at the base of the cherry tree next to the cottage, back when her pregnancy nausea was such that she could hardly gain enough sustenance to support both herself and the baby. She chews on her lip, wondering if the delay is worth the risk, but more information is always better than less, so she sits on the crunchy, cold forest floor with her back to the oak, places her palms down to the soil, and closes her eyes.

It feels like the wind, whatever this strange nature magic is. It ripples up and down her arms as though something tiny were blowing on the fine hairs there, and she must resist the urge to shudder. She focuses on this wind, sending it out, further and further from her body, until it is whipping through the nearly bare tree branches and swirling out around the leaves, both falling and fallen. She senses every skittering thing, every prowler in the underbrush, and focuses on finding something small, something soft, something with a heartbeat as familiar to her as her own name.

The winds shift, pulling her attention to the northeast—toward Whitestone. She cannot be certain—not with this magic that she understands so little—but she somehow still trusts this base instinct in her body: her child is somewhere to the northeast, and for the moment, still alive. Keyleth's eyes flutter open with her first smile since this horrible day began. She's on the right path.

She scrambles back onto Minxie and drives forward, eager to close as much distance before nightfall as possible. Her legs start to cramp up fairly soon; she has never ridden at such an intense pace for so long. She is fatiguing much more quickly than she had hoped, and by the time the sun is dipping beneath the horizon, she's hanging on for dear life. She pulls Minxie off the road near some rocky outcroppings, which are tall enough to hide the horse, and then she has a decision to make. It is well into autumn now, and with the sun nearly gone from the sky, the air is chilling rapidly. She desperately wants to start a fire, but the last thing she needs is to draw attention to herself. She feeds some oats to Minxie and then a bread roll to herself, hungrier than she can ever remember being, hemming and hawing as the sun dips lower and lower until it is finally set and Keyleth is bathed in darkness.

Tired as she is, she has enough rage simmering beneath the surface to summon to her hand a small flicker of flame, and she uses this light to extract the single blanket she'd managed to stow away in her hasty escape from Zephrah. She rolls it out on the softest patch of soil she can find and uses her riding cloak as a second blanket on top. When she is all settled for what she knows will be the most unrestful sleep of her life, she closes her eyes, only to snap them open again when she hears a sound that makes her heart leap in fear: rapidly approaching horse hooves. All too familiar with the bandits that patrol this stretch of road, she quickly clenches her fist to snuff out the flame in it and lies there, heart racing as the threatening hooves get closer and closer in the dark.

#critical role #critical role fic #cr fic #vaxleth #vaxleth fic #vaxleth au #vox machina #vox machina fic #vox machina au #tlovm #tlovm fic #my fair lady #go on claim my heart #my fic

[thechangeling]

Wake up

I feel like @littlx-songbxrd already knows what this is. (And fall in love again)

Alastair is autistic because I say so.

Title is from Nine by Sleeping at Last.

Thomas is something the matter?"

It was his least favorite question. All throught his entire life people had been asking Thomas if he was alright. If he was feeling alright, if there was any pain, if there was anything they could do. He absolutely hated it but he was loathe to admit it to anyone. He knew that everyone just wanted to help and it would be unfair to make them feel guilty for it.

His parents and sisters had sacrificed so much for him, looking after him as a child. He never wanted them to think that he was ungrateful.

Eugenia was still looking at him expectantly.

Thomas pushed his feelings down and put on a smile. "No, nothing. I am fine Genie."

His sister narrowed her eyes at him. "No you're not. You cannot fool me you know. I have known you all your life." She placed her tea cup and saucer down beside his and took a seat next to him. "You can tell me Tom. After all, what are older sisters for?"

"To annoy me evidently," he muttered under his breath.

"Excuse me!" She protested half heartedly. "You mind your manners now Thomas Lightwood." She took a sip from her tea. "Now what's this about, I can tell that something is wrong."

Thomas took a giant gulp of his own tea to avoid answering her. He hadn't the faintest idea where to begin. Or if he even wanted to.

Alastair.

His words still rang in Thomas' ears. "It isn't possible, it never will be."

Perhaps he was right.  Raziel knows it would be easier to just walk way and forget about Alastair Cartairs. To abandon hope and go back to burying his feelings just like always.

After all what was the alternative. To tell his friends the truth? To tell Matthew the truth?

To admit to wanting something that might inconvenience someone else. It was unthinkable.

Thomas groaned and placed his head in his hands. "I am a coward," he mumbled.

"Im sorry what?"

He lifted his head. "I said that I am a coward Genie. That is what's the matter."

Eugenia's eyes bulged. "What? Tom that's absurd."

Thomas bit his lip. "No it isn't. Perhaps not on the battlefield, but in my personal life, with my friends. I never tell them what I truly want or how I truly feel because I am simply too afraid of hurting or inconveniencing them."

"What do you mean exactly?" Eugenia asked.

Thomas was reluctant to tell her the truth. To truly open up. Partially because he did not want to hurt his sister, or anyone. But also because there was a certain comfort in keeping the truth buried.

Thomas had been ignoring painful truths for sometime now. Because he was terrified of causing trouble, the kind of trouble that he knew he honestly was not worth. He had always abhorred conflict of any kind, but especially with his friends.

Anything, even something so trival as deciding on plans for the evening or what to eat. Thomas would always defer to the group. Somewhere along the line, throughout his life he had become a walking automaton of sorts. A machine just like the ones his parents had fought, only capable of saying exactly what other people wanted him to say.

Thomas didn't want to admit the fact that he had been sleepwalking ever since he was fourteen. Just mindlessly stumbling through life and letting things happen. It was a painful realization.

"I think that I have ruined everything," he admitted.

Eugenia placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Hey now. That is not true! You have not ruined anything Tom believe me. This world is better because you are in it."

It was those words that caused the dam inside of him to break. Thomas began to sob and Eugenia instantly pulled him into a crushing embrace. He allowed himself to be weak in his older sisters arms, crying into her shoulder.

Perhaps it was unfair of him to cry when this was his fault, when he had brought this all on himself. But Thomas couldn't help it. Years upon years of rage and grief over all he had lost, over all the things he had allowed to happen. He had let Alastair walk away. No worse, Thomas had driven him away by allowing him to believe that he did not love him.

And Thomas was terrified that now there was nothing he could do, nothing he could possibly say to make Alastair hear him and understand that he was loved.

"Hush," Eugenia whispered softly. "Do not despair Tom. It will be alright."

Thomas firmly shook his head. "No. No you don't know that."

"Very well then tell me," she leaned back, studying him with her even gaze. "What is it?"

Thomas had never actually spoken the words outloud before. There was this comfort, this safety in never allowing oneself to speak the words. Almost as if actually speaking the words would finally make them true.

Not only true but inescapable. Impossible to hide from or to take back.

But what exactly had Thomas been preserving all these years? The happiness of his friends? Not bloody likely. Everyone was falling to pieces with or without him.

Eugenia sighed. "Tom listen to me. Whatever it is, if there is anything that our parents have taught us is that it is never too late to fix what you may have broken. If you truly believe that you have ruined everything as you say, then fix it." She took a sip from her cup.

Fix it. But was it really that simple?

He had spent all this time trying to keep the peace when no one else seemed to hold the same regard for it. He had sacrificed his own happiness, let his wants and needs fade away like backround noise. All for the sake of peace. Because he was so afraid of losing the people he loved.

The greatest irony was he already had lost someone he loved. Thomas just hoped he could make it right.

He stood abruptly, startling Eugenia.

"Terribly sorry Genie. But there is something I must do." He rushed for his coat and flung open the door.

"But-" Eugenia protested.

"I will tell you everything later!" Thomas called to her as he left.

He was on his way to the Carstairs'.

As Thomas stood in front of the Carstairs' front door, it dawned on him that this was the most terrified he had ever been.

Fighting demons was nothing compared to Alastair.

He knocked, and after a brief moment of waiting where he almost considered running off and forgetting this whole thing, Cordelia Carstairs opened the door.

If she was surprised to see him, she did not show it.

Cordelia smiled slightly. "He is upstairs in his room. I assume Alastair is who you're here to see yes?

Thomas gaped at her for a moment. He wondered if Alastair had told her what had transpired between them in the sanctuary or if he really was just that obvious.

"I am just asking," Cordelia's gaze fluttered downwards in a brief show of vauneability. "For you to please take care of him. He's been through too much Thomas."

Then her expression turned sour as she glared. "If you break my brothers heart, you will answer to Cortana."

Thomas attempted to keep his face neutral as his heart pounded. "I understand."

Cordelia led him up the winding staircase and down the brightly lit hallway until they reached the third door on the right. Thomas wiped his sweaty palms on his jacket.

He couldn't hear anything on the other side of the door. No signs of Alastair. But Cordelia seemed adamant that he was there. Thomas had imagined this moment a thousand times, wondering what he might say. But now his mind was blank.

Just tell him how you feel, a voice whispered inside Thomas' head that sounded suspiciously like Eugenia.

But he knew it wouldn't be that simple.

"Alright," Cordelia nodded at him. "I will leave you to speak with him alone." Thomas barely acknowledged her as she took her leave. He exhaled sharply.

Thomas wasn't exactly afraid. He had never been afraid of Alastair, even during his academy days. But he was still nervous. Less afraid of what Alastair might say and more of accidently saying the wrong thing.

But he couldn't stay hiding forever. Thomas couldn't just keep letting things happen around and to him because he was too afraid to fight. There was so much worth fighting for.

Alastair Carstairs was worth fighting for.

Thomas took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

"Go away Layla. I told you I'm busy!"

Thomas' breath hitched at the sound of his voice. It had been so long. He had missed it so dearly.

He cleared his throat. "It's not Cordelia. It's me. Thomas."

There was a defeaning silence and then,

"Go away Lightwood. You have no business here."

Thomas was jolted slightly by the harshness of Alastair's voice. He forgot how cold the other boy could be. However, Thomas knew that it was only an act. Merely a disguise meant to protect Alastair from getting hurt.

Thomas was would not allow himself to be dissuaded.

"Yes I do Alastair. My business is you. Will you please open the door?"

There was the sound of movement and then the door swung open revealing a very unkempt looking Alastair. His hair was messy, sticking up in all directions and his clothing was rumbled as though he had slept in it. His shirt collar and sleeves were unbuttoned and Thomas fought the urge to stare at the smooth skin on his exposed neck. He was beautiful.

That was when he noticed the redness of Alastair's eyes as though he had been crying.

"You and I have nothing to discuss," Alastair snapped. "Now leave me alone!" He moved to slam the door but Thomas caught it swiftly.

"Stop it!" He snapped without thinking. "I need to speak with you!" Thomas' own aggression surprised him. He so rarely yelled. He never allowed himself to yell.

But he could tell he had overstepped when Alastair immediately flinched, almost if he was expecting to be hit.

Thomas' heart broke. He let go of the door. "I apologize. That was unacceptable. Please understand Alastair, I would never hurt you."

He laughed coldly. "Oh really? Because I seem to remember you threatening to throw me in the Thames. He was fiddling with the fabric on the end of his shirt which was untucked. Thomas had noticed that whenever Alastair was irritated or bored or under pressure, he would run his fingers through his hair or fiddle with something. Sometimes his facial features would twitch a little as through he has fighting off a sneeze.

Thomas sighed. "I apologize for that as well. I never should have said it, I was angry and-" he trailed off. He was beginning to realize that perhaps this wasn't a good idea.

Honestly what right did Thonas have to be here anyways? What was he thinking, barging into Alastair's home and demanding things from him. How was he any different then Alastair's father? Or Charles?

Thomas was pathetic.

"I am sorry. I worry I'm saying this all wrong. But I want you Alastair. I want you more then anything else in this world."

Alastair clenched his jaw as though he were suppressing an emotion. His hands were balled into fists. "I told you Thomas," and Thomas couldn't help but gasp a little at the sound of his first name coming from Alastair's lips. "You only want me because you want to rebel, and I am finished with being used as object to satisfy the physical desires of others."

Oh...

Oh.

Thomas rapidly shook his head. "No, no please you misunderstand me. What I meant was," he took a deep breath and exhaled. "I love you Alastair."

Alastair's eyes widened almost comically. He gaped at Thomas for a moment, then glared. "No you don't. You are mistaken."

"No," Thomas said firmly. "I know how I feel. I love you Alastair. I have loved you for years now, ever since the academy. I loved you at your worst and I will continue to love you as you reach your best, because I know you have the ability to thrive you just need someone to support you, someone on your side. Someone who embraces all that you are and cherishes it. I adore you ātashé del-am, and even if you tell me to go away and never come back I will still love you."

Alastair's eyes widened at the sound of Persian coming from Thomas' mouth.

He hoped he had pronounced it correctly. He and Lucie and been learning Persian for the Carstairs, although Thomas hadn't informed Lucie of why he was doing it. 

However, then again maybe she knew if Cordelia knew. He wasn't sure how that made him feel. Thomas knew deep down that his family and friends would be accepting of his attraction to men. However their reactions to his feelings for Alastair might be another story.

But he didn't care. Not anymore. Thomas wasn't letting go.

Alastair hadn't spoken yet. He was just staring at Thomas looking completely dumbfounded.

So, although he was unsure of whether it was the right thing to do or not, Thomas kept talking.

"Before, in the sanctuary I kissed you because I was trying to tell you I loved you. I thought I could show you how much you meant you me. It was never just something physical or an excuse to rebel. For me personally emotion and desire have always been firmly linked. I have never desired anyone I did not feel for in some way." Thomas glanced down briefly. "I know it is unusual but I want you to understand that I was not trying to use you."

Alastair looked pained as he bit his lip. Thomas could see cracks beginning to appear in the armour he wore around his heart. His body shook slightly as he dig his fingernails into his palms. "Thomas just go away," he pleaded. But it sounded half hearted.

"No," Thomas whispered taking a tentative step forward and reaching for his hands. "I know that you believe I only want things that are bad for me. Perhaps you are right, but you azizam, are not bad for me. You are not bad, Alastair."

Thomas carefully unfolded Alastair's fists, rubbing his fingers on his palms. Alastair shook his head. He looked as though he were trying not to cry.

"How can you say that to me?" He muttered. "After everything I've done? Everything I've said?"

"Because it's true," Thomas said firmly. "I understand that wasn't really you, and I know how sorry you are." They were mere inches from each other. "Believe me Alastair, it broke my heart when I learned that you were one of the people spreading those rumours about my parents and I was so furious."

Alastair's face was solemn and guarded. "I remember."

"But I never stopped loving you."

Alastair sighed, closing his eyes. "Thomas," he opened them. "I will not be responsible for you losing everyone that you hold dear."

Thomas reached up gently to cup his cheek. "If that happens it will not be your fault. If they truly love me, then they will understand."

Alastair shook his head. "I love you. Asheghetam, but I cannot allow myself to be this selfish." He stepped back out of his reach.

Thomas could feel a sob bubbling up in his chest. He fought against it. "You are not being selfish," he insisted. "It is my choice not yours!"

Alastair glared at him, crossing his arms. "I cannot allow you to make that choice. Somebody needs to protect you from yourself."

Rage burned through Thomas' veins, but instead of forcing it down the way he always did, he spoke.

"I am not a bloody child Alastair! I do not need your protection or for you to decide what is best for me. My entire life has been filled with others making decisions for me. I have always complied with what my friends and family wanted because I did not want to cause trouble. I never ask for anything!" Thomas was trying very hard not to yell to avoid scaring Alastair, but it was proving difficult.

He stepped towards Alastair. "If you do not want this. If you do not want to be together then tell me. But do not cast me aside for the sake of the so-called greater good. He was breathing heavily as he reached out once more and stroked Alastair's cheek. "Please?"

Alastair gasped slightly at his touch, leaning into it. His expression had transformed into one of longing and adoration. "Thomas," he whispered. "Joon-am. You are impossible."

He leaned forward and captured Thomas's lips with his own in a passionate kiss. Thimas made a slight noise of surprise before melting into the kiss, sliding his hands up into Alastair's hair. Alastair slid his hands across Thomas' back as he deepened the kiss, pulling him closer so that their noses brushed against each other. Thomas smiled against Alastair's mouth.

Alastair kissed him frantically, clinging onto Thomas' body as though he was afraid he would disappear. It made Thomas' heart ache a little. He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against Alastair's. Thomas could feel his heart racing against his.

"Please stay with me," Alastair murmered. Thomas had never heard him sound so vulnerable.

He kissed him softly.

"Of course."

I pretty much never write the tlh characters so I apologize if they're ooc.

Persian terms of endearment:

Ātashé del-am: The fire of my heart

Azizam: My dear

Asheghetam: I am in love with you

Joon-am: My life

Tagging: @lavender-scented-rat   @littlx-songbxrd    @have-a-holly-jolly-angstmas @amchara @wagner-fell @sandersgrey @the-wckd-powers @spooky-drusilla @ellexu

#tlh #tsc #the last hours #thomas lightwood #alastair carstairs #thomastair #demisexual thomas lightwood #autistic alastair carstairs #enneagram nine thomas

[officialleehadan]

Rowan, Holly, and Iron

The Silver Rose

+++

Mucker’s farm was deep in farm country If Jax hadn’t known the signs of a home made to defend against the beings of Underhill, he might have thought it was as ordinary as the ones around it.

Then again, there weren’t many farms that had alternating holly and rowan trees planted along the entire fence line, and fewer that were ploughed in the odd crosshatching pattern that marked the dark soil on the other side. Yellow flowers sprouted up from thick green foliage, mixed with crossing rows of deep red flowers. The road leading through the fields glittered with rusty red flakes and bright-polished new ones. Cold Iron, seeded all along the road, which was furrowed by long lines, not crosses, all the way down the length to the house in the distance.

This unassuming, ordinary-looking farm was a fortress against the beings of Underhill.

“Right,” Jax said when he pulled the car up to the property line. “How are we doing this?”

“I’ve already texted Mucker to tell him we’re here, and he should meet us in a moment,” Tanglethorn reported, not flirting for once, and a little frayed around the edges. Nervous of what was to come, no doubt. Getting him over the property line would not be a good memory for either of them. “The road is already half-ploughed, see?”

Jax nodded. He had already noted the road. Mucker would, apparently, follow them from the border and cross-plow it behind them to close off the last, scant entrance to his land.

“Does he know your Name?”

“No, but his hearing isn’t good. He won’t mind staying back far enough for you to drag me over the property line.”

Jax had never used the True Name of a Fae before, and hoped that he would never have to do so again. He wouldn’t even be doing it now if Tanglethorn hadn’t insisted. As it was, he didn’t love the idea. He might be a hitman, and a good one, but torture wasn’t his style.

And it would be torture. He knew that, as sure as he knew that Lydia would kill them if he didn’t do this.

“Get me fourteen steps past the fence, and I can make it the rest of the way,” Tanglethorn continued, no doubt aware of Jax’s internal struggle. “The fence is the worst. Mucker has bars of iron buried under the fence the entire way around his property. The iron in the road is uncomfortable, but the bars, with the holly, and the rowan, are a barrier I cannot pass, will I or no.”

“I gotta ask one more time. Are you willing to let me do this?”

“My cousin will fill my veins with powdered iron and red verbena oil if she catches me now,” Tanglethorn said grimly and pushed his hair back over his shoulder. His dread didn’t show on his face, but Jax could see the faintest glint of it in his silver eyes. “Yes. I am sure. Speak my name and call me to you as you walk backwards. You will have to repeat it for every step we take.”

“This is going to hurt.”

“Yes.”

“Can you handle it?”

“As long as you don’t pause long enough for my mind to return,” Tanglethorn sighed. He wouldn’t meet Jax’s eyes, which told him just how bad it was going to be. “If you give me time between each step, I will try to escape the pain by any means available to me. If I make it back to the road, we will have to try again. Give me the only mercy you can, and don’t make me do this more than once.”

“We’re gonna have to do it again to leave.”

“I’m trying not to think about that part. Once I’m fourteen paces from the fence, you can leave me and get the car. We’ll drive the rest of the way to the farmhouse from there.

The rumble of a tractor announced Mucker. Jax climbed out of the car and straightened up to see just who they were dealing with.

Mucker, as it happened, was a troll.

Oh, he had one of the best illusion-glamours that Jax had ever seen, but he spent a very expensive favor to be able to see through illusions of all sorts. This one was a properly professional job. To human eyes, Mucker looked like a tall and powerfully-built, but otherwise ordinary human man.

“Taking a risk to come here,” he greeted Tanglethorn, who gave him the first genuine smile Jax had seen out of him, and opened his arms for a hug that lifted him well off his feet. “Your cousin on your tail, eh?”

“A hundred years has not sweetened her temper towards me,” Tanglethorn said, and gave the dusty road to the farmhouse a very dismayed side-eye. “This is my rescuer. He doesn’t like me much, but he has given a great deal to bring me here alive.”

“You’ll do,” Mucker decided after a long stare at Jax, and offered a hand to shake. “I’m Mucker. Wha’d I call you?”

“Jax,” Jax replied. It wasn’t his True Name after all. That was long since hidden away and halfway forgotten. He would never have walked out of Lydia’s house if she knew his real Name, human or no. “We appreciate the shelter.”

“This pretty saved my life an’ that of my clan long ago. I owe a debt,” Mucker said with an expansive wave to Tanglethorn, who shrugged. “I assume you got a way across the fence? If you don’t, we’ll have t’send you on. I can’t break the line. Not even for you.”

“I know,” Tanglethorn assured him and sighed. “Stay at the car and get ready to follow us in once Jax comes for the car… and trust that everything he is about to do to me, I asked of him of my own free will. It will be torture. For the sake of my life, you must allow it.

“Ominous. Can I ask?”

“My Name.”

Mucker flinched, a full-body shudder of both sympathy and revulsion. “You sure?”

“It’s this, or get caught by Lydia. I haven’t time to make other arrangements.”

Mucker nodded grimly and pulled his tractor around, ready to follow them in once Jax returned. He did not, Jax noticed, leave his property, but he did pull back far enough that he couldn’t hear them.

“Ready?” Jax said when he stood on the border of the farm. Tanglethorn stood before him, sheet-pale and breathing slowly to hold back his fear. His hands were shaking, but he clenched the in the long sleeves of his scandalous robes and nodded once to Jax. Speech, it seemed, had deserted him. Jax took one careful step backwards onto the rough dirt road, and held his hands out to Tanglethorn. “Tserafel. Come to me.”

+++

At the Sign of the Silver Rose:

Cold Iron Buckshot

Troll Market 

Strike a Pose  (Subscriber Only!)

For My Life  (Subscriber Only!)

Reach the Door (Subscriber Only!)

Iron Spike (Subscriber Only!)

West and South

Rowan, Holly, and Iron (New!)

+++

MASTERLIST

#Write #writer #written #writing prompt #prompt #prompts #story #novel #fantastic #romance #romantic #love #spilled ink #spilled writing #spilled romance #spilled feelings #supernatural #writeblr #lee hadan #pretty #art #artistic #music #inspiration #long post

[mari-lair]

☀️, for the ask game

☀️ Has anyone ever left you a comment that made your day? What did it say?

I had a few, but recently only yours come to mind! You went into so many details, and paid so much attention, it got me writing proudly like Nene with her diary.

I worked on the chapter as if I was speedrunning the day I got it, even finished that week! And i still re-read it when I need motivation. I'm determined to make the next chapter long!

And here is what the comment said:

[so, uh, i may or may not have forgotten to comment on this for half a month… well, to compensate for my lateness i’ve decided to write my thoughts on this chapter in excruciating detail because i’m actually very normal (i swear)

1. THEY SHAKED HANDS… OH MY GOD… look it may not seem like much but when you think about it hand shaking is pretty much just hand holding with extra steps, so basically they just held hands (good for them!!!)

2. aka’s relationship with mirai is. so much to me. AND DRAWING PARALLELS TO TERU AND TIARA’S RELATIONSHIP… LITERALLY RATTLING MY CAGE BARS SO HARD AT THIS!!! also them agreeing that teru’s a piece of crap is so iconic fr

3. aka offering for teru to braid his hair is so damn telling of how theyre slowly but surely getting closer and starting to trust each other a bit and i just. AAAHHDJFJFJFJFJFJFFJAJSKDKKD. THIS IS DRIVING ME INSANE /POS

4. omg i remember when i was looking at one of the wips and i was like ‘wait op isn’t gonna pull a chapter 26 right…’ and i am SO GLAD that i dodged apollo’s dodgeball there because i’d probably cry if that happened

5. ‘wiggling around like a pathetic worm’ is such a Sentence™ and now it’ll be forever ingrained in my mind, i bet ten dollars i’m gonna end up quoting that like five times in a row while knowing damn well that nobody’s gonna fully understand me

6. aka’s reaction to teru being taller than him is so comically paradigmatic of their relationship like damn, i’m gonna go sit in a corner and think about that for a while gimme a few okay (and by ‘a few’ i mean the next few YEARS)

7. the part where teru ruffles aka’s hair and notices how cold it is OH MY GOD AJSKJDKDKFKF???? i think i’ll have to change that from a few years to a few decades… may or may not have led me down a rabbit hole of thoughts on aka’s lack of humanity ngl 😳😳😳 i’m like 2 seconds away from writing a small essay about it someone needs to either stop me or encourage me right now

8. ‘it was as if growing up made teru lose his survival instincts’… HEY, WHAT DOES THIS MEAN 😀 is it because he eventually falls in love with aka… i know what you are, teru 🤨📸 BUT ALSO WHAT IF IT’S SOMETHING ELSE okay i don’t know what else it could be atm but whatever it is i have a feeling it would not be good

9. tbh… i’m becoming a rita stan (i said, not even having the faintest idea of what she looks like because i can’t imagine people for the life of me) wait actually. you should draw her /nf… if you don’t do it first then i’ll just have to draw her myself ig

10. TERU CALLING AKA BY HIS NAME. TERU GETTING GENUINELY WORRIED FOR AKA. i am going to lock myself in my dryer and never come out omg i’m going to cry this is so important to me i’m never gonna dance again because of this

11. the way he’s starting to care about aka… i’m literally going to cry… god the way you write character dynamics and development is literally going to make me rip my eyes out IT’S SO GOOD AJKDDJKDKDFK. and the way he was denying it so hard too 😭😭 it’s like, he’s trying so much to convince himself that he doesn’t care about aka and i just,,, IT’S SO. YK

12. this is like. stage one: Denial™, yk. like he says and does all these things to try and distract from how he actually feels, HE OVERCOMPENSATES SO MUCH LMAO, idk how to articulate it but this is going to be the death of me, i was just waiting for him to realize just how much he cares deep down yk… actually this entire fic is just killing me to death tbh

13. AND THEN WHEN HE FINALLY ADMITS IT TO HIMSELF OH MY GOD. I’M GOING TO SLAM HIM INTO A MICROWAVE THIS LITERALLY MEANS EVERYTHING I’M USING EVERY FIBRE OF MY BEING TO NOT SCREAM AND SHOUT RN

14. and then of course he tries to pin the blame on aka, like he’s just doing everything in his power to deny his feelings lmaoo, that’s literally so in character for him… like who’s gonna tell him about friendship /j, btw this fic is stabbing me cesear-style rn

15. AND THEN THE ENDING OH MY GOD… NOW THAT’S HOW YOU END A CHAPTER FR!! i am currently going to explode with anticipation for the next chapter, i’m actually never going to shut up about this fic tbh

i don’t really know a good way to finish this small essay of a comment off, so i’ll just quote something i texted to a friend while in the middle of writing this: ‘i fink that fic may have ruined me tbh but it’s too radballs for me to go back now’. i think that adequately summarizes my thoughts on this tbh

so uh yeah!!! thanks for reading exactly 895 words of me incoherently rambling about this fic, next time i’m going to make a google slides presentation /j but seriously i love this fic so much and i can’t wait to see where it goes next!]

#I re read your aka tags when i need motivation too #you really are easily Aka's biggest fan #thank you for the ask! #and all the love you've given my clock boy

[noxthemonke]

The Queen in Burgundy Red (part III)

ACT III

Matthew 13: 42

“They will throw them into the blazing furnace, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.“

Right after that day. The kingdom of Dewyth declared war against the Xenians, the moment the queen’s son Prince  Aldr had been the one who declared the war. Albeit being at a young age, he had sent a spear flying across the army killing one or two men. 

And so forth, the war continued on. One region at the time, Queen Adna managed to reign every single one of them without fail. Those who had surrendered decided to peacefully accept their defeat, as they paid their tribute to the Dewyth. 

The surviving Xenians could only run away and sought refuge in their capital city Xoybury. After losing half of their people, the Xenians were living in despair but still tried to defend their capital city. 

Many times Queen Adna and her army tried to take over the city, but the Xenians constantly repelled their attacks. For it is their only chance of survival, so the Xenians resisted, and would do so until the end. 

“Mother, why are they so reluctant to give up the capital city? What is the use of this war when other regions are finally at peace?” Aldr questioned his mother one day. 

“I do not have the faintest idea son.” Queen Adna answered. “Is it pride? Is it fear? For them to be still alive until now is still quite the shock.” 

“Then what will you do now mother? The war has been going on for a year.” Aldr frowned at the prospect of having to continue onto war. “Didn’t you and father agree on neutrality?”

“If our people do not violate our general law and tribute. This would not happen in the first place.” The Queen sighs, “and the Xenians just happened to break the highest law ever.” 

Aldr gulped, still not used to talking about his father’s death so nonchalantly. Silence sieged the room as both mother and son continued their afternoon tea time. 

“Do not worry Aldr.” The prince turned to his mother, who had given a warm smile, “This will end soon. “

“How would you know that?” 

Yet, Queen Adna gave no indication of answering his question. The following afternoon they both spent time discussing the kingdom’s economic state and their defense, and soon Prince Aldr bid goodbye to his mother leaving the queen’s chamber. 

The Queen waved and smiled at her son leaving. As soon as the door went shut, she dropped her arm as the air seemed to be still. 

“Calliope, enter and report.” At that moment, the queen’s courtier entered the chambers with a letter in hand. 

“Your Majesty, they have answered your previous message.” Calliope bowed curtly and reported to the queen. 

“And what of it? Are they still persistent on surviving?” Queen Adna said as she stirred another cup of tea. 

“Quite the opposite, My Queen.” Calliope handed the letter to the queen, “The current leader agrees on making peace, and paying tribute. But they are completely born-dry out of their money, and not able to pay even a quarter of the tribute.” 

Calliope flinched when Queen Adna suddenly laughed. Her laughs were never this boisterous, nor has the Queen ever laughed this loud. It was not filled with joy, nor happiness. The Queen was laughing at how pitiful the Xenian people were. 

“This is wonderful news Calliope. Hurry! Bring me paper and a quill immediately!” Calliope rushed out of the queen’s chambers. Not thinking twice of hesitating, leaving the elevated Queen. 

It had gone on just like this. Soon after, the Queen’s courtier brought the paper and quill. The Queen wrote a letter. Stating that she would like to negotiate with how the Xenians will pay their tribute. From every family, 3 pigeons shall be sent as tribute, and nothing more. The people of Xoybury were delighted to hear the good news and rounded up 3 pigeons of each family immediately. 

All of the birds were carried back to Dewyth. One of the Queen’s advisers had questioned Queen Adna on what to do with the pigeons. 

“Tie a cloth of sulfur onto each pigeon leg, and release them as they go back to their homeland.” The Queen had commanded. Everybody in the palace had gotten to work, carefully handling the flammable powder. 

It had been in the middle of the afternoon when the huge flock of pigeons was sent free onto the sky. The people of Dewyth saw every pigeon flying in the direction back to Xoybury, confused as to why there was a large flock of pigeons in the sky. 

The people of Xoybury were not expecting the sudden crowd in the sky. One guard who was posted in the highest tower had signaled a horn, warning the people of an unexpected threat. The people marched up with armors ready expecting to see the army of men. Yet, there was nothing on sight on their borders. All of a sudden, they heard a shrill scream. 

The blazing hues of orange and red sieged the city, lighting it up ablaze. There was no chance of survival, had they tried to water down the flames but it was futile to even stop it when it had begun. Queen Adna once again led her plan out perfectly as the city and the people who killed her husband were finally turned into dust and ashes. For she has finally avenged her husband. 

Since that day. The Kingdom of Dewyth was known for its power and its great ruler. Rumors have it that even the neighboring empire tried to seduce the Queen. Yet, again Queen Adna manages to shock the people another time. 

“His Imperial Majesty, The Emperor of Slyphix. I beg your pardon.” The Queen said sharply at what her guest had suddenly proclaimed. 

“I am not.” Emperor Allich said proudly, “Why don’t you come and join me. Rule this empire with me. We will have the world in the palms of our hands!” 

Not only did the Emperor claim that Queen Adna should marry him. He had said it right in front of a court meeting, where almost all politicians, nobles, and advisers were. This only showed discrimination to the Queen, as if she was a lower being than the Emperor. 

Prince Aldr had glared at Emperor Allich, his hand reaching to the sheath of his sword. But was stopped by his mother. 

“Emperor Allich, we might have a misunderstanding here.” The Queen chuckled, “would you mind negotiating it over a cup of tea perhaps. Without an audience would be preferable.” 

The Emperor of Slyphix agreed and decided to come back much later in the day. As soon as the emperor left court, everybody burst into a rage. 

“Your Majesty, what shall you do?” Calliope asked, worrying at the fact this was not something light to handle with. While they had annihilated a region, an empire was a much bigger foot. 

“Do not fret Calliope.” The Queen smiled wryly. “I have burned cities and regions to the ground. What makes you think a man like him knows what I know?” 

As the evening started to set, The Queen invited the Emperor for dinner. The Emperor of Slyphix was delighted and attended early. Their conversation had been all small talk. The servants picked up the fact that both the Queen and the Emperor were able to uphold their conversation long till the night. 

Then all of a sudden the Emperor decided to leave abruptly, saying that there was trouble back in the palace. Nevertheless, the Emperor never stepped back into the palace. The people in the palace were confused as to why the Emperor who tried to pursue the Queen stopped so abruptly. 

“It is nothing. I found something interesting in my father’s chamber. Nothing big to fret about.” Queen Adna had reassured her son, but Aldr knew from the smile it meant to not push it through. For there is stuff that doesn’t need to be known to the people. 

Queen Adna of Dewyth’s popularity skyrocketed across the world. Became the number one bachelorette amongst the women, and had gotten the title directly by the holy priest themselves. Let it be known that Queen Adna’s ruling period had been the most peaceful and cultivating era. 

---

“Calliope, have I done well?” The question had stunned the courtier, speechless at the sudden question. 

The Queen had asked Calliope to join along for tea time near the castle’s lake. They both settled down at the side watching the sun slowly setting. Calliope slightly glanced at Queen Adna before sighing fondly. 

“My Queen, you’ve done everything perfectly.” 

“Do you think Jona would finally be at peace?” Queen Adna slowly closes her eyes, feeling the winds coming from the north. There was an eerie quiet, the leaves were slowly falling to the ground, as the crickets sang their songs into the evening. 

“He is, My Queen.” 

“Right,” The Queen sighed, “Tomorrow prepare my sword and polish my armor Calliope, I would like to spar with Sir Kon next morning. Remind me of my duties later, Aldr can handle all of my duties.” 

Queen Adna soon began walking, as Calliope walked behind her. Calliope begins to see why the Queen has her nickname. Even with the black luscious hair, and ebony black eyes. She dons the outstanding red dress perfectly. Everybody in Dewyth remembers the time Queen Adna came back from Xenian. It had been in the newspaper headlines, and everybody even outside of Dewyth had known about it. 

“Calliope? Are you coming?” 

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

What’s left on the table by the river had been a newspaper. Writings about how the latest trend has been or the business world. The pages were slowly flipped by the wind, as it came to the front page. 

‘Long Live the Queen in Burgundy Red’

#writing #historical #fantasy #kingdom #strong woman #creative writing