#but also the “’he wished she’d shoved him out for window’ is actually hilarious to picture’

[lucienarcheron]

It crushes me how much she’s struggling but this is the most she’s said with anyone 😭 and you’re telling me we got the lines “I can hear your heart. When I sleep, I can hear your heart beating through the stone. Can you hear mine?” and I’m supposed to believe they’re not endgame??????? THEY’RE SO ROMANTIC EVEN IN THEIR ANGST!!!

#elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #given how much lucien pays attention to her he sees you more than you realize elain!!! #which is why I’m sure she avoids him lol #I am in SHAMBLES every time #I’m totally normal about this btw #gigi reads acowar #but also the “’he wished she’d shoved him out for window’ is actually hilarious to picture’

[crystalrainwing]

hey hey hey august can I hear the wasp story?

THE WASP STOR(IES)

i will begin with a small bit of context. my mom used to be fatally allergic to wasps, specifically yellowjackets. i can’t remember what it was exactly but she had something done to make her not allergic to them anymore, or at least barely allergic. my dad has adhd and he also has a pretty skewed sense of danger; he’s very impulsive and these things combined have resulted in some... interesting... things.

THE FIRST (major) WASP STORY, aka my dad makes questionable decisions: part one

i can’t remember whether this was before or after The Wasp Incident but i believe it was before. at this point in time my youngest sister, squid, was probably four or five and EXTREMELY afraid of wasps because of something that happened when she was 2. at our old house, during the summer she wouldn’t go downstairs because wasps lived in our air conditioning and they’d get blown out into the main room down there. anyways. the rest of us didn’t like wasps either.

except, of course, my dad. my dad was and is not afraid of wasps.

outside my parents’ window was a massive wasp nest. one of the bowling- or basket-ball sized ones. mostly they didn’t bother us. my dad once stuck his hand in the nest just for funsies and only got stung like. 3 or 4 times. so. not too aggressive.

my dad, on this day, was leaf blowing our concrete patio. and the window was RIGHT there.

he wondered, what would happen if i stuck the leaf blower in here and turned it on?

so. he did.

we couldn’t leave the house for a day and a half. but the wasp nest was gone, at least, i guess.

THE SECOND (major) WASP STORY, aka my dad makes questionable decisions part two

this was maybe a year ago (so after The Incident). now there’s a kind of hornets called bald faced hornets. we were already familiar with them from The Incident. they’re mostly okay, because they won’t attack until you’re near their home (usually in a tree). but once they do, their venom is particularly painful. (unrelated but every year they’d eat any apples that fell to the ground and they’d get drunk cause the apples were a little fermented. it’s really funny.)

so in our cherry trees was a big wasp nest. we, of course, wanted to eat the cherries but me and my sisters were willing to just. not go near the tree; that particular tree did not in fact grow any cherries. my dad, being unafraid and bored, decided to find a way to get rid of it.

his original plan was to ‘just stomp on it.’ don’t ask me how that would work because i simply don’t know. he didn’t either. that was the end of the plan. notable problems include the fact that it was in a tree and the fact that it was full of wasps.

anyways. my mom told him that was not actually a good plan but tragically couldn’t convince him to just. leave it alone. the revised plan was to 1. go up a ladder to the nest. 2. cut it down with a... knife? saw? i don’t remember. 3. drop the whole nest + the branch into a bucket and finally, 4. shove a lid on the bucket real fast.

he didn’t even make it to step 2.

me and my sisters were outside, a fair bit away, watching. we knew it was going to be terrible and hilarious. and it was! i actually have the whole thing on video, somewhere; if i can find it and it doesn’t have anyone’s faces on it then i might post it here.

so here’s my dad, standing on a wobbly ladder which is right next to a very steep hill (our yard was essentially a downhill, a few feet of flat ground, and another downhill. good for sledding though). on the ground beneath him, the wasp bucket, and in his hand a dull serrated knife.

being who he was he decided to take a look at the wasps and stuck his hand right next to them. ‘oh,’ i hear him say. ‘these guys are aggressive.’

‘oh, they’re really aggressive.’ he drops the knife. the wasps come out.

we (me and my sisters) start running. behind us, my dad is yelling for us to get inside quickly and close the door because the wasps are CHASING him.

well. we couldn’t go outside that evening, but in the end the only consequence was my dad was in a lot of pain and had like, a fever and stuff from the venom (surprise surprise! they were bald faced hornets), and my cat acted drunk cause she got stung too.

pretty big consequence, let’s be real. i think my dad must feel pain less than other people, because... well. we all have learned th hard way how much bald faced hornets stings hurt.

THE WASP INCIDENT, aka a bizarre series of increasingly terrible misfortunes

the day of The Incident was perfectly normal. we went to a river with some friends, which was fun if a bit cold. i don’t remember the time spent at the river.

soon it came time to leave. we had planned on taking a picture together, but well, too bad. we would go home without it. oh, how i wish we would have gone home without it.

my sister, as mentioned before, was terrified of wasps. and there were a few wasps hanging around; we were near water, no big deal. if she saw one she’d scream, though.

into the woods we went, trying to find a place to take a picture (we stayed on the trail, though; there were some very little kids with us).

i clearly remember the moments before Disaster Struck. a 10 year old me found a beautiful flower. some cool mushrooms.

‘oh, here’s a good place for a picture,’ i hear behind me. the parents stood on the trail, while all the kids stood on a slope directly next to it. there was a nice log adding to the picture, it was very aesthetic, i’m sure.

suddenly, squid starts screaming. no big deal, she is five and screams a lot. she just saw a wasp, probably, or maybe hadden pinched her.

there was a little pinch on my leg. stinging nettle? maybe.

another. these hurt too bad to be stinging nettle. i didn’t know what was going on but we all ran down the slope faster than we’d ever run before.

i was feeling terrible pricks all over my body. please understand these were truly terrible. they were enough to bring me to tears with just one sting.

as everybody ran down the trail towards the cars and, presumably, safety, my mom ripped my shirt off for me because THERE WAS A WASP STUCK INSIDE MY SHIRT. once i got it out i understood what was going on - we were being attacked by wasps. everyone else was out of sight, around a bend in the trail, but i could hear their distant screams as i walked slowly and leisurely down the trail, in intense pain. i thought the trees were very pretty, and the sky very blue.

when i got to the parking lot i was met with the sight of my youngest sister, no pants or shirt on, crying hysterically and my friend doing the same. poor squid, five years old and deathly afraid of wasps, had been stung over 12 times by some of the wasps that personally i have found to be most painful. they’d gotten in her clothes.

the end of the story, right? you’re probably thinking. we go home, squid is even more scared of wasps, that’s it.

well, not quite. remember how i mentioned my mom used to be allergic to wasps? specifically, yellowjackets? and only yellowjackets?

as it turns out, bald faced hornets ARE yellowjackets. and in saving my sister from the wasps stuck in her clothes my mom had been stung six. times.

so. here we are. four parents, at least three crying children, in the middle of the woods 2 hours from civilization and, more importantly a HOSPITAL. someone camping nearby had benadryl but no one had an epi pen, and my mom was having an allergic reaction. she wasn’t going into anaphylactic shock, luckily.

but she still needed an epi pen, because she could.

just down the road was a boy scout camp, and for the first time we had good luck - there were people there. and a medical tent. we took her in, they were confused but they gave her an epi pen. i sat in the car with my friend, who was still crying. she gave me licorice. after an hour or so, my mom was fine. and we went home.

in the end everything was okay, and i have a fun story to tell. also happy to report that squid’s fear of wasps isn’t as severe these days, shes 10 now.

anyways. here are three of the reasons im not fond of wasps, and three of my favourite stories to tell friends (sorry to my irl friends who’ve heard this story SO. many times.)

#and here it is #in its full glory #took me like an hour to type out and idk if it comes across as well as text #ppl tell me i have a good story telling voice but idk if typing them out will be the same :/// #soooo lmk how this was to read!! #also ty for asking bestie <3 #i love telling stories!!! #my posts #asks #my stories #wasp story #ask to tag #wasp tw #allergies tw

[guardiankarenterrier]

Letter O for the minific thing

(stars or space for this ask meme) (ooooh no character specified, free reign it is-) (my ao3)

Nino’s never realised before that he can outrun an akuma.  He’s not sure he could do that before, but he’s apparently capable of it now, or at least he hopes he’s capable of it now.

It’s not working as well as he would like, because the same fear that speeds his steps also lends speed to the akuma itself, but it is working.  Mostly. Sort of. 

The butterfly’s going to catch up to him eventually, though, isn’t it-

Getting abruptly grabbed around the waist is a surprise. 

Getting abruptly grabbed and then shoved protectively behind someone is a surprise, too.

Nino’s definitely breathing hard from more than just the running now, but he looks past where he’s being crowded away from the akuma and blinks rapidly at what he sees.

That doesn’t change the sight of a familiar guitar strapped to Juleka’s brother’s back. 

Luka circles carefully between Nino and the butterfly that is- that had been- chasing him down.

The butterfly has stopped, now, flitting back and forth in apparent agitation instead.  Nino’s fear has faded into confusion, and apparently Luka- and it is definitely Luka, even if he didn’t recognise the guitar it isn’t like Nino knows anyone else who lives on the Seine and goes around with a guitar at all times- wasn’t afraid in the first place.

The akuma appears to give up, which is not a thing Nino was aware they could do, and darts off into the distance instead. 

Nino lets out a sigh of relief before Luka turns to him, hands clamping down on Nino’s shoulders in a way that he immediately relaxes into.  (Nino won’t figure out until much, much later that he relaxes so quickly because that’s something Adrien does all the time.  That’s something he already associates with comfort, with contentment).

“Are you all right?” Luka says, far too intensely, staring at Nino and shifting very slightly in place.  His eyes glitter in the faint light from the street lamps reflecting off the water.

It’s late, more than late enough that Nino is surprised to see Luka out here at all, and several of the nearest street lamps are dim or flickering or have gone out altogether.  He faintly remembers Alya posting something on the Ladyblog about that, something about how the city’s been putting off too many necessary repairs in the hope that Ladybug’s Miracle will fix it, and he thinks he remembers both Marinette and Alya complaining about how that is definitely not how Miracle works, but right now Nino’s just wishing the city had fixed the lights because it is suddenly way too hard to look directly at Luka. 

It had been storming earlier, and Nino wonders absently how long Luka’s been outside because he still looks wind-ruffled and damp and Nino only just realised a few hours ago that he is maybe, possibly, kind of not as straight as he’d thought (a realisation that had Alya clutching a pillow and laughing so hard she’d fallen off his bed. She’d thought it was hilarious right up until the butterfly showed up). 

That realisation hadn’t been about Luka.  It hadn’t had anything to do with Luka.

(-excepting, maybe, the way that Luka’s hands had been immediately reassuring because of what- because of who- it reminds him of, but Nino isn’t ready for that yet.  He’d gotten as far as admitting the bit about Chat Noir to Alya only after she’d so easily admitted to her crush on Ladybug, and celebrity crushes are about all Nino can manage right at the moment

-celebrity crushes actually aren’t a great line of thought, either).

“Hey,” Luka says, his hands tightening on Nino’s shoulders, drawing him closer as Luka’s brow furrows.  Nino can’t keep looking at him like this, wet hair falling in his windblown face and eyes gleaming in the faint reflected light off the river.  He looks at the river instead, but that doesn’t help.  It’s dark enough here that there are stars reflected in the river where they flash between the clouds, a mirror that reflects back and forth endlessly, and it’s dizzying to look at.  

Luka’s hands press again, before he relaxes his grip.  He doesn’t let go entirely.  “Nino, right? Are you all right?“ 

Nino’s not sure why he answers honestly.  He barely knows Luka.  He knows Juleka, sure, but that’s not the same thing at all. "N-no."  He shivers, leaning a little further into Luka’s hands without really meaning to.  "I’m, uh, it’s not been a great night so far." 

"I noticed,” Luka says, eyebrows still raised.  He nods back the way Nino had come from.  “Leaving you on your own seems like a pretty bad idea.  Want to come home with me for a bit first?”

Nino does not like the way he can’t help but scan for innuendo in that, paranoid now from his conversation with Alya earlier.  As far as he can tell, though, it’s nothing but an honest offer, and frankly Nino really doesn’t think he should be alone. 

He doesn’t want to be alone even long enough to go find Alya or Adrien, because going to either one of them is a very, very good way to bring up the same panicked thoughts that had him running in the first place. 

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Luka tells him, apparently picking up something from his expression.  “I mean, you can, but you don’t have to.  You’re into music too, right?” He does let go now, reaching back to settle one hand on his guitar.  “We can just jam for a while." 

That… actually does sound pretty good. 

"Sure,” Nino agrees, taking a shaky breath, holding it and letting it out.  “Sounds good." 

He’s a little surprised to see that the lights on the Liberty are out. 

"Think Mom forgot to pay the utilities on time again,” Luka says, apologetically.  He doesn���t really sound surprised, or worried, and when Nino sneaks a glance over at him the look he’s giving the ship is still mostly fond.  “She’ll remember when she tries to make coffee in the morning." 

Nino opens his mouth, then shuts it slowly.  He feels like anything he can ask about that would be way too prying. 

"What about you and Juleka?" 

Apparently he can’t help himself anyway.

"And Rose,” Luka says, unconcerned as he leads the way onto the darkened ship with sure feet.  “She lives here too, mostly.  We’re used to it."  He stops to offer Nino a hand onto the deck, shrugging when Nino’s caught his balance again.  "If we really have to we can stop by Marinette’s folk’s place anyway, they always have plenty of leftovers.  And Mom doesn’t forget about the bills when the weather’s really bad." 

Nino doesn’t say anything, guilt climbing into his throat.  It sounds like Luka and Juleka- and Rose, apparently- have a lot better reason to attract an akuma right now than he does. 

And yet Luka had stepped in to save Nino from one, instead. 

"It’s gonna be pretty dark inside, so we might as well stay above deck."  Luka nods at the stairs to the wheelhouse, where Nino can see occasional flashes of light now.

That’s not helping with the feeling of unreality creeping onto the ship after them. 

Between the dim lighting, the scudding clouds and the lingering scent of rain, stepping onto the Liberty already feels like stepping out of the world. 

When he follows Luka into the wheelhouse itself, that impression only grows stronger.  Nino doesn’t think the glow-in-the-dark stars had been on the walls and ceiling before, but he has to admit he’s not sure he would have noticed if they had been. 

He’s pretty sure Rose painting more stars on the floor is new, though. 

Juleka looks up and mumbles something in Nino’s direction, nudging Rose a moment later. Unlike Juleka, Rose springs lithely to her feet with an enthusiastic cry. 

"Nino!” Rose grabs his hands, swinging Nino around before he can react.  “Are you here for the night, too?"  She tilts her head, grinning impishly.  "It’s turning into a real party." 

"Mom’s not home?” Luka asks, stepping carefully around Rose’s paints to lean out a window. 

Juleka lifts her head, blowing her bangs out of her eyes, and casually swipes at Luka’s pant leg with a paintbrush.  She leaves an uneven stripe behind that glows dimly in the refracted light.  “Nope.  Haven’t seen her, and her cell’s dead again." 

"Figures.  Pretty sure he could use a meal tonight, too."  Luka rubs the back of his neck, sighing, and reaches for something wedged up against the side of the window. "We’ll figure something out." 

"We don’t have to,” Rose pipes up, releasing Nino and rocking back on the balls of her feet.  Nino dimly registers that Rose’s hands are covered in glowing paint, which means there’s a good chance it’s on his clothes as well.  “Marinette brought a whole bag of stuff over earlier.  Said Kim saw the lights go out." 

…apparently Nino’s been more out of the loop than he’d thought. 

Luka’s prize turns out to be a storm lantern.  To Nino’s surprise, when Luka hangs it out the window and lights it, it lights green, adding to the strange ambience on the dead ship. 

Dropping back to the floor, Rose rolls so that her head is in Juleka’s lap.  "Bet you he shows in the first half an hour." 

"In this weather?"  Luka withdraws back into the wheelhouse, stepping carefully again.  He swings his guitar off his back long enough to take a seat on the floor himself, waving Nino down after him.  "Probably the first fifteen minutes." 

It’s occurring to Nino, slowly, that he should probably ask who they’re talking about.

His question’s answered before he can ask it. 

Despite how strange the rest of his night has gone, he’s still surprised when Chat Noir slips in through the window.

"You made it,” Rose greets him, grabbing a bakery bag from beside Juleka.  She rummages through it briefly, then withdraws a roll and throws it at Chat Noir, who catches it without any apparent effort. 

Chat Noir’s eyes are obviously drawn to Nino, though, and Nino swallows as Chat tilts his head and his eyes flash in the dark like his namesake.  “‘Course I made it.  Are we adding people again?" 

"Maybe."  Luka shrugs, catching a roll of his own when Juleka throws it at him.  "Nino wasn’t doing so well earlier, so I invited him over.  Up to him if he wants to come any other night, but-” He casts an unreadable glance at Chat Noir.  “Thought we’d save you and Ladybug another battle tonight." 

Chat Noir winces, turning the roll over in his hands and tearing off a surprisingly small piece with his claws.  "Definitely appreciate that." 

This is not helping Nino’s feeling of unreality.  

Chat showing up out of the blue isn’t doing great things for his recent emotional upheaval, either. 

Maybe he should have risked Alya or Adrien after all.  Why hadn’t he just gone to Marinette’s?  He knows how busy she’s been lately, but he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t have minded if he just hung out for a while.  Just- just long enough that he wasn’t risking any akuma when we had to be alone with his thoughts. 

Maybe it’s a good thing that Chat Noir is here, anyway.  Nino really doesn’t like being akumatised. 

He clears his throat and immediately regrets it when four pairs of eyes turn to him.  Swallowing again, Nino asks, "So just how often do you do this?" 

"Us?” Rose waves to indicate herself and Juleka, splattering paint on the floor and on Juleka’s clothes.  Juleka doesn’t react to that any more than Luka had before, but then Nino doesn’t think either of them is exactly likely to get in trouble for it.  “Most nights, I think?" 

"Though we do have power most of the time,” Juleka adds dryly.  “Seriously, that part’s not usual.  Mom just gets kinda forgetful, sometimes." 

"I was…” Nino trails off, eyes darting around in a way he wishes he could stop as he tries to come up with a discreet way to ask them why Chat Noir is here and fails. 

He sort of hopes that Chat Noir will realise that and fill him in, but Chat’s not proving any better at reading social situations than Adrien is and that’s saying something. 

None of the others answer his unasked questions, either. 

Chat Noir leans against the open window to slowly finish off his roll, delicately licking the crumbs off his clawed hands, and Nino has to avert his eyes in a hurry.

His eyes land on Luka instead, though, and that’s not actually any better.

Letting out a breath, Nino accepts that no one looks about to offer him any more of an explanation.  He’s having the kind of night where he’s not sure he even wants to ask, so he sits down beside Luka and catches the roll Rose throws his way. 

He takes a bite, pauses, and takes a closer look. 

Marinette may have said these were leftovers, but he doesn’t think they are.  He wonders how much she knows about this.  He doesn’t think it’s been going on for too long, or there would probably be even more of their class here, but it’s been at least long enough to somehow involve Chat Noir. 

It really doesn’t look like anyone’s going to explain that part. 

They haven’t asked Nino to explain himself, either, though, so he doesn’t really want to push.  He’s not ready to talk to anyone else about today.  He’s barely ready to talk to Alya about it, and she’d figured it out before he had.  (Nino left his phone at her place, now that he thinks about it.  Otherwise she’d probably be blowing up his notifications by now). 

Nino never does ask, in the end.  They finish eating and Rose ropes him and Chat Noir both into helping her paint and they end up with the glowing stars sprawling out of the wheelhouse and down across the deck, interspersed with footprints and even a few handprints where they’d gotten into light-hearted scuffles over the paint.  Chat Noir’s boots leave paw print patterns, Nino notes, snickering to himself. 

If he gets into a brief competition with Chat Noir over drawing shooting stars on the darkest section of the deck, no one else has to know. 

Luka and Juleka join them too, with Luka stopping to put out the green storm lantern, but while Juleka seems happy enough to help Rose paint Luka settles himself near the prow and starts to play his guitar instead. 

Nino doesn’t notice that he’s humming along to the tune until Chat Noir starts putting words to it. 

“Earth below us, drifting, falling, floating weightless, calling calling home,” Chat Noir sings, nearly purring the lyrics, and laughs when Juleka drops her paintbrush and heads for Ivan’s drums instead. 

Nino’s not familiar with the song, not at all, but he’s trying to memorise it so he can look it up later and learn it for himself.  Between the drums, the guitar, and the way Chat Noir’s voice echoes off the dark river and sends shivers down his spine, he doubts he’ll ever be able to recapture the way it feels to hear it like this, but it’s still a song he wants to know. 

Anarka does show back up, eventually.  She doesn’t seem surprised to see Nino or Chat Noir, and if she objects any to the paint splashed across her boat then Nino certainly can’t tell. 

He doesn’t find out, that night, why Chat Noir is there.  He doesn’t even find out why Rose is there, though it’s days before it even occurs to him to wonder about that anyway. 

But it’s far from the last night that Nino strays to the Liberty when he can’t find sleep, and he’s far from the only one to do it.  Chat Noir’s only ever there when it’s a smaller group- Nino doesn’t see him unless the only other people on board are Rose and the Couffaines- but otherwise the Liberty’s slowly becoming a refuge for a rotating cast of his classmates. 

By the time Nino works out that he’s not the only one Luka’s stepped in front of a butterfly for, he’s not surprised.

#miraculous ladybug #asks and answers #my fanfiction #anonymous #adopted nino lahiffe #luka couffaine #this was fun #rose lavillant #anarka's a+ parenting? shes trying #juleka couffaine #chat noir

[rezares]

a watercolor sky || war & peace

@spindlesandrosethorns​

tl;dr: The one where they are simultaneously worse than, and not as bad as, Ross and Rachel

Word Count: 4112

Date: March 9th, 2020

AURORA

You know when you have a cup of coffee that is far too hot to drink, but you keep taking sips anyways? Even though it burns your mouth? It just tastes too good to stop.

‘Sex with Reza’ had apparently become Aurora’s cup of too-hot coffee.

In her defense, she had never thought it would continue. Sure they’d had sex in Tunisia (a… few times, actually), but that had been comfort sex! Borne of desperation and near-death encounters and all sorts of weird moral dilemmas and nearly two years of pent up sexual desire. But when they had boarded the plane back to Swynlake, Aurora expected that to be the end and was ready and willing to go back to being just friends.

Yeaaah, that didn’t happen.

Aurora snuggled closer to Reza’s chest, keeping her eyes closed and her breathing even so she could fake sleep just a little while longer. She was getting horribly spoiled, waking up next to Reza at least once a week. She was still naked and a little sweaty under the blanket, doubtlessly sporting a few new bruises, and felt completely content with this moment in the universe. Soon, they’d have to get up and pretend this had never happened - at least around Sabiha, Fadela and Lamia both looked too smug to not know - but for this little slice of morning, Aurora got him all to herself.

REZA

Reza was not bothering to fake sleep. He just didn’t mind laying there, playing with Aurora’s hair, trying his best not to think too hard on the confusing, unfamiliar feelings slowly forming in his chest. It wasn’t that he was against them. Hardly! He wouldn’t have had sex with Aurora the first time, let alone for the past couple months if he didn’t hope to feel those feelings for her one day.

Rory was, in all honesty, the first person he wanted to feel this warmth in his chest for. But he knew from secondhand accounts how infatuation could often disguise itself as love, and as he was someone who always believed himself to be incapable of love, he didn’t want to hurt Rory again. How cruel would it be to tell her ‘I think I’m in love with you’ only to retract that statement once the infatuation wore off?

No, no, he had to make sure it stuck.

Except, this warmth hadn’t left his chest since November. It was March. Was that...not...more than just infatuation?

AURORA

Aurora finally gave up the ghost and leaned into his hand as it played with her curls, humming softly as she tried to open her heavy eyes. Well, she got halfway there.

"Mmm, you're thinking too loud," she teased in a sleepy mumble, accent thick and soft like it always was first thing in the morning. Her hand reached up to smooth out the thoughtful furrow of his brow and then trailed down to his chest as she pressed a soft kiss to his pec. "No worrying before 10 or I'll kick you out."

She would never really. It was winter and Reza was warm. Also she loved the jerk, though that thought was quickly dashed away before her magic could give her away.

(The slowly fading bruise on her chest gave a little throb. The amethyst pendant pressed against her clavicle did as well: although no one noticed.)

REZA

“Am not,” Reza grumbled, very much not ready to be proper awake. “How does someone think too loud when they’re not saying anything? I’m not awake enough to find you funny. Try again in ten minutes.”

The bitching quickly gave way to a soft, tried chuckle. God, she was cute. 

“Go ahead, you can explain to my sisters why you’re coming out of my bedroom at—” he squinted to try reading the clock but gave up “— early o’clock in the morning.”

AURORA

She was hilarious, excuse you. Aurora flicked his chin just enough to sting for a second before pushing herself up the bed so their faces were closer together.

"One, it's an expression, you ass," she murmured with a sleepy grin. "Your face gets scrunchy when you think. Two, bold of you to assume they haven't already figured it out. I'm surprised Lamia hasn't shown up at my flat yet with a 'Congrats on the sex' cake. And three…"

Aurora leaned in, kissing his jaw softly where it was the closest and tucking some of his hair back from his face in the process. "Morning," she whispered, laying her head back on his shoulder with a content little smile. Her leg slid against his as she made herself comfortable, and she giggled under her breath as his hair tickled her thigh.

REZA

God, she’s adorable…

...is what Reza would say to himself if he wasn’t still wishing he was asleep. Instead he just smiled as he closed his eyes, which was a clear sign he was amused. Rory knew him well enough by now to know she was slowly chipping away at the grumpy morning goblin that possessed him before noon.

“Yes, but do you really want to deal with their teasing and-” the kiss shut him up, and he gave a tired laugh. “It’s morning, I’ll give you that.”

He opened his mouth to say something else, but the shuffling of feet outside of the door, followed by a muffled ‘Sabiha, wait!’ glued his mouth shut and made him wide-ass awake. Shit.

The door handle jiggled, but stopped, as someone certainly had pulled her back.

“But I hear Amma ‘Rora!”

AURORA

Just as Aurora was starting to break through Reza’s grumpy morning layer, there was a commotion outside the door that made Aurora freeze completely solid. Oh fuck.

“Oh my god,” Aurora whispered, wanting nothing more than to sink under the sheets. But no, now was not the time to hide! Or, it was, but certainly not naked in bed with a man she Was Not Dating while his daughter stood outside.

Once Aurora was certain her body hadn’t locked up and frozen from the sudden panic, she sat up to look at the door then back down at her very naked self and her very naked coconspirator. She made panicked eyes at Reza, gesturing silently at the door. Sabiha had already heard her! Should she hide anyways!? Go out and pretend like sex hadn’t happened (several times) the night before?? Shit!

REZA

“Shit.” Reza whispered. 

They weren’t telling Sabiha yet! It was too soon, he wanted to wait a while longer, he wanted to be sure- but there she was, on the other side of the door. He grabbed his jeans off the floor and shimmied into them.

“One second Sabiha, Baba’s gotta-” and as he said this, he threw the blankets over Rory and put a pillow on top of her for good measure.

He went to the door and cracked it open just enough to talk to her.

“Baba, I heard Amma ‘Rora!” Sabiha said, standing up on her tippy toes to try to see.

“What are you talking about, crazy?”

“But I-”

“No, silly. What d’you think she did, climb through the window?” He laughed, ruffling her hair. “Do you want to see ‘Rora today, is that why you’re hearing things?”

Sabiha huffed and folded her arms over her chest. She was right! She knew she was right! But...yes. Yes, she did want to see her Auntie Rory today, thank you.

“Let me finish sleeping, okay, baba? Hey, actually - why don’t you and Lamia go into the workshop and grab a bottle of wake-up potion so I can wake up faster. Then we can go see Rory.”

Sabiha eyed her father but eventually went “...fine.”

Reza made sure to lock the door behind her and waited until he heard her pad down the stairs to address Aurora. “It’s safe.”

He wandered to his closet and threw on a clean shirt, opened his top dresser drawer to grab a dress Rory’d left in his bedroom a couple weeks ago, and brought it to her. 

AURORA

Aurora felt a bit like a child again; hiding under the blankets like the world - read, her aunties - wouldn’t be able to see her if she couldn’t see it. This wasn’t as much fun as that had been; in fact, this was mortifying. Aurora kinda hoped she’d melt into the bed never to be seen again.

She peeked out from under the pillow Reza had shoved on her face when he gave the all clear, pouting a little. “Was the pillow to the face necessary?” she asked, sitting up fully and accepting the dress. She stumbled a bit as she stood from the bed, though if asked she’d blame the narcolepsy and not way her legs were still kind of numb. “I’m not going to have time to get dressed and out before Sabiha comes back,” she whispered.

Where the hell was her underwear?

 REZA

Reza shook his head and sat down on the edge of the bed, briefly reaching down to grab Rory’s underwear. 

“That’s not the plan. We’ll go downstairs and when she gets back ‘wow, look who came over for breakfast, what a convenient surprise!’” He explained. 

“...hey. It’s not that I’m embarrassed. I’m not. I just don’t want Sabiha to know just yet.”

AURORA

Accepting her underwear with a quiet, shy “Thank you”, Aurora began to slip her clothing on and figure out what the hell she was going to do with her hair in the next 5 minutes, but Reza’s words caught her off-guard. Embarrassed? ‘Just yet’?

What the heck did he mean ‘just yet’?

Aurora slipped on the straps of her dress but didn’t bother to do up the zipper, instead coming closer to where Reza sat on the edge. “I didn’t think you were,” she reassured, gently lifting his chin so she knew she had his full attention before letting her hand drop to his shoulder. “I mean, I thought you were embarrassed, but not of me,” Aurora amended with a small smile. Lord knows her cheeks were still going back to their normal color.

“But what do you mean you don’t want Sabiha to know just yet?” she asked innocently. She was operating under the impression that Sabiha was never going to find out about Aurora and Reza having sex, even when she was old and grey.

REZA

See, he expected Aurora to come back with a question. The question, though, was supposed to be ‘yeah, but when?’ He had his answer to that at least twelve percent formulated in his head, which was much better than his response to the question Aurora did ask.

His stared at her slack jawed as he tried to explain it to the imaginary Rory in his head without sounding patronizing. When at least a dozen phrasings were thrown out all at once it became apparent he’d be winging this.

Which. 

Is always the thought before winging something he should absolutely not wing.

“I mean that I want to make sure this-” he gestured between them vaguely. “-is sticking around before Sabiha gets any ideas in her head. She’s nine. She adores you. You know what she’d start thinking the second she catches wind that we’re-”

The words ‘together’ and ‘dating’ didn’t sound right to him. What, then?

“-that I’m- that we- we- that I’m trying to understand what having feelings is like. And I’d like to have them for you.”

AURORA

Aurora was starting to get the sense that somewhere along the way, she and Reza had missed some connection and had been drifting along on entirely different tracks. Here she had been, hopelessly smothering the dreams of her broken heart as Reza continued to lavish attention on her- or, at least, the Reza Version of ‘lavishing’.

When apparently, Reza had thought they were more. Enough ‘more’ that telling his daughter about them was a serious concern. Goodness, they should have talked about this weeks ago.

His final words caught her offguard more than anything, her heart tripping in her chest. Did he…? Was he implying…?

There went her heart, jumping away to conclusions, and she could only smile brightly at Reza’s awkward wording. For the first time in months, little blossoms of golden light curled protectively between strands of her hair. They didn’t stick out much, she had learned that lesson well, but it was more than Aurora had allowed herself in weeks.

She giggled, stepping forward until she could perch herself on his knee, her hands coming up to run through his hair before cradling his jaw gently. “You’ll figure it out,” she nearly teased. “There’s no rush.” 

REZA

Reza was far too embarrassed to address the obvious - that he and Rory, until this minute, were not on the same page. It was clear they were now, so he’d spare himself the embarrassment, thank you.

“I— I am aware that I care about you. A lot. But I need to sit with this unfamiliar feeling a little while longer before I want to name it for you. If that makes sense?” He said slowly. 

“I understand though if you can’t do that. I’ve put you through enough, Rory.” Reza smiled at her and played with her hair as he explained. “I just don’t want to rush into giving it a name just because I really want to.”

He wanted to love her. He wished he knew he was capable of that, but he didn’t know for sure and instead he clung to her like he was starved for affection. 

AURORA

Her smile was probably embarrassingly wide, her cheeks tellingly flushed and her eyes too soft and full of everything she’d been hiding in the deepest parts of her broken heart. Aurora should do something about that.

She ducked her head so she was looking at his chest instead, leaning into his hand a little as she resisted the urge to push him back on the bed and just kiss his dumb face all over. Her hands trailed down his shoulders until they were pressed to his chest, his heart beating steady and strong under her hand. She loved him. So much. Even after everything.

“I can be patient,” she promised, playing with the fabric of his t-shirt. “I don’t mind waiting knowing what might be at the end.” If he decided it wasn’t love? Then she’d just have to accept it. She’d risk shattering her heart again a hundred times for the chance that he might love her back. It felt like a naive, foolish sentiment, and she should know better but… this love? This was hers. 

Her magic may not be, her life may not be, but the warmth and love she felt for Reza and his daughter? That was all Aurora. She wanted to cling to that feeling for as long as she could. It was proof that she was more than a vessel.

“I still…” Aurora started shyly. “You know I…” She laughed, tucking her face against his chest. “God, now I can’t talk,” she said between embarrassed giggles. Around the crown of her head, the little golden buds began to shyly open up; peeking out between pink curls. She pulled her legs up so she was properly curled up in his lap, her arms wrapping around his waist.

REZA

Reza zipped her dress up for her as she sat curled up in his lap, lest he be tempted to coax her into discarding it on the floor, and ran his fingers through her hair as she stumbled over talking. His own thoughts and words were clouded by a layer of sleep, so he could only imagine was it was like for her.

“You don’t have to.” He assured her. “Talk, I mean. I understand. And you don’t have to be patient much longer, I just-”

Should he mention the real, final reason for any hesitation?

AURORA

She wanted to melt into him as his fingers ran carefully through her hair, pressing her cheek closer to his chest. If the constant threat of Sabiha returning at any moment wasn’t keeping her awake, she would have fallen right back asleep happily in his lap. But she was awake, and her curiosity was piqued.

Sitting back so she could finally look back at his eyes, Aurora prompted him to continue his thought with a gentle, “Yes?” 

She didn’t want to push, but she also wanted to make sure they were on the same page. Since apparently they hadn’t been doing a very good job of that, recently.

REZA

“Aurora, it is very different, loving somebody else’s child as the cool aunt, versus…” Reza bit his lip and carded his fingers through Aurora’s hair again, careful to make sure he was touching her and showing her affection as he said this.

It wasn’t harsh words, but they were realistic ones that were a bit of a shock to even his system after he all but admitted he was in love with her.

“I’m a single father, Rory. I don’t want you to feel pressured or obligated to...move toward a certain role just because you think you should. And I worry you’re going to feel pressured, or obligated, or — and you don’t. Sabiha is my responsibility. You are welcome to hangout with her, and I’m glad she adores you, but you don’t owe anything to someone else’s child.” He softened his tone even more here. “So don’t feel like you do.”

A child is the biggest responsibility. And Aurora can say she’s okay with it all she wants but you never really know until that child becomes yours to take care of every single day. 

If she really wanted to do this with him, if they were to continue like this and things were going to go really well down the line...eventually she’d be more involved with his daughter. He didn’t want to put either Rory or Sabiha in a position to feel uncomfortable, pressured, or overwhelmed. 

“Sabiha is my world but she is also a bigger responsibility than you can imagine. And I dot say that to patronize you.” Reza brushed the back of her hand against his cheek and held it between his cheek and his hand. “I mean you just really don’t know until you’re raising a child.”

 And he knew the second Sabiha knew that Baba and Auntie Rora were involved, Sabiha would steamroll over his caution tape and jump right into claiming Aurora as some sort of mother figure. He needed to be sure Rory was ready to deal with that before Sabiha could know. 

AURORA

This conversation was going much better than last time, Aurora thought to herself. Didn't hurt that this time it was a warning, instead of a rejection. Or that he was looking at her and touching her instead of sitting on the opposite side of the couch and the world, drinking like it would make her go away.

She turned her hand in his grasp so she could cup his cheek. "I know," she said. "I mean, I know I don't know. But I want that."

Aurora felt obscenely young all of a sudden considering she was rapidly approaching 30, and it was suddenly the most important thing in the world that he understood. She sighed, informing him as she scooted off his lap and back onto the bed "I'm going to talk about babies and marriage for a second here so don't freak out, but I need you to understand." She curled up against his side and sighed, hands clasped together.

"I've always wanted a family," she told her knees. "It's lame and silly but for as long as I can remember I've dreamed of falling in love and getting married and having half a dozen kids to shower in love. And after Carabosse, I had to put all of my dreams away. I… no one wanted a wife who was broken. The only time I got close was practically arranged and it took me far too long to end it. And now I'm here. None of this is like what I imagined, but it's real and it's a disaster and it's beautiful and I love it. I love her. When we were apart it felt like I was missing a limb. And I have no idea what it's like to be any kind of mom to anyone. But I want to. For her. For you."

She finally glanced up at him with a shy smile. "So it's not a burden. It's just something new I need to learn. If you're willing to teach me."

 REZA

A part of him wanted to, as the kids say, yeet out the room. Aurora didn’t say anything wrong, but she was saying things that made it all the more clear to him that he was in the unique position to truly break Aurora’s heart. If Aurora was talking about how he was someone she wanted to raise children with...god, she was in too deep.

And maybe part of him felt the same way, but maybe it didn’t, and he couldn’t just nod and say ‘yes, I’ll teach you’ if he’s not sure he really truly means it.

Sabiha, also, has already had one woman walk out on being her mother and Rafika was her actual biological mother. Reza wasn’t entirely sure he had a heart to protect, but his daughter was another story. His daughter was what was important here and it was because of Sabiha that he was so careful.

“So you understand why I’m being so careful about what she knows and when she knows it.” Reza said. “Sabiha would never forgive me if I let someone else break her heart like Rafika did. And I just want to examine things another minute longer.”

“I don’t think it would be very fair to you to...say I want to move forward and then make you keep a polite distance from her any longer, if you aren’t exaggerating about how you feel about her. So I- I just need a little more time to be sure it’s right. For me, but mostly for her.”

He and Aurora both knew his answer, he was sure she could physically see the warmth all over his chest, but he still felt waiting just a little bit longer was the right move. What if these feelings were fleeting and it was him who hastily broke things off and broke Sabiha’s - and Aurora’s - heart? No, he’d rather push back the inevitable just another week, another sixteen, seventeen days, just to be sure this was going to stick. 

AURORA

For a moment, Aurora was sure she had said something wrong. She'd seen the flash-in-the-pan panic in his eyes and almost wanted to laugh and say 'psych' just to make it go away. But that would be an insult to both of them, so she just sat quietly and waited. Was it so weird that she'd thought about wanting a family with him? They had been a regular part of each other's lives for two years now, she knew what she was signing up for. Did she want to pressure him, of course not!

But he deserved to know what she was willing to offer before he made any decision.

"I'm not in a rush," she told him softly. "About anything. I know nothing is set in stone. Except for the fact that you are kind of my best friend and stuck with me regardless," she joked. "Think I proved that over the past year if nothing else."

Aurora stood up in front of Reza, petting back his hair with both hands before giving him a kiss on the forehead. "Take your time," she murmured, giving him a smile and a quick peck on the corner of his mouth. "I'm gonna clean up real fast before Lamia runs out of distractions and meet you downstairs, okay?"

REZA

“Yeah, I think one way or another, I’m stuck with you, huh?” He said affectionately as she stood up.

There were worse people to be bound to for life, anyway. Short apprentices with Scottish accents weren’t even near the top fifty worst. Maybe in the top fifty-thousand, only because he barely understood a word that came out of her Terminally Scottish father’s mouth. He was not looking forward to probably permanently being linked to Stefan, but hey, at least he was...nice. He thinks. Again, too Scottish. Can’t understand.

“Mm, I’d better keep her distracted long enough for that. I’ll see you in a bit. If Fadela’s not started breakfast I’ll think of something; take your time up here.”

#rory

[tornbetween2loves]

Arcana Unbound-Plane Rides

Four thousand years ago gods and magic shaped and ruled and were plentiful in the world. Man and all the creatures were shaped and marked by it. Then things began to change. Gradually those things of magic diminished and the things of science took precedence until magic became a myth tucked away safely in children’s fairy tales and skilled entertainer’s parlor tricks.

It’s been a thousand years of progress unmarked by true magic.

Things are about to change.

This is a collaborative project between @tornbetween2loves and @innerpostmentality parts of this particular post were also written by our good friend @kennaxval

Word Count: 2800+

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Pixelberry except for our OCs. They are our precious babies and were created with all of our love and affection.

Warnings: This series may contain erotica and adult themes and should not be read by anyone under the age of 18. 

Autumn Lee, heiress of Valtoria, felt her heart race as the plane landed. 'It had been two, no, three years,' she thought to herself, 'and I'm still nervous as hell to see her.' She had spent the last couple of hours scrolling through her phone and reminiscing about Cordonia. She looked through her reflection in the plane window down at the vast Atlantic below. She mused about the complex emotions that raged through her when her mom Hana had called her to let her know about the Royal Social Season. After the fallout from his own Social Season she would have thought that King Liam would never endorse such a cattle show for his own children.

When she left to attend Julliard she knew she was running away from her feelings for Sarissa that she wasn’t prepared to explore. Not that she regretted a moment of it. Living in Manhattan and experiencing her Mama Riley’s world had broadened her horizons and brought her closer with her New York mom. Not that she’d waited tables, her jobs included playing in the atrium at the InterContential Barclay, one of the litter of five star hotels that were scattered across the premium real estate of Manhattan. She filled in as an on call pianist for various Broadway or off Broadway productions.

Her life was good; and her life was busy and it wasn’t until the phone call that she’d ever really slowed down enough to think about Cordonia. As much as she didn't want to admit it to herself, she missed being there. Maybe it was how hilarious everyone’s obsession with protocol seemed to her. Or maybe it was Leonides, her brother from another mother. Prince and prodigy, his musical ability among the best. His infectious joy as he would play Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star as counterpoint to her Gershwin Rhapsody in Blue. Anytime they got together, they wrought joyous havoc through the palace. He would be sixteen, a young man now. She hoped he would still have that joie de vivre. She did miss him. But that wasn’t what got her on the plane to attend the Royal Social Season.

Autumn closed her eyes and thought back to that day 3 years ago when she finally tasted Sarissa’s lips and felt her body pressed close to hers. She remembered every detail as if it just happened yesterday. The way the water beaded on Sarissa’s perfect skin as she came up out of the water. The look of her perfect body in that metallic green bathing suit. How perfect her lips were as they kissed and how sliding her hand into the side of her bathing suit was like touching heaven. Autumn could still taste her lips, feel her fingers between Sarissa’s folds, everything. She opened her eyes, her body tingled just from the thoughts. She rubbed her eyes and tried to think of something else. But it was pointless.

She sighed deeply as she surrendered to the truth. Sarissa. It had always been her. Autumn had never had the courage to tell Sarissa how she felt to put it into words, and that's why she had to go back. She had always sworn to herself to speak her mind and not live with any regrets. It was time, one way or another, she would tell Sarissa how she felt.

* * *

Mona yawned and stretched her arms above her head. Flying was so boring. Especially on the royal private jet. There was no one to flirt with, no one to drink with. She looked across to the other side of the plane where her sister sat and flipped through a magazine. She unbuckled her seatbelt and moved next to her sister. “Hey Pam. Whatcha reading?”

"Sports Xtreme... Looking at all the things I'm going to be missing while we are doing whatever the hell we are doing." She frowned. "I can't believe they are still killing trees to put magazines on planes."

Mona shot her sister a sideways glance. “I’m sure you’ll find something extreme to enjoy while we’re in Cordonia. Maybe even find someone to enjoy it with.” She nudged her sister with her elbow as she raised an eyebrow at her

Pam lifted a brow at her sister. "Who would you suggest? I get the feeling you've been studying the prospects."

She smiled slyly. “Well, I hear that some of the Walker boys will be participating in the season. Perhaps one of them?” She looked at her sister pointedly. “Just keep your hands off of Xiphos Lykel. I’m calling dibs on Cordonia’s most eligible bachelor.”

Pam laughed and shook her head. "You like pouring fuel on a fire trying to put it out. That one is nothing but a handful of heartbreak Mona." She locked eyes with her sister. "Seriously you are going to pair me up with a bunch of Irish farm boys?"

“Hot Irish farm boys, Pam. Hot. Come on, nobody’s saying you have to marry one of them. Loosen up and have some fun!” She raised an eyebrow at her sister. “And I can handle Cordonia’s most eligible bachelor. He and I are cut from the same cloth I think.”

"You sure you don't want some of the 'Hot Irish farm boy' action? There are 4 of them if I recall correctly. Jeez, five kids... Didn't they know what causes that? I can't even imagine. One sister is great. Poor little girl... 4 brothers. Can you imagine?"

Mona shrugged with a mischievous smile. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll get a little action from the hot Irish boys too.” She giggled. “Poor girl is right. No guy in his right mind is gonna try and get close to that. Imagine facing the wrath of 4 older brothers, plus Drake? No thank you. She might as well become a nun.” The girls both broke into a fit of giggles.

Pam shook her head. "I wish I knew if any of them jump out of anything higher than their bed." She laughed.

Mona sighed. “Is that all you care about is if they’ll jump out of a plane with you? Come on Pam, you have to stop rejecting guys simply because they’re not daring enough for you. You are daring to the extreme. You can’t expect everyone you meet to be like that.” She raised an eyebrow as she patted her sister’s arm. “Most of us like to keep both feet planted firmly on the ground.”

Pam looked at her a long moment. "Have you ever thought about what you really want Mona? Seriously? How do you see yourself in 5 years? And do you really think some man is going to get you there?

Mona shrugged. “Yes. I see myself as the new Duchess of Lythikos. The only woman able to tame Cordonia’s most eligible bachelor. That’s exactly what I see in 5 years.”

Pam sighed knowing it was pointless to try to dissuade Mona. Once she got a cliff set in her sights she was hell bent to dash over it.

She closed her magazine. "Okay. So what's your game plan? Or do you expect a man who's been sampling the smorgasbord of Europe from one end to the other to be converted instantly by your admittedly stunning beauty and stellar wit?" She smiled and lifted her brow.

Mona giggled and punched her sister playfully in the arm. “Usually my stunning beauty and stellar wit is enough, dear sister.” She sighed. “But I fear you’re right. I may need a strategy.” She tapped her fingers on the armrest of her seat as she contemplated the situation. “Do you have any suggestions?”

"Suggestions?... Let me see. I could toss any other woman who looks at him over a cliff or out of a plane I guess... Hmm.

You know generally it helps if you know something about them. Something real. Not, he looks delish on a magazine cover. Do you actually know anything about what he does and doesn't like? What is fabricated to make good press? Do you care?"

Mona shrugged. “How the hell would I know anything besides what is printed in the press? I think we’ve met briefly in the past, but we haven’t really talked.” She broke into a big smile. “I know. Let’s google him!” She pulled out her phone and pulled up google then typed in his full name and pressed search.

Pam got up and walked over to the bar torn between drinking herself into oblivion and just tossing herself out of the plane.

She heard Mona squeal "Oh my God.. Oh my God... come look!"

She closed her eyes a moment before she grabbed the bottle of Glenfiddich and headed back to her seat. Where Mona shoved her phone with a full-frontal nude picture of Xiphos Lykel walking out of the surf on some godforsaken beach in her face.

She lifted a brow. And looked at her very excited sister. "Well now we know he's not circumcised. And DO NOT make that your wall paper!" She shook her head. "I can't believe you just shoved his dangly bits in my face. Seriously?"

Mona laughed uncontrollably. “Well now there’s nothing left to my imagination.” She grabbed the bottle of scotch from her sister and took a big swig, then handed it back. “I wonder if he knows this picture is out there.”

"Mona, it's Europe. They have more miles of nude beaches than some countries have coastline. Honestly it would be more surprising if there wasn't a nude picture of the man. He may have short comings but none of them are displayed in that picture. I'll give him that." Pam took a swig of the scotch.

"Mona why don't we just blow this all off. Land. Rent a car. Drive over to Rome, or Paris. Have a vacation without all the Social Season crap?"

Mona half-listened to her sister as she concentrated on zooming the photo of Xiphos. She held the phone up to Pam again. “And miss my chance at this??? No way sis, sorry.” She licked her lips and raised an eyebrow at her sister. “Can you really blame me?”

Pam shook her head. "I just don't want you hurt." She sat down and sipped some more scotch then took her phone out and googled 'duchy of Lythikos'. Information appeared about the area including scenes of its mountains and breathtaking vistas. Then information about the Duke and Duchess and their family.

"I'm not finding anything here about where he went to school. Must have been private. Or Bastien cleared the decks of personal information." She grinned. "Dad gave him a LOT of expertise in cleaning up messes." She got a thoughtful look. "Maybe that could help... If you can get his dad to like you?"

Mona shrugged. “Possibly. I’ve never had to go that route before, but it’s definitely something to keep in mind.” She took another swig of scotch. “I still think he and I will hit it off from the start. We’ll party together. We’ll have fun. We’ll just click. I know it.”

"So who else is likely to be there?" Pam Googled 'Cordonian Royal Court' Her screen filled up with lists of Kings and Queens and their courts for the last five hundred years. She laughed and narrowed the search. "I wonder who else is going to be there? Ramsford, Domvilliar, Valtoria, Krona?"

“I would imagine all the duchies would be represented. Don’t forget Lythikos.” Mona flashed a big smile at her sister.

Pam shook her head, "No chance of that."

"So have you got outfits planned for the masquerade ball? Are we going for stunning confusion, or stunning but individual?"

Pam looked over at her sister when she didn't answer and took her phone now completely filled with Xiphos’ schlong out of her hand. "Earth to Mona. Stop that! Seriously you are going to give me a problem staring at his crotch when I meet him." She reduced the size of the picture while her sister grabbed for it.

Mona pouted. “You never let me have any fun. Although I must admit now there is very little left to the imagination. I was thinking maybe we should do stunning confusion. What’s the point in being identical twins if we can’t use it to our advantage?”

Pam grinned and lifted her brow. "I'm the most fun person you know. Admit it. The only way I could be more fun would be if I happened to have an 8 inch cock. But that would definitely interfere with all the fun we get to have being identical twins." She laughed. "Do I get to see the gowns before so I know how much of my tits and ass I'm going to be strutting for the court?"

Mona grinned and shot her sister a mischievous look. Would you like to see them now? They’re hanging in the bedroom. I could sneak in there and grab them

"oooh yes! I love your designs you know." Pam lifted her brow. "Just make sure you listen at the door first and don't go in if you hear anything. You know they may be old but they sometimes still..." She waggled her brow.

Mona grimaced at her sister. “Ewww Pam why would you say that? I may be traumatized.” She got up and pressed her ear to the door of the bedroom. Pam followed close behind. She giggled and whispered low, “all I hear is dad’s snoring. I think it’s safe.” She slowly turned the handle and came back a few moments later with a garment bag. They returned to their seats and Mona unzipped the bag to reveal several gowns. She picked two and hung them next to each other. “Okay so there are two ways we can do the masquerade ball. Because obviously I didn’t have time to make us gowns for every event, I tried some new things.”

“Both of these are just basic black A-line gowns with a ruffled skirt. But we can switch out the bodice or the skirt and suddenly it’s a different gown.” She demonstrated by removing a length of the hem so the dress would now fall at mid-calf length. “I was thinking we could be phoenixes for the masquerade ball.” She pulled out two red sequined bodices, one strapless and one with one long sleeve. “This way we’re the same, but different.” She pulled out the different materials for the skirts. “One of us could do short, the other long. One ruffled, one not. One all black, one a mixture of red and black. And the masks are identical.” She pulled out two identical masks, black sequined around the eye holes and red and black feathers creating a plume that would cover the forehead. Mona raised an eyebrow at Pam. “So you’re completely in control of how much tits and ass you’re showing.”

"You're brilliant! I love these. Mona why don't you do this full time? I'd love to see you having shows. This is art and it's gorgeous!"

Mona shrugged. “Maybe someday. Right now I just don’t have the time. I’m too busy.”

Pam lifted her brow and moved her thumb and forefinger open and closed like she was expanding the picture on an imaginary phone. "Too busy? What exactly are you too busy doing?"

Mona broke into a fit of giggles. “Research. It’s research. Nothing wrong with being prepared.” She sighed as she began to pack the gowns away. “I do enjoy making clothes. A lot. Maybe I should try and make something of it. If I only knew where to begin.”

Pam smiled at her sister, "Well I think I'd try to talk with some designer that you admired who has done it?" She shook her head, "Didn't they have some classes on business modeling for this when you were in school? Let me guess.... you slept though it a lot."

Mona shrugged. “I guess they did but hell if I can remember.” She sat up straight and her face lit up. “Isn’t one of the duchesses of Valtoria a big designer? Do you think she might be at season?” Pam nodded and smiled. She picked up her phone and typed “Valtoria” into the search bar and after a moment came across a photo of Hana Lee. She held it out to Mona. “This is her. Are you familiar with her work?” Mona raised an eyebrow as she scrolled through the phone. “Actually, yes. She does great work. Now I have a second reason for wanting to attend season.”

A soft bong sounded over the plane’s speaker and the pilot announced that they were on their final approach and would be landing in the next fifteen minutes.

Moments later their mom and dad came out of the bedroom in the back and took the seats that faced their daughters and buckled in for the landing. Leo took Katie’s hand and smiled at Pam and Mona, “So have you girls been busy making plans for the Season?”

The twins looked at each other and burst into giggles.

Tags: @darley1101 @gardeningourmet @speedyoperarascalparty @hopefulmoonobject @bobasheebaby @carabeth @riseandshinelittleblossom @stopforamoment @furiousherringoperatortoad @indiacater @sirbeepsalot @alesana45 @museofbooks @eileendannie @furryperfectionlover @sawyeroakleyscowboyhat @strangerofbraidwood @teamtomsato @begging-for-kamilah @kennaxval @ao719 @blackcatkita

#arcana unbound #collaboration #trr au #plane rides

[rosywrites]

Fading Starlight

Title: Fading Starlight By: ArisuChanSenpai (Visit my blog for AO3 link!) Fandom: League of Legends Ship: Jinx & Lux, implied Ezreal & Lux

Word count: 3019

What the fuck.

Why is it that whenever I turn a corner, I always see you with him? I take a step back and poke my head out from the corner. Ugh, why do they have to be in my hangout spot? I scowl as I hear you laugh at something he said. You never laugh like that around anyone else.

I narrow my eyes and stomp over to you.

You try to calm me down in front of him, when I know you’d usually argue back with me. I bark out a laugh when you say I can’t own an entire area of the school. Nah, I’d totally fight anyone who’d try to take this spot of mine. It’s my own little space.

He tries to hold you back by grabbing your hand. He tells you that they could find another place at school to talk.

I crack a joke about him being in love with you. I raise a brow, revelling in silence at the satisfaction of seeing him let go of your hand like he touched fire. Yet, his reaction is also unpleasant to me. I shoo you two away and watch you leave without turning back to look at me with your usual “you are in so much trouble later” look. I think nothing of it and climb the tree behind the school building to look at the view.

Man, it never beats the city scenery at night though.

I lean back against the tree trunk. I think about the first time I met him back when you took us all to Camp Targon, when I saw you talking to him. I doubt you sensed me nearby, but I heard him ask you what your favorite light was.

Now and then, I see you with him at school.

I don’t know why. But for some reason, that doesn’t sit right with me.

You’re on your phone while you cook this time. There’s that smile on your face again. And don’t think I didn’t catch that blush on your cheeks. Or maybe that was because I butted my head in to read your texts. Oh, it was Janna. You scold me not to read your messages over your shoulder.

I snicker and correct you that I shoved myself into the conversation, thank you very much. You shake your head and go back to cooking while I dig through the freezer for those popsicles Poppy hid in there somewhere. But out of the corner of my eye, I catch you switching the conversation to his.

I roll my eyes and slam the freezer door, startling you. I bite the popsicle between my teeth and grin smugly at you. I walk past you to the backyard, your face as pink as your hair.

It’s hilarious to see you turn the same shade as your blossom pink hair. You’d think no human being can turn that kind of color. But you proved them wrong.

I look back to see you resuming cooking, but the screen of your phone is still on. Your head keeps turning to the side expectantly. Kuro and Shiro fly out of the open window of my room and chase each other in the sky. I smile at them endearingly. Oh, they’re such cuties!

The laughter that comes out of me feels off. There’s something weird in my laugh. I shrug it off as I chew on the pop before it melts.

This popsicle doesn’t taste as good as I expected. Maybe Poppy got the recipe wrong. But then again, she never makes a mistake on her special Poppsycle recipe. So I wonder why this tastes weirdly bitter.

Meh. I plop down onto our plastic recliner and sunbathe.

I roll across your back, playing a game app on my phone. I drawl out your name, complaining about what Poppy did to me this morning that I totally didn’t deserve. But you don’t respond. You’re spacing out the window of the living room, not paying attention to the open book in your hand. I repeat your name.

You still don’t respond.

I sigh in frustration as I playfully shove your head into your book with a snicker. You rub your nose as you shoot a glare at me, but you turn back to your book without another word.

Well. That was… underwhelming.

I poke at your hair, continuing my little rant about Poppy threatening to drop kick me while Lulu and Janna were watching from the table. Not doing anything to stop her! How could they just watch her wave the spatula at me while I was trying to take an egg from the several she was cooking up for us?

You only make acknowledging sounds with the occasional “uh-huh” or hum.

For once, my lips that would constantly go off about something—anything I can set my mind on—shut, and I fall silent. I roll off your back and make my way to my room. You don’t even call after me or ask where I’m going. When I turn the corner to head upstairs, I hear the ding of your phone and your giggle.

In my hand, my phone vibrates as it drones that I failed the level I was playing on. Ah, shit, now I have to start the level all over again. I look at the screen while I open the door to my room and sprawl on my bed. Right as my thumb is about to tap the restart button, I stop. Instead, I exit out of the app. I toss my phone onto my pile of clothes on the chair by my desk.

It’s not like the game was that fun anyways.

You don’t really come out of your room much anymore. And you’re always outside of your room to give us one of your usual pep talks or the game plan that I never really listen to. Heck, you haven’t even once banged on the wall to tell me to tone down my blasting rock music the past week. I can see the light of your computer from the space between your door and the floor, and I can hear you happily chatting with someone over voice chat.

Judging by your tone, I can already tell who it is. I walk past your door but not without slamming my palms against the wood to scare you. I hear you yelp, and I cackle as I run downstairs to the smell of food. Kuro and Shiro shoot past me into the kitchen, where I can hear Poppy telling them to stop bothering her.

I stop in my tracks at the end of the stairs when I realize you haven’t even opened your door to yell at me. I frown towards the direction of your room. Ugh. How boring…

“You okay, Jinx?” I look down to see our innocent little artist, Lulu. She tugs on my skinny jeans, her head tilted in worry. “Your starlight seems dull.”

There’s a pause. I have no idea what the heck she’s getting at. “What d’you mean, Loops?” I try asking.

“You’re sad.”

Okay, now she was talking crazy. I snort in amusement at her claim. “Me? Sad? Oh, Loops, you know there’s a limit to imagination. Me being sad is beyond that limit.”

Lulu neither accepts or denies my words. She keeps looking at me with those big, blue eyes. “Just because the light seems to be far away, doesn’t mean it’s completely gone.”

I stand there, dumbfounded, as Lulu skips over to the counter to start drawing something again like she always does. Pix quickly joins her, fluttering around her head. I… sometimes wish I could be in Lulu’s world. Just to know what she’s talking about all the time. But then again, I feel like I would be staring fear in the eye if I did.

But I wonder what she meant by that. Wish she’d elaborate. Eh, knowing me, her words might go straight out the other ear.

I see Poppy cooking while Janna is cleaning up the dishes. Seems like we’re having beef stew for dinner tonight, hell yeah! Kuro and Shiro then come up to me and nuzzles me with their soft fur. Gee. Wonder what got into them.

The table’s already set, so no work for me! I sit down by the table and wait for that delicious bowl of stew, tapping my fingers eagerly against the wood. I can already feel my mouth watering.

“Jinx, can you get Lux? Weirdly enough, she hasn’t come down yet.”

My fingers stop tapping. “Oh come on, can’t Loopsy do it this time? I don’t wanna go back upstairs!”

“Jinx,” Poppy calls my name in a threatening tone. “It’ll only take a minute.”

“A minute too long,” I mutter as I push myself out of my chair and drag myself upstairs. I knock on your door, the third knock being a little too loud. “Hey sunshine, dinner’s ready. Stop talking to your boyfriend and come downstairs already!”

Your door immediately opens to your pouting face. “First, he’s not my boyfriend. Just a friend.” You take a whiff of the aroma of the beef stew coming from the kitchen. “Oh, it’s beef stew tonight. Let’s go, Jinx.” You brush past me and head downstairs, leaving me to close your door.

I scoff and close the door, but I peek through the crack at you computer screen. There’s something… that feels weird. And it’s not my usual desire to blow something up. Because I love to do that. But this time… it’s different. Kinda new, I think. I close your door shut and go back downstairs.

When I’m back in the kitchen, my bowl of stew is already prepared and ready to be eaten. “Haha!” I cackle as I sit down next to you and start digging in. “Your stew is always the best, Shortstack. I can eat this for days.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what you say about all my food.” Poppy takes this moment to send me a knowing glare. “And my popsicles.”

I can only smirk at her comment. “What can I say? You’re the chef of the house!” I kiss the tips of my fingers and smack my lips to emphasize the compliment. “By the way, Lux, you wanna go to the movies later this weekend? There’s a real great movie with explosions and actions and guns and stuff. It’s also got some romance, m’sure you’d drink that stuff up.”

“Oh. Actually, I have plans with Ez that weekend.” You start talking about whatever that guy invited you to, but you don’t seem to notice how much you light up when you talk about him. Your voice gets more chipper. Your eyes get a little wider with excitement. Your gestures become broader.

The table clatters when I slam my hands down and push my chair back to stand up. Without another word, I rush out of the kitchen.

“Hey! Where are you going?! You didn’t even finish your bowl!” Poppy calls after me.

“I’m not hungry!” I holler back. I can already imagine the look on that Shortstop’s face. Her jaw hanging open in shock at my refusal to eat her food. I’d laugh, but I don’t have it in me. “Kuro! Shiro! Let’s go!” My familiars follow me as I run out the door and transform. I fly away from home towards the city.

I don’t even hear the cries of my sisters from the wind rushing past me.

 I find the highest tower in the city and sit on top. Heights make me feel… powerful. Important. Because no one can reach up so high but me. Plus, the city view is gorgeous at night. But even as I gaze down at the moving lights and ant-sized figures of people below, I can’t shake this feeling off.

I don’t know what it is. And it’s so frustrating.

Loudly sighing, I stand up and fly somewhere else. Somewhere open. Somewhere quiet so my voice is what fills the silence. I reach a canyon far west of the city, where there’s nothing but rocks and dirt everywhere. Oh good. Nothing to set on fire, since there’s barely anything here. I think Lux’s scolding is getting to me.

All of a sudden, my chest feels tight. It’s kinda hard to breathe. Something is happening to me. I’m not dying, right? I look at Kuro and Shiro, who seem perfectly fine to me. So, I guess I’m not dying. But this feeling is… painful.

Just to alleviate the pain, I do what I do best. Scream. I screech at the canyons, hearing my voice echo back. It doesn’t soothe the feeling at all. Kuro turns into a cannon in my hands, and I shoot a missile into the air to watch it crash and explode into starlight onto the rocks below.

I hate this.

Another missile explodes in the farther distance.

It’s like I’m not there anymore.

I yell into the sky as Shiro now switches with Kuro into my gun. I shoot at the rocks far away.

I feel like I’m being pushed aside.

I let go of Shiro and start shooting at the sky with my finger, watching the blue starlight disappear as soon as I shoot it. It’s pretty, but I can’t feel myself being able to marvel at it. I keep shooting and shooting and shooting. I scream until my throat’s raw. I then stop, panting to catch my breath. My face feels warm despite the cold canyon air blowing right through me.

“Just because the light seems to be far away, doesn’t mean it’s completely gone,” Lulu’s words resonate in my head.

Fuck it all! The feeling is still there. I let out one last frustrated howl as Kuro and Shiro merge into one huge rocket that I shoot at the sky above me.

I feel like I’m being replaced.

My ears are ringing with the echoes of my screams and the explosions of missiles and bullets. Kuro and Shiro split apart, squeaking something in panic at me. But I don’t hear them anymore. I just barely catch the voice of my sisters yelling at me from behind, when I turn to see them flying towards me with fear in their voice. And there in the front, I see you desperately trying to gain speed to get to me faster.

Next thing I know, I have three barriers on me. That’s when I realize. I look up to see the rocket that I had shot shooting straight towards me. I can’t move. All I can see is an explosion of light and stars before my vision fades to black.

Fuck. My head. I grumble in pain as my eyes flutter open to the ceiling of my room and my rock band posters on the wall. What the fuck? Didn’t I die?

“Jinx?!”

I wince at the sudden loud voice. “Shut up, my head hurts,” I can manage to say.

“Oh, thank the stars. She’s alive! Poppy, get Janna. We need her to check her condition.”

I squint to clear the blurriness away, but I don’t need to have clear vision to know that the white and black furballs against my chin are Kuro and Shiro. That voice was definitely yours. “Lux?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m here! I’m here, Jinx!” You grab my hand and squeeze it tightly as you look at me with red, puffy eyes. Shit, I screwed up. “What were you thinking?! Why were you all the way there?! Why didn’t you move, you stupid idiot?”

Huh? Oh yeah. My rocket. I want to move my arms, but my left hurts so badly when I try. I look to see my left arm bandaged and put in a sling. Damn. I think my rocket broke my arm. My head sinks back into the pillow.

“I thought you died, are you kidding me?!” you cry, the tears flowing down your cheeks again.

I snort. “What, all I do is cause trouble? If that’s how I go, that’s how I go. I wouldn’t care.”

“But I do. You are important to me,” you firmly state. “What would I ever do if you died, Jinx? Huh? Can you answer me that?” I gawk at her with wide eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this… emotional. Ya know, all the crying… and sobbing… and sappy talks.

“Um… sorry?” I croak out.

“You better be,” you sob. You wipe your tears and sigh in relief now. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“How did you even find me in that canyon, anyways?” I ask. “It was pretty far from where we lived, you know.”

You sniff. “How could I not know? I knew exactly where you’d go.”

Well. That put a weird, crooked smile on my face. I thought I was having a moment, but then Poppy burst into my room with Janna and Lulu following closely behind. You move away to let Janna examine my injuries and heal them. I start feeling better, but there’s only so much Janna can do with a broken arm.

Oh well.

I’m alive. That’s all that matters.

You stay behind while Poppy, Lulu, and Janna go back downstairs to fix up something for me to eat. That’s nice of them. But I can’t help but laugh in this situation. God, I’m so fucking stupid.

“Why were you in the canyons, Jinx? What were you even doing there?” you suddenly ask.

I shrug as I blow a raspberry with my lips. “Eh, you know me. I like to see explosions of glitter and starlight.” You shake your head and start nagging me about suddenly leaving the dinner table just to see things explode. I cackle. I missed that.

But ya know what? What I was doing in the canyons, I will never tell you. What I felt back there, I will never tell you. Because that shit’s not something I would willingly open up to you about. It’s just not in my character, you know?

If anything though? I just hope that light comes back to me eventually.

#league of legends #jinx #lux #star guardian #jinx x lux #rosywrites #one-shot #i had a sudden burst of inspiration while in storyboarding class so i stayed up until 3am to write and proofread this : ^)

[setepenre-set]

Love and War (chapter 11)

Strange Magic

Bog/Marianne, T rating

This is a story about two kingdoms, side by side, but worlds apart. And at war.

When the Bog King finally wins his war against the Fairy Kingdom, he decides that a political marriage with the eldest daughter of the deposed Fairy King will help to promote peace.

Obviously, he’s never met Marianne.

AO3 | FFN

There’s a spring in Roland’s step and a smile on his lips as he makes his way through the palace corridor from the barracks to his own room.

His little performance—opening the letter in front of the captains, exclaiming over the contents, and then reading the letter out loud to them—went off perfectly. His captains have all gone back to their troops, to prepare them to mobilize tonight at the ball.

Roland steps into his bedroom and closes the door behind himself with a flourish.

Everything is in place for his plan. All he has left to do is get himself ready to attend the royal wedding.

He looks at his reflection in the mirror and twirls his finger in his hair, making it fall just right over his brow.

Yes. Everything is going perfectly.

It is at this moment that something that seems to be made of teeth and fur and claws and screeching launches itself through his window and lands on his head.

Roland gives a scream of his own, and frantically attempts to remove the creature from his head without getting his face scratched or his nose bitten off. The creature is wickedly fast; it seems to be everywhere at once—in his hair, on his face, climbing down his chest with its little pinprick claws that catch in Roland’s tunic and dig into his skin. In his panic, Roland doesn’t even notice that the creature has snatched the Love Potion from his pocket until the horrible little thing has given a triumphant scream and launched itself off of Roland’s head and onto his dressing table, knocking over bottles of cosmetics and hair creams.

It leaps from there to the top of his desk, its claws leaving scratches in the wood as it runs to the edge.

Roland lunges across the desk after it, grabbing for the creature as it jumps for the open window.

He only just barely manages to get his hands on it, and the move is not at all graceful, sending Roland tumbling to the floor with the shrieking creature. Roland hits his head on the edge of the desk, and his shoulder on the stone floor, and his ankle on the wall, but he keeps a tight hold on the creature.

Roland makes a noise of mingled pain and outrage and climbs to his feet, holding the creature warily at arms length. It still has the—miraculously unbroken—bottle of Love Potion clutched in its paws.

“Give me that!”

The creature does not want to let the bottle go, but Roland, at last, yanks it out of the creature’s paws by main force. It makes a chittering, angry sound at him. and reaches ineffectually for the bottle.

“What are you?” Roland says, “Ow! Stop—biting—horrible little—weird rabbit thing—“

The weird rabbit thing bares its teeth at him and hisses; Roland jerks his head back automatically and the creature narrows its eyes and makes a sound like laughter. Roland glares at it.

“Oh, yeah, real funny, ain’t it?” Roland says in a dangerous tone. He gives the creature a warning shake. “Real funny.”

He looks furiously around his ruined room—bottles smashed, his chair overturned—

There is a crack in his mirror!

“Right,” Roland says decisively. He moves to his trunk in the corner, kicks the lid open. “Let’s see how funny this is to you.”

He shoves the creature into the trunk and slams the lid down quickly, before the thing can escape. It makes a furious sound; Roland hears it scrabbling at the inside of the trunk with its claws. Roland snaps the latch of the trunk lid down, trapping the creature inside.

“Now, isn’t that just hilarious?” Roland says, as the trunk rattles with the force of the creatures attempts to free itself.

Roland turns to look at himself in the mirror, assessing the damage.

No visible scratches on his face or neck, although there are red welts across his hands and arms, and, judging by the way his skin feels, also his chest and back. The armor, at least, will cover those.

His hair, however, is tangled and sticking up in all directions, and nearly all of his personal maintenance and cosmetic bottles have been either spilled or broken. Roland makes a face of disgust as he moves to the washbasin in the corner—there’s no telling what kind of nasty things he might catch from the little beast if he doesn’t wash the scratches and bites.

Even with two assistants, it takes the royal seamstress the better part of an hour to sew Marianne into her dress. Standing still while the violet petals are put into place and pinned and stitched with spidersilk is an incredibly tedious business, made worse by the way Marianne’s stomach is twisting itself into knots.

She remembers her wedding day, when they’d sewn the primrose dress around her, remembers the blazing fury that had burned in her heart, remembers the way her anger had seemed to burn away the fear and the dread.

Marianne wishes she could feel angry now.

Her pixie attendants flutter around her head as the seamstresses work. The pixies chatter brightly with each other in their high, sweet voices as they arrange her hair.

Marianne closes her eyes as they begin their work on her cosmetics.

“There you are, Your Majesty,” she hears the seamstress say at last. “All finished!”

Marianne opens her eyes, looks at her reflection in the mirror.

“Doesn’t she look beautiful?” one of the assistants whispers to the other, who gives a murmur of agreement.

Marianne rather thinks she looks like she’s about to be sick.

“Thank you,” she tells them. “The dress is…lovely. I’m sure you have other ladies to attend to; I won’t keep you.”

They curtsey gratefully and leave swiftly.

Rosa, Violet, and Verda are singing together now, a three-part harmony version of—

—the song Marianne sang with Bog, that day in the Great Hall, and if Marianne hears another note of it, she fears she really will be sick.

“Thank you,” she tells them. “I’ll finish everything else myself.”

They look surprised, but they leave, taking their music with them, leaving Marianne alone with the silence.

She meets the eyes of her reflection and swallows.

Bog’s potion is on her dressing table, hidden amongst the other bottles; she shoved it there quickly after her father left and her attendants came in. Marianne picks it up, now, cradles it in her hands. She closes her eyes, and, swiftly, as though she’s tearing a bandage from a wound, kisses the mark on the bottom of it. Then she slips the bottle into the hidden pocket of her dress—the pocket had been Marianne’s one suggestion for the design of her dress.

Marianne opens her eyes and looks at herself again.

She feels—so terribly vulnerable, and wishes, suddenly, for her sword at her side. But of course Dawn had been adamant that Marianne couldn’t wear her sword with her dress, and for once her little sister actually had practicality on her side; the petals of Marianne’s dress are far to delicate to support the weight of her sword belt, would end up bruised and torn if she wore her sword.

Besides, her sword, and Bog’s, have already been taken to the ballroom, placed there for the sword dance tonight; one of the chambermaids came to her room while the seamstresses were working on Marianne’s dress, and took her sword away.

There’s a little dagger in one of the drawers of her dressing table, though, hidden beneath her brushes and combs. Marianne opens the drawer and gets it out now. It’s a small, delicate thing in a sheath of soft black cloth, the blade light and slender enough and the cloth of the sheath soft enough that when she puts it in the pocket of her dress, along with Bog’s bottle, it doesn’t even pull the petals out of shape.

Marianne sets her lips and looks at herself again.

Her attendants did not get to her jewelry before she sent them away; she takes her jewel case from its drawer in the dressing table, sets it on the tabletop, and opens it.

She takes her crown from her jewel case first, holds it up for a moment, looking at it—the green enamel vines that decorate the gold, the smooth purple stone set in the center of it.

Marianne wore this for the first time at her wedding. Her father had tried to talk her out of wearing it, had said her husband-to-be would consider it a defiance.

That was why Marianne had worn it. She had certainly meant it as a defiance.

She’d been expecting Bog to demand it of her as soon as she met him at the altar, but he had just looked at her, his eyes wide with surprise and so unexpectedly blue.

She’d been expecting him to demand it of her during the wedding banquet as well, while she’d nettled and goaded him, and then she’d expected him to take it that night when he came to her rooms for the first time, but he hadn’t demanded it from her, hadn’t demanded anything of her, has never demanded anything of her, and it isn’t fair that he’s so much kinder and better than she ever expected.

Marianne takes a sharp breath. She needs to stop this. She’s going to start crying if she doesn’t, and her makeup will have to be re-done and her eyes will be red for Dawn’s wedding.

She rubs her thumb over the purple stone in her crown, feeling the smooth shape of it. Will this crown still be hers tomorrow?

Marianne realizes with a hard, painful pulse of her heart that she truly believes it will.

Bog has never taken anything from her. He will not take her queenship. Yesterday, when they flew through his forest together, and they spoke of her childhood plans to ally the Fairy Kingdom with the Dark Forest, he’d seemed truly pleased.

When he divorces her, she will remain queen. Marianne knows this.

She—

—trusts him.

She trusts him.

It’s been so long since Marianne has trusted anyone that the realization knocks the breath from her lungs like a blow to the chest.

She trusts him.

Marianne has to sit down.

Bog, standing in front of the doors to Marianne’s room, raises his hand to knock—and then lowers it. He closes his eyes briefly.

You’re being ridiculous, he tells himself. Putting off knocking isn’t going to do any good.

He’s been standing here for the better part of five minutes; it’s nearly time for the wedding to begin; if he puts this off for much longer, Marianne is going to come out of her room and find him here.

He opens his eyes, raises his hand again, forces himself not to crush the two scrolls of parchment in his other hand, and knocks.

“Come in,” Marianne’s voice says, from the other side of the doors.

Bog swallows, and opens the door, steps inside.

Marianne is seated at her dressing table; she turns her head to look at him as he closes the door behind himself.

She looks—

Beautiful. So beautiful.

And pale, beneath her makeup. And unhappy. She smiles at him, but he can see that it’s an effort for her. He frowns.

“Are you all right, Marianne?” he asks, moving towards her.

She smiles at him again, turning back to the mirror as he moves to stand behind her, meeting his eyes in the glass.

“Of course,” she says, “I’m just—a little tired.”

“The walking, yesterday,” Bog says, grimacing at her in the mirror. “I should ha’ noticed you were getting tired earlier.”

“I’m glad you brought me with you,” Marianne says, a little too quickly. “I’m glad you let me come.”

Bog frowns again.

“There’s—it’s not a matter of letting,” he says. “I—should ha’ thought to invite you sooner; of course you’d want t’ see the other half of our kingdom.”

Marianne takes a sharp breath, as if she’s touched a flame and is trying not to show pain. A little, half-arrested motion of her hands brings Bog’s attention down to them, where they rest atop the vanity table. She’s clutching—

It’s Bog’s turn to take a sharp breath as understanding strikes him. She’s clutching her crown; she’d been holding her crown and looking so pale when he walked into her room, and that little quick inhalation just now when he said our kingdom—

She’s been afraid he’s going to take her queendom from her. He’s wondered why she’s never brought the subject of divorce up herself, and of course this explains it. Of course she feared what his reaction would be, if she should divorce him.

Bog puts the two scrolls down gently on the top of the dressing table and sees Marianne flinch, and hates himself for making someone as fierce as Marianne so frightened.

“May I?” he asks gently, covering her hands that rest on her crown lightly with his own.

She nods, her eyes not leaving his in the glass, and lets go of the crown, lets him take it from her. He lifts it up, and, his eyes still on hers in the mirror, places it carefully on her head.

“There,” he says, voice quiet, “now th’ crown’s where it belongs.”

Marianne’s eyes are wide, so wide, in the mirror.

“You wear it well, Marianne,” he says, hands still holding the crown lightly, his eyes still holding hers in the glass. “And I should never wish t’ see this crown elsewhere.”

Marianne takes another of those sharp breaths, her eyes closing, dark lashes sweeping down, and then she reaches up to cover his left hand with her own, tugging it down. She presses his palm quickly to her cheek and then she turns her head and kisses the palm of his hand.

Bog flinches.

To have made her think she had to kiss his hand, to thank him for something that had never been his to give—

“—Marianne,” he says, a catch in his voice, “I’ve brought—”

“I have something for you,” she says, letting go of his hand and ducking her head, bending down to open one of the drawers of her dressing table.

She pulls something out and shuts the drawer, straightens up, pushing back her chair as she turns towards him.

Bog takes an automatic step back, not wanting to crowd her, but Marianne takes a step forward, closing the distance between. them. She reaches up to put one hand on his shoulder, presses the thing in her other hand to his chest.

Marianne, her hands still on his shoulder and his chest, glances up at him, meeting his eyes for a moment that steals his breath.

And then she steps back and turns away.

Bog looks down at the thing she’s placed on his chest. It’s—

“Uh,” he says blankly.

It’s some kind of corsage; a piece of bark with dark purple leaves pinned around it, and a purple verbena flower in the center.

“It’s hideous,” Marianne says, still turned away, “Dawn offered to do it; I should have just let her; I’ve never been any good at—”

“No!” Bog says, and she turns then, looks at him. “No, I—I like it.”

Marianne looks at him for a moment, her eyes wide.

“…thank you,” he says.

They stand there for another moment, both of them very still.

“—ah,” Marianne says.

He sees her swallow, and then she turns away, towards the mirror above her dressing table again, although she does not look up and meet his eyes in the glass.

“There’s—there’s a necklace in the jewel case,” she says, fingertips resting lightly on the top of her dressing table. “Will you help me put it on?”

Bog swallows and steps forward again, stands behind her at the dressing table.

The curve of her neck is achingly beautiful; he wants, so very badly, to stroke his fingers down it, down her spine, down the seductive space between her furled wings. He can see the slightest hint of her skin, where her wings join her back, around the edges of the dress she’s wearing.

She smells like violets, and like herself.

Bog wants to bury his face in her hair, wrap her in his arms, and kiss her neck.

Would she let him? he wonders, with a sick, twisting feeling in his stomach. Would she think that it was the payment he demanded in return for allowing her to keep her crown?

She’d kissed his hand, when he put the crown on his head, and the memory of the press of her lips against his skin makes him want to weep.

Bog looks down at the jewel case.

“Which necklace?” he asks, voice rougher than he’d like.

“The pearl one,” she says.

Bog reaches into the case, carefully sifts through the contents, delicate gold chains and rings and bangles.

“—I dinnae see any pearls,” he says.

Marianne turns, frowning. She reaches for the case and looks inside it. Bog takes a step back, giving her space.

She doesn’t find the necklace she’s looking for, either, just makes a frustrated sound and starts removing pieces of jewelry from the case, setting them atop the dressing table, the movements of her hands becoming increasingly swift and frantic as she does.

Marianne pauses for a moment, then turns to look at him.

“It’s not here,” she says. “I don’t—”

“Would you have put it somewhere else?” Bog asks.

“No,” Marianne says, but she opens the doors of her dressing table, yanks out the drawers, and begins digging through them. “No, I always put it in the case; it’s always in the case—”

She straightens up, turns to him, her eyes a little overbright.

“—that—thing,” she says, “the thing from this morning; it must have—”

“What thing?” Bog asks.

Marianne makes a wild gesture.

“There was this—this thing in my room this morning, like some kind of—weird little creature, I don’t know—Dawn woke me up screaming; it must have taken the necklace; it was trying to take—”

She stops abruptly, swallows, her face going paler. Marianne touches the side of her dress, a gesture that she doesn’t seem to be aware of making.

“—what?” Bog asks, worried now.

Marianne makes a slashing gesture with her hand, shakes her head.

“Nothing. Something. It doesn’t matter.”

“We’ll look for the necklace,” Bog says. “I’ll—”

A knock sounds on the other side of Marianne’s door.

“Marianne!” Dawn’s voice calls from the other side. “Are you ready yet?

Bog and Marianne look at each other for a moment longer. Marianne looks almost stricken.

“—it doesn’t matter,” she says, “Nothing—it doesn’t matter.

She smiles at him, a painful smile, shadows in her eyes.

“Yes, Dawn, we’re ready!” she calls to her sister, and moves towards the door. Bog follows.

Celeste places the Queen and King’s swords on the small table that stands next to the chairs for the orchestra, crossing the blades nicely and placing the little vase of purple flowers just in front of the crossed blades. She shakes her head. Swords! Who ever heard of such a thing at a wedding?

She’d certainly not want swords at her wedding, Celeste thinks, and then spends a few blissful moments picturing it—Roland looking so handsome, smiling at her, and her with a crown of flowers in her hair, laughing as he twirls her in their first dance together as husband and wife.

Celeste sighs happily.

Roland will have so much fun at their wedding; it will be sure to drive away any bad memories of the way the Queen had left him at the altar.

Celeste shakes her head and smooths her hands down her apron. Poor Roland; he’d told her all about the Queen, and the way she’d treated him so dreadfully. Celeste would never hurt him like that.

“Oh!” Celeste hears someone say. “Celeste, won’t you help me with this?”

Celeste turns and sees a very harried looking Angelique bustling over, her arms full of garlands.

“Thank goodness you’re here,” Angelique says, shoving garlands into Celeste’s hands. “These were supposed to be put up first thing this morning, only Peter says he forgot—forgot! can you believe it?—and now he’s gone off to help with the cakes and I’m stuck with all of these—help me hang them, won’t you, Celeste?”

Roland looks at himself one last time in his cracked mirror. He gives his reflection a charming smile.

Perfect.

The creature in Roland’s trunk has finally given up trying to free itself, although it’s still making angry chittering noises. Roland ignores it entirely as he walks past it on his way out the door.

It’s time for a royal wedding. And this time, Roland intends to make sure that it goes absolutely perfect for him.

When, at last, the garlands are hung, Angelique gives a deep sigh of relief.

“There’s that done, then,” she says. “The wedding should be starting soon; let’s go out and see if we can find somewhere to watch. They say the Princess Dawn will be wearing a gown made out of blue violets! Oh, I’ll bet she looks divine!”

“I saw Queen Marianne’s gown,” Celeste says.

“Ooh, did you really?”

“It was all purple violets,” Celeste says, “they were sewing it onto her.”

Angelique sighs dreamily.

“Violets,” she says. “It must be so beautiful.”

“…yes,” says Celeste, frowning.

The gown certainly had been beautiful. The Queen had been beautiful, too, standing there as the gown was sewn around her. Absolutely terribly lovely, the deep purple of the violets setting off her skin and dark hair gorgeously.

Celeste touches her own hair self-consciously. Roland says that her hair is the most beautiful he’s ever seen—like spun gold, he says. Still, Celeste feels a twinge of jealousy at the Queen’s glorious dark hair, at her delicate violet dress—a twinge of jealousy and just a tiny pinprick of disquiet.

“—you go on ahead, Angelique,” she says suddenly, “I’ve just realized I—I forgot something—”

Celeste whirls around and races off down the corridor, ignoring Angelique’s protests, heading in the direction of Roland’s rooms.

Dawn chatters happily as they walk down the corridor. Marianne, her arm linked in her sister’s, does not hear a word of it. She’s terribly conscious of Bog, walking on her other side.

She must have been out of her mind. She’d kissed his hand, which had been madness enough, but then when he’d actually thanked her for the hideous corsage she’d painstakingly made for him, she’d—

Marianne swallows.

Dawn kisses her cheek—oh, they've stopped walking—her father is here, taking Dawn's arm, and Dawn is letting go of Marianne.

Her father and Dawn walk down the corridor together; for a moment Marianne stands as still as a statue, looking blindly after them.

"Marianne?"

She turns, her heart in her throat. Bog is beside her, now, looking at her with a worried expression—oh—she’s meant to—

Marianne takes his arm. The sensation of touching him is—

(her hand on the back of his, holding his palm to her cheek, and the feeling of his skin against hers and then she’d turned her head and kissed his palm; she hadn’t been able to stop herself, and he’d flinched and—)

Marianne feels feverish, hot and cold at the same time, as though the entire world has gone distant and muted, as though Bog, beside her, is the only real thing in it.

She’d kissed his hand, and he’d flinched, and she still hadn’t been able to stop herself from turning to show him her back, asking him to help her put on her necklace, the one with the chain that hangs between her wings, desperation making her shameless.

It’s fortunate that little creature stole her necklace; if Bog had put that necklace on her, had trailed his hand down her back to place the chain between her wings, Marianne is absolutely certain that she wouldn’t have been able to stop herself from losing her head entirely and begging him to keep touching her, to kiss her, just kiss her, just once.

And she cannot—she cannot do that; she needs to be sensible, needs to control herself.

He doesn’t love you, she thinks at herself viciously. He doesn’t love you.

Up ahead, Dawn laughs. Marianne closes her eyes for a moment, then opens them again, and keeps walking, her hand still on Bog’s arm.

He doesn’t love you.

The corridor is empty when Celeste reaches Roland’s rooms. She stops short just in front of his door, suddenly nervous.

She knows where Roland’s rooms are, of course; she’s slipped notes beneath the door for him from time to time. But she’s never actually been inside them; they always have their trysts in her room. Celeste has asked him to take her here, but…he’s always had some—perfectly good!—reason that they shouldn’t.

Is he—going to be annoyed with her, if she knocks on his door?

She hesitates for a long moment, shifting from one foot to the other—oh, it’s getting so late; what if he’s already gone? So silly, to be standing outside his door when he’s gone!

This last thought gives her the courage to knock on the door.

She waits a moment, but there’s no answer from inside.

“Roland?” she calls. “Are you there?”

Again, no answer.

Celeste turns—Angelique will have found a place by now; hopefully she’ll have saved room for Celeste—

—and then, from the other side of the door, she hears a faint whimper. Celeste turns back to the door.

“Roland?” she calls. “Roland, is that you?”

Again, the pained sound. Celeste’s eyes go wide. Oh no! He must be hurt!

She opens the door and steps inside, looks around—and then blinks.

The room is—

Well, it’s in a terrible state of disarray, for one thing, all broken bottles and overturned furniture; she can well believe that something happened here—was he attacked?

But the room is also empty.

“Hello?” she says, feeling a little nervous. “Is—anyone here?”

There is no answer. Gooseflesh creeps across the skin of Celeste’s arms. She can feel her wings wanting to snap out defensively.

Had she imagined the noise?

Celeste forces a laugh. Of course she must have imagined it! How silly, to be frightened of an empty room.

To prove to herself how very unafraid she is now that she’s come to her senses, she rights the desk chair that has been overturned, puts it back in it’s proper place.

The desk drawer has come slightly open; Celeste goes to close it, but something shiny inside it catches her eye.

Curious, she opens the drawer.

The shiny thing inside is a locket. Celeste pulls it out, looks at it. There’s an inscription on the locket—with all my love, it reads.

A present for her? She opens the locket, wondering if he’s had his picture painted and put inside, and then recoils, dropping the locket back into the drawer in shock.

There’s a portrait inside, certainly, but it isn’t of Roland. Some dark haired girl is smiling from the picture inside the locket.

Has Roland been—oh, surely not—it must be an heirloom or something; maybe the girl in the locket is his mother. Celeste goes to pick it up again, to reassure herself that there has to be a family resemblance. And then she stops, hand hovering in midair over the locket.

The locket is just the start of the contents of the drawer. There are more pieces of jewelry, several locks of hair tied with ribbons, pressed flowers, handkerchiefs, letters—

My darling Roland, Celeste reads from one of the letters, and that is most certainly not her handwriting. My dearest love, she reads from another letter that has different handwriting.

—love, your Mary—

—yours, Elizabeth—

—missing your kisses, Bridget—

Celeste covers her mouth, making a sound somewhere between a sob and a gasp.

How many—why are there—why would he keep all these if he loves only—

The trunk in the corner of the room rattles loudly. Celeste gives a little scream, her wings snapping out as she whirls to face the trunk.

It rattles again.

“Hello?” she says, her voice trembling.

The trunk stops rattling—and then whatever’s inside it makes a whining kind of sound, like something small and defenseless and in pain.

Shaking, Celeste moves cautiously towards the trunk.

“Hello?” she says again. “Are—are you hurt? Do you need help?”

The thing inside the trunk makes a pathetic whimpering noise.

Celeste reaches out to undo the latch.

...to be continued.

Thank you for all of the likes, reblogs, and comments! They always make me so happy!

#strange magic #love and war #bog/marianne #butterfly bog #fanfiction #arranged marriage au

[turnsoutnoonewasexaggerating]

My Harry Potter Next Gen Fanfic is finally finished! I hesitated to upload this till now because it has quite a few chapters and I didn’t want to spam everyone every week I uploaded a chapter. Anyway, you can read it on Ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8404435/chapters/19256971 And the first chapter is below; Summary: Eight Hogwarts students start on a hilarious journey that threatens their lives as well as spicing it up. Will James and Sam, the jokers who can't be seen as individuals, Lydjah and Jayna, the sharp-tongued Ravenclaws, Lien and Molly, the overlooked double-act and Scorpius and Albus, the most unlikely best friends, survive their first year as a team? 

Chapter One Of Trying To Find Hogwarts and Actually Finding It Now it's not every day that you get a Hogwarts acceptance letter. In fact, it only happens on one particular day, if it happens ever. Fortunately for a certain occupant of a small town named Erith, her eleventh birthday was perfect in this particular scenario. Being attacked by about fifty owls was not, however, what she had in mind as she woke up that morning. Her mother fainted, her father yelled, and she? Well she simply ducked, and then, from some instinct she was not quite sure of, possibly the one that made doors slam behind her without touching them, or plants part where she walked, grabbed a letter with the green handwriting from the swirling storm of birds and tore it open. She skimmed the letter feverishly about seventeen times before Professor Vector knocked on the door, that is, seventeen times in as many seconds.

Of course, she didn't know her name was Professor Vector then. All she knew after she finally left was that suddenly the girl was not a freak of a 'muggle' but a witch and she was supposed to be boarding the Hogwarts express at 11 o'clock on September the 1st 2017. She stood, rather hopelessly, at Platform nine just hoping that something would happen to show her the way to nine-and-three-quarters. She had seen a couple of people with owls but when she turned to look at them more closely they had disappeared. Her parents stayed at home because her father had work and she didn't think her mother's rational mind could cope with all the magic.

Just as despair began to shadow her worried mind, and with it humiliation that she had been fooled into believing in magic (magic!), two girls jostled past her hurriedly.

The first girl looked apologetic, the second… Did not. It didn't seem to be in a particularly specific way, more that she was slightly entranced with her piled-high trolley.

"Merlin! Sorry we didn't see you there." Exclaimed the first girl worriedly. At an average height with endless locks of champagne-coloured hair, bright, almost transparently-green eyes and a perfectly restrained expression that she wasn't sure whether was about to break into laughter or into tears, the girl was pretty in an unconventional way- and commenting on this looked like it would either be received with gratefulness or a snort of disbelief. Her eyes were tired, although she concealed the bags rather expertly with make-up, not too much and not too little. The apologetic Ravenclaw, as she would later learn, had to look down to keep eye-contact with the lost girl, who was just under normal height for a girl her age.

The same could not be said for the second girl who towered over the two of them at a plainly ridiculous height for an eleven year-old girl, which is why, she decided, she must be in the years above. This girl had short choppy dark-brown hair that made her want to hold her longer, lighter hair in comfort, and, in the enclosed space, could not help looking down her small, straight nose at her, the splattering of freckles on her cream-coloured skin that also coated her arms and what was visible of her legs with tiny dots did not seem to rid Lien of the air of discordance that surrounded this girl. She always seemed to be either completely lost in thought or calculating the next action with cold logical precision, there was no in-between.

The taller girl rolled her eyes, seeming to snap out of her trance and regain memory of the last words spoken. "Honestly I'm so clumsy." She said the insult to herself in a tone that quite clearly implied that if anyone tried to agree with her she would hit them, "I'm Jayna. Jayna Blackwood."

The lost girl had the hysterical urge to giggle as Jayna stuck her hand out to shake, wishing only to reply with 'And I'm James, James Bond'. She repressed it forcibly and shook the proffered hand uncertainly. Jayna raised an eyebrow quizzically as she dropped her hand. The girl blushed but it didn't show up very well on her skin. Jayna gave a little snort of annoyance; being pale to the point of snow herself she wished that her blush didn't give her away so easily.

"I'm Lien Irby." She blurted out, a moment too late. Jayna froze and her eyes flickered for a second to her hand before she fixed a half-smile back in place. There was something decidedly cold in her bluey-green eyes now though. Lien noticed that Jayna's eyes were rather pretty, but that they had the misfortune to rest in a rather squinty position, something quite possibly caused by her near-sightedness.

"Muggleborn?" She guessed. Lien nodded awkwardly, was it really that obvious? Jayna's already pathetic smile fell ever so slightly. The other girl shot her a look and she smiled brightly, fakely, again.

"Do you know how to get to Platform nine-and-three-quarters?" Asked the other girl. "I'm Lydjah Dawson by the way."

"Nice to meet you." She said politely. "And no, I have no idea. I've been standing here for half an hour now." She didn't mean to sound as whiny as she did but she was, in her defence, bloody freezing. Without another word Jayna grabbed her own trolley and drove straight toward the solid wall in front of them. It wasn't as if she was running, because Jayna refused to run anywhere, on account of hating sport, but that she only had to take three of her long strides before she would hit the wall. Lien tried to shout a warning but it was too late; there was no avoiding the imminent crash now. She blinked and suddenly Jayna was nowhere in sight. She turned to gape at Lydjah who gave her the first genuine smile she had received all day.

"Magic?"

"Magic." Then she pointed Lien towards the wall, waited for a group of muggles to go past and then gave her a gentle push. She closed her eyes and ran forwards, flying through the magical barrier that thankfully did not feel like a solid brick wall. She saw Jayna ahead of her; a hand calmly placed on her trolley. She wasn't looking at the barrier though. She was looking at the biggest group of red-heads Lien had ever seen, and she was originally Scottish. She walked slowly over to her. Lydjah charged through the barrier gave her an encouraging grin as she dashed to catch up.

"Who's that?" Lien asked when she was in polite talking distance. Lydjah gaped at her.

"You don't know them? What are the muggles teaching kids these days?" She just shook her head feeling sheepish despite knowing it was probably not her fault. "That's the Weasley/Potter clan." She just shook her head again."You haven't heard of Harry Potter?! What on earth!" Lien gave her a lopsided smile. Lydjah sighed. "Right. Well Harry Potter- that tall man with the black hair over there- you know the one with the cool-shaped scar? Yes him, he won the last Wizarding War. His children are- James Sirius, the one who looks like his dad but different eye colour, after Harry's dad and Godfather-" Lien guessed from her sad look that they had both died in this last War, "who's in the year above you with Jayna and I-" So the year above her. Lien felt her nose wrinkle in aggravation- of course the only relatively nice people she'd met were in the year above. "Albus Severus, after the last two headmasters-" Again her look indicated their deaths, "he's the one with the really green eyes and crazy hair just like his brother- he's in your year by the way, and the little girl with the bob and the brown eyes; Lily Luna. His wife's the tall ginger stood next to him- you know, with the pink pygmypuff on her shoulder? Voted Witch Weekly's most gorgeous mother last week you know- Ginny Potter, nee Weasley. The rest of her extended family is around them- including his two best friends who ended up married to each other. Almost every single year has a Weasley/Potter or someone whose parents were friends with him in school."

"What about your parents?" Lydjah shrugged.

"My dad was a seventh year when Harry joined. And he was in Ravenclaw so…"

"'Ravenclaw'?"

"My house. Oh bloody hell they haven't told you anything have they?" Lien shrugged weakly."Oi! Jay-Jay!" Lien had the feeling that Lydjah was extremely privileged to call Jayna 'Jay-Jay' and keep breathing. "Can Lien here sit with us? We need to tell her about all the ridiculously handsome boys in our school." Jayna scoffed.

"Merlin! They aren't even that cute!" Lydjah didn't, however, miss the slight blush that arose when James looked their way. Lien walked ahead of them, dragging her trunk behind. Lydjah waggled her eyebrows and Jayna hit her teasingly on the arm. "Oh shut up." She sighed. Lydjah smirked knowingly prompting Jayna to hit her once more but this time with a small smile.

They dragged their trunks into the first available compartment. Lydjah shoved her trunk onto the above racks and Lien and Jayna followed suit. Jayna sat down and stared out the window, apparently a bit trance-like again, though Lien decided to talk as if Jayna was still listening.

"Right," began Lydjah, "basically there are three types of magical folk. After the last Wizarding war they changed how you classify them. 'Purebloods', like Jayna here, are people who have two magical parents. It doesn't matter what kind of blood status the parents are; as long as they're both magical then the child is a Pureblood. Of course, there are still families, again like Jayna, who's family have been all-magical for centuries and don't willingly change that often and sometimes they think they're above everyone else because of that." She sent an apologetic look Jayna's way but the girl only nodded like she agreed with what Lydjah said. "Then there are 'Half-Bloods' like me, who have one magic parent and one muggle and 'Muggleborns'-"

"Like me. With two non-magical parents, right?"

"Yeah. And then when you get to Hogwarts, everyone is split into one of four houses. Ravenclaw, like Jayna and I, Gryffindor, where most of the Potter/Weasley clan is- not all of them though, Hufflepuff and Slytherin." The last house was pronounced with forced normalcy, as if she were more used to spitting it out. "You get chosen for these houses based on your personality."

On my personality? Thought Lien worriedly, What does that mean?

"That house becomes who you have all your classes with though you will be occasionally joined by other houses in Herbology and-"

"'Herbology'?" Lydjah looked her in disbelief.

"There's a variety of classes." Jayna interrupted quietly, almost as if she was speaking to herself before looking at them properly. "Your muggle education won't help at all. What's your wand type?"

"Erm, English oak, 11 inches? Phoenix feather, 'surprisingly swishy'." She said the last part like it was a joke she wasn't quite sure she understood but didn't want to look stupid for not getting.

"Phoenix feather?" Lydjah gasped. "Wow that's really rare especially since, you know…" She trailed off. Lien tilted her head in confusion. "Never mind."

"Hmm." Said Jayna. Lien didn't like that 'hmm'. "Mine is pine, 14 ½ inches- unicorn tail hair. Unyielding." She drew out the last word as if it was something impressive or dangerous. Knowing her, it was more likely to be the latter.

"14 ½ inches?! Bloody hell!" Jayna blinked at her.

"'Bloody hell'? What's so bloody about the concept of the sinner's afterlife?"

"It's an expression. You said 'Merlin' before right? It's the same thing." Jayna shook her head muttering something that sounded suspiciously like 'muggles' under her breath.

"Mine's Alder and it's 10 ½ inches I think. Unicorn like Jayna's- slightly springy." Lydjah blurted out. Lien was about to respond when there was a shout from the corridor, only slightly muffled by the closed door.

"J?! Since when have you ridden with Mudbloods?" Jayna stiffened, her hand reaching immediately to her pocket. She caught Lydjah's eye and they seemed to be having a silent conversation. Finally Jayna turned away and stood up rather jerkily, rolling on the balls of her feet as if not entirely sure of her decision. Then she let go of the object in her hand (Must be her wand Lien thought.) and shot out into the corridor, walking swiftly away from the jeering faces lingering in the window.

They left immediately after her, three of them in black robes in some sinister formation. They waited in silence for a moment and then there was a flash of light and several yelps of pain. Lydjah was on her feet with her wand drawn before Lien could blink."I'm sorry. I've, er, got to go." Lydjah took off after the four. She assumed they were coming back at some point seeing as they'd left their robes and trunks behind. Lien thought it would be a good time to get changed into her robes, though how was an entirely different matter.

#HP #my fic #Lordy I'm a lil nervous about this #My writing #My OC Lien #My OC Jayna #My OC Lydjah #Harry Potter #next generation

[boleynns]

LOOSE ENDS, ASSHOLES.

I wrote this 3 days ago, because I just KNEW they were going to fuck it all up.

^PHOTO OF A LIAR, for reference. LONG list of pissed off thoughts below.

ON YOUR WATCH.

That Molly scene in TFP was so horrendous. I don’t even ship them at all, but really. How much of an asshole do you have to be???

How did John and Sherlock survive a bomb by jumping through glass windows and landing 2 stories down on the concrete with no injuries?

How did they get on that boat?

WHY were they on that boat?

WTF was that imaginary plane bullshit???

NO ONE CARES THAT THE DOG ISNT REAL, ARE YOU KIDDING ME

Why did Mary think John would pull away from Sherlock if she died, if she didn’t know she was going to die saving Sherlock? If she’d died ANY other way, John would have no reason to pull away.

Why did Mary give Sherlock the 10000% worst advice in the world (seriously, who tf tells their “friend”, who is a DRUG ADDICT, “GO FUCK YOURSELF on drugs, and GO DIE on purpose” on the random ass off chance that John would find this out in time???)?

Why did Mary have a slip of paper to knock Sherlock out prepared ahead of time?

Why did Mary tell Sherlock and John that “A.G.R.A.” was her initials, when if they had just looked at the fucking drive they would see her real name?

Why was she SOOOOO worried that Sherlock and John would look at the drive, if all that was on there were A.G.R.A.’s identities???

Why did Mary shoot Sherlock directly in the chest point blank, which did kill him enough that the doctors GAVE UP, if she wasn’t trying to fucking kill him dead forever?

Why would Mary not recognize Vivian (or at least, her voice) if A.G.R.A. worked with her?

If Mycroft dealt with freelancers, why did he not know Mary wasn’t fucking MARY???

Why would Mary name her daughter after an alias that could get said daughter KILLED??? AND WE FUCKING KNOW THAT NAME WAS DANGEROUS, BECAUSE MARY LEFT IT BEHIND TO BECOME “MARY MORSTAN” YOU IDIOTS

What did John’s letter to Sherlock say? If is wasn’t going to be addressed, why the fuck would you put it in the episode??

Why did Molly deliver such a hard “John would rather have anyone but you. Anyone” message if it had NO POINT.

Where did the baby go when everyone the baby knew was at John’s “Therapist’s” office at the beginning of TLD? And don’t give me that “it was with friendS” crap, literally only Sherlock, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson went to that kid’s babyshower for fuck sake, John has no other friends.

If you can’t handle the placement of a baby for ONE EPISODE, don’t write one into your show FOR LITERALLY NO REASON.

What was Sherlock’s reoccurring dream that he was telling Ella? Why put that in if it wasn’t important?

If Mary isn’t bad, and therefore wasn’t working with “Faith” and Culverton to set Sherlock up to die (which would have been a perfect and interesting conspiracy), HOW did “Faith” and Culverton know Sherlock would be drugged up enough to fall into their trap??

WTF was the POINT of Eurus texting with John IF SHE WASNT WORKING WITH MARY to mess with Him and Sherlock? Literally ZERO point to the “plot”.

Also, we see that John and Eurus see eachother for a 2nd time at the bus stop. I thought it was important, even though y’all acted like all they did was text, BUT NOPE just another loose end.

TD-12 was absolutely useless, and you spent SO MUCH time on it. 

why did mary keep repeating villain lines (“Miss me?” multiple times, “Anyone!” multiple times in her video, literally fuck off)

If mary had time to jump 5 feet to take a bullet after its already been shot than sherlock had time to jump out of the way you idiots

also the irony of your holier-than-thou deduction sequence when Sherlock got shot, about how big spurts of dramatic blood only happens in movies? You literally fucked yourself.

zero point to Sherlock and John’s extended “ROMANTIC LOVE WILL COMPLETE YOUUUUU” scene on every level, went no where

speaking of that scene, how did Sherlock hear “Mary” say that he should wear the hat???? HUH>?

Mrs. Hudson WATCHED Mary’’s DVD with sherlock, why was she all “OH, wonder what this is, what could it be, WOW LOOK JOHN its your wife???” later with John and Mycroft WHEN SHE KNEW SHERLOCK WAS PROBABLY DYING

Also why would she just let John watch that cold, knowing Mary’s face would show up??

Why did you make Irene a lesbian if you were going to keep making her ride Sherlock’s dick via text message AGAIN.

I’m sure she would want to tell you this if she was here, so I’ll relay the message: LITERALLY GO FUCK YOURSELVES, YOU “SHERLOCK CAN TURN A LESBIAN WOMAN STRAIGHT, HES JUST THAT AMAZING, NO HOMO!!!” ASSHOLES

why was John still crying about his no homo bro being dead after two years, no offense to my best friend but I will think of you really fondly but probably not be going to therapy forever and being all “I literally am so heartbroken that i cant even say the things that i wanted to say to him when he was alive”

speaking of that thing that he couldn’t say out loud to Ella the Therapist: i guess he just really wanted to tell sherlock “No homo tho”, just to make sure he knew that before he died

speaking of things unsaid - I guess the serious thing that sherlock was going to say to john on the tarmac, that he chose not to say for absolutely no decernable reason, was “Bro, I’m gonna miss you, bro! We had some good bro times bro, NO HOMO!!1!” and then they do that back-slap hug that guys do so things don't get too homo

no offense to the prop department, but that light-up skull, that would be either lit or not lit or COMPLETELY BLACK, was bullshit

speaking of bullshit: kindly shove all of those elephants up your ass

including that Take-Out menu on Mycroft’s fridge. I hope you get a paper-cut that never heals.

i might as well have not even bothered taking notes on these episodes, when I could have literally never watched the show before, not cared at all, and been totally fulfilled by everything by not giving a shit about details and character arcs and, you know, literally all of ACD’s original works.

OMG SHERLOCK HAS A SISTER, I don’t fucking care.

AW POOR MARY, John and her were clearly soooo in love!! - says a person who thinks couples that don’t want to be together even a little are super romantic

literally he was trying to leave his marriage like a month after it started, literally go fuck yourself

Your show made less sense, in terms of emotion and character arcs, than Guy Ritchie’s cash grab movies. Yeah. I said it.

“Look at us both”. YEAH, LOOK AT YOURSELVES IN THE MIRROR.

oh wait i forgot, you don’t know what a mirror is. what is literature? what are emotions? idk, lets make mary gasp for breathe and say “you were my whole world!!!” to john even though that makes zero fucking sense for her character or their relationship at all and does huge disservice to them both LOL

Mary could have been the most Awesome Badass Mastermind EVER but you fucked her

An Emotional Arc: Its this thing where characters (who, like people) have emotions (CRAZZY i know), and they start in one place emotionally, and end somewhere new through the story! Lets see:

Sherlock: Starts as a suave, kinda swashbuckling guy who tries to tidy up his apartment for John, asks him to dinner, and basically blushes at John’s attention. In the middle: a bit of an asshole, but one who literally tries to die for John over and over, and literally COMES BACK TO LIFE from a FATAL gunshot bc his subconsious doesn’t want to leave John with Mary. End? “Sometimes I text Irene, just like you text your side-chick! No Homo For Life, RIGHT??? Don’t think about how every action I take is to keep you safe or happy, lol”

John: Starts as an emotionally repressed, suicidal, PTSD stricken loner who is immediately enamored with Sherlock’s brain, and literally kills a man like 1 day after they meet. Middle: A bit of an asshole who is horrible at understanding that Sherlock is NOT a robot without feelings - but an asshole who is willing to die for him, and with him, but who has major trust issues. End? “I wish I had REALLY cheated on Mary with Bus Girl, I can’t believe I missed my chance! Also, even though I’m reacting extremely jealously to you texting Irene, I think you should hit that! Now hold me while I cry, and then lets get cake while my baby cries on the floor like a Sim somewhere NO HOMEO”

I will never let you forget this.

Congrats actually, you HAVE made history! You’ve made a Historically Huge Fuck Up.

Your show’s depth is thinner than Donald Trump’s skin.

200+ adaptations of Sherlock Holmes, no courage present - oh, except for that one parody “Oklahomo” one (thanks for including Sherlock tweeting an “Oklahoma!” reference also! if I had balls, that would’ve been a kick to them!).

LOL Sherlock and John - literally so hilarious!! All those people whining “They’re Not GAY that gross, Doyle would be rolling in his grave if he found out people thought that!” and “NO! SHERLOCK IS AN EMOTIONLESS ROBOT except he can fuck irene I'm okay with that for some reason”? They were all right! What a fucking joke.

I guess “Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you, and find nourishment at the very sight of you? Yes [he’s in love with you]. But do you ache for him?” meant nothing—OH WAIT that’s from a show that actually textually acknowledged the feelings of love between it’s two main characters. And they didn’t even say “No homo!” afterwards?? I can’t believe it.

don’t ever ask your audience to pay attention on a subtextual level again. clearly, you can’t handle it.

also: I honestly couldn’t give a shit about your endless and constant derision and annoyance with people asking about the relationship between the MAIN CHARACtTERS OF YOUR FUCKING SHOW get over yourselves, and i really hope somehow ACD comes back as a ghost to haunt you one christmas, just to tell you straightt to your stupid faces that you fucked up, and how sad he is that it will always be 1895 - because nothing ever changes, and they will be stuck there forever, out of time.

how dare you bring Oscar Wilde and Freddie Mercury into this mess.

Your intentions don’t matter - what matters is that I would have been better off not paying attention to literally ANY details, not caring one ounce about the characters, and just tuning in as a completely casual viewer. 

The real lesson was “Caring is not an advantage.”, and that is sad.

And the real Final Problem? “It’s not about the characters, its about some stupid ass dog and a stupid ass ‘Saw’ house, and who gives a shit about the rest.

Congratulations - I no longer care!

#sherlock spoilers #TFP spoilers #tjlc #sherlock meta #LOOSE ENDS #SOOOO MANY because this episode and season were shit apparently #good riddance #johnlock #LONG POST #btw