#divine rivals they were so right about you… | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

novelizt · 6 months

Text

EXPECTO PATRONUM I ☁︎ ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

⚜ PART 2 | SERIES MASTERLIST

GENRE ➺ HOGWARTS AU [slytherin! lockwood x fem! ravenclaw! reader]. rivals to lovers (and a dash of 'everyone knows but them'). fluff and angst.

WC ➺ 13.7k

SYNOPSIS ➺ after a six year rivalry with lockwood, your patronus suddenly matches his when it didn't before.

DISCLAIMER ➺ reader is implied to be shorter than lockwood. appearance of harry potter next gen characters and a few ocs. lockwood calls reader 'sweetheart' and 'my dearest vexation'. prefect! lockwood. (i also headcanon him being a cunning-flirt, so lockwood might read slightly ooc.)

WARNINGS ➺ strained family dynamics (for reader), love potions (misuse of magic), dragons on the loose, wizard duels, and a lot of unpolished dialogue.

NOTES ➺ it's been a long time coming. i hope this finds you when you need it 💙 happy nanowrimo !!

this was originally a one-shot that got split in two. please read part two after this to see their happily ever after 💙

For every Gryffindor came a Slytherin waiting to trouble them. You thought you were in the clear after you'd been sorted into Ravenclaw four years ago. So, you questioned how you had the misfortune of being vexed by a serpent such as Anthony Lockwood.

He boasted the status of being the sole muggle-born Slythern in your year, as well as a colossal thorn in your side. He made it routine to test you. You knew his M.O. well enough to recognize the sound of his footsteps before he even reached you.

"We're learning advanced protective charms in Defence today," he announced like you didn't speed through the syllabus already.

You didn't have to look at him to know he was sporting that lilted smile of his. If you were in a bitter mood, you might have even slung a hex at him.

Luckily for him, you just wanted to get through the day. You quickened your steps. He followed like a parasite.

He even had the gall to bend at the knees to be at eye-level with you, the right side of his mouth curved higher than his left. "Come on, sweetheart. Not even a nod of acknowledgement?"

"If it will get you to leave me be..."

You granted his request and even offered a stiff nod, hoping that would suffice.

You hoped too much because all he did was grin and return to his regularly scheduled goading by matching your stride.

"Away with you," you shooed.

You threw your arm out, aiming for his shoulder. He caught your hand before it even made contact—giving your knuckle a quick tap just to aggravate you.

"I know that trick, sweetheart." He unfurled fingers from yours, slow and deliberate. "Let me walk you, at least. I am a gentleman. Oh– Don't make that face. I really am!"

"If you are such a gentleman, you'd pay attention to my request and leave."

"Suddenly, I'm a barbarian." He shot you a wink that made you wish the floor would swallow you whole. "I could do much worse, you know. Have you heard of oobleck—the stuff muggles are raving about? Bet you'd have a jolly time finding out how to get a non-Newtonian fluid out of your hair."

He feigned a yawn, dropping an arm over your shoulders and giving your arm a subtle squeeze to drive home the fact that he had no intentions of letting you go.

"Arse," was your gracious response.

"Oh, don't be like that. If you are going to play that game, I do have a divine rump. So do you," he said without missing a beat. He played a fool to your slack jaw and widened eyes. "And would you look at that! We've arrived to your classroom. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

If only looks could kill.

Your systems stalled when he dipped his head and planted an ever-cheeky kiss on your temple.

It was futile to throw out a fist to dent that pretty face of his, because he caught your hand before you could even land a hit.

"Cheeky," Lockwood crooned. He tapped your nose before letting you go. You made a show of flicking off the invisible mites he gave you. "Nice try though, sweetheart."

"You—" When you tried to stomp on his foot, he veered out of the way, finessed as a Chesire.

At that point, you knew you were fighting a losing battle. You lifted your chin and crossed the threshold into Potions, ignoring the exorbitant waves and kissy faces he made at you.

Your classmates levelled you with looks of intrigue but you ignored them, too.

Of course, Lockwood had to have the last word. "Remember not to mix up your asphodel and lavender. Wouldn't want another smokey incident, would we? You basically handed me that perfect score."

You tried not to shrivel when a ripple of giggles disrupted the stillness of the classroom.

You threw a nasty look over your shoulder and turned sour when he left, his laugh echoing down the hall. You estimated that he'd be a few minutes late to his class, even if he had to run to make it. Poor chap.

Finally, you were rid of him, but the newly realised smell in the room replaced his slot as your morning vexation. The smell of old parchment, clipped grass, and (much to your bereavement) the Lockwood Stench viscerally assaulted your senses.

You blanched, falling into your seat. "Heavens, did he leave his perfume in here? It smells awful."

As if seeing his face wasn't bad enough, he managed to be the subject of your irritation even if he was absent from the room.

James Potter II, your seatmate and friend, laughed. Eyes crinkling like he knew something you didn't. "He, meaning Anthony Lockwood?"

Your lip curled at the name. Even while preoccupied by your review notes, the smell clouded you. Your attempts to wave away the stench only made it stronger.

It wasn't the worst smell in the wizarding world but you'd rather go through the only class you don't share with him without the incessant thought of him. A huff left you as you came to peace with the fact that your nose would lose its sense eventually.

James's most devious grin stretched across his face. "That's Amortentia over there."

Your breath caught. He jutted a finger at the cauldron that sat at the end of your two-seater desk.

Surely enough, the brew had a pearlescent sheen with curls of peach smoke spiralling into the air, infecting the room with its fragrance. Now that you'd been made aware, your ribs felt too right for your lungs.

Your laugh came out stiff. You coughed, hoping it sutured the cracks in your façade. "I was mistaken then. I only smell the Quidditch Pitch."

James hummed, unconvinced.

—

Time passed slower when you were dying to forget the incident at Potions. Your eyes kept jumping to your watch before the middle of the day had even passed.

Classes had come and gone, and a certainly foul smell clung to the walls of this classroom—as was always the case for Defence Against the Dark Arts. For a moment, you missed smelling the amortentia, then jolted at what other thing that implied.

You knew class started when your peers fell silent, listening attentively on tipped toes. It was every man for himself on days the tables and chairs were pushed to the side of the room.

"On this fine day, we are covering a very tricky, but very utilised charm." The Professor circled the room, inspecting posture and wand grip as she passed.

For a moment, her eyes fell on you, and you stiffened under her gaze. Her lip quirked, like she found comfort in scaring you.

You were made aware that she was a rival of your grandmother's, back in their heyday. You surmised that because she couldn't get one up on your grandmother, she transposed her efforts onto the next best thing: You, and she wasn't afraid to show it.

Her heels clicked, grating your ears as she went on to terrorise a few more unfortunate souls in the way. The vast majority were daft to her impartiality.

She went on a lecture about the charm's importance in the Battle at Hogwarts. You were about to doze off when she slapped her wand against her palm. "Now that the lot of you are in your fourth year, I feel that it is important to know how to cast it in light of grave circumstances."

She waved her wand and muttered a few words before a silvery line jumped from her wand, spinning in the air and illuminating the room before taking on the shape of a rabbit.

The silvery manifestation hopped along with great speed, passing you briskly and making you stumble.

A hand caught your arm before you hit the floor. You were quick to retrieve yourself when you realised that it was Lockwood. You tuned out his mild laugh as you turned away without thanks.

The patronus then skidded to a halt at James's side, speaking in the Professor's voice. "I expect you to know this, Mr. Potter."

It dispersed and a vicious applause shook the room. Even you found yourself wide-eyed in exhilaration. Fighting the fact that the professor was rude, the patronus charm was something you'd been dying to learn way back when.

In the midst of the celebration, your eyes caught Lockwood's, only to find him already staring. There was a pinching sensation in your gut. It forced you to look away. You missed his smile completely.

The Professor ordered the class to break into pairs. Lockwood glued himself to your side before you could blink. He was shooing people away before you could even shoo him away.

"She's got a nasty temper, that one. Wouldn't want her patronus to lunge at you."

"I will have it bite your head off," you murmured, watching a nice Hufflepuff back away. Thus, leaving you alone with the bane of your existence.

"You're too nice for that," Lockwood replied, tapping your side with a half-smile.

"You just said I have a temper."

"With me, yes. But I can handle you."

You had a lot to say about that. The Professor spoke before you could.

"Now," Professor mused. Her voice bounced off the walls in higher vibration. "Using the instructions in your books, attempt to cast your patronus. Remember! The lighter the memory, the more efficient the patronus."

A chorus of turning pages echoed. You and Lockwood withdrew your wands, already knowing which spell to use.

His lips quirked. "Did some advanced reading, did you?"

"You know me so well."

You shook in anticipation, but, after shortly regarding your partner, you refrained from looking too eager.

"Dunderheads first," you urged with false cheer.

The insult flew over Lockwood's head. "Gladly. I like to think my patronus would be a lion."

You couldn't help but snort. "I assume yours would be a housecat with a lot of overgrown hair."

"That would be you."

You had an inkling that he found joy in watching you frown.

After a long while and a generous amount of griping, his wand moved, and he muttered, "Expecto patronum."

A silvery burst of light exploded from his wand. Wisps spun in the air before the dust settled, revealing a crane. It stretched, showcasing several inches of its incandescent neck and wingspan before Lockwood waved his wand once more. The motion sent it in a circle around the room.

It was so majestic, you couldn't pry your eyes away. Other students stared in envy as the crane weaved past other patronuses, nipping at them playfully before soaring back to you.

Wait, not to you... At you.

You found your feet, ready to duck before the silvery bird crashed into you, but it never did. It dispersed before it even touched a hair on your head.

It was an explosion of silver sand. It brushed your cheek with unexpected warmth. The cold seeped into your robes as the darkness veiled you.

"Shame." Lockwood clicked his tongue. "Thought I could freak you out a bit. I couldn't hold it for too long, though."

"Truly a shame," you simpered.

Professor's applause rang out from the other side of the room. Likely for Lockwood's expert execution or his taunting you. Mayhaps both.

"Good work, Mr. Lockwood! Keep practising and your patronus could glide over the Atlantic one day."

"Hear that?" He brightened at the compliment, standing taller as he leaned toward you. "It's your turn, dunderhead."

The number of hexes you could have used . . . You didn't need them. You needed happy thoughts to conjure up a patronus. It was hard enough standing in the same room as Lockwood and Professor Loathes-Your-Guts.

Your inspirations were of holidays and golden scores; your parents' approval; Lockwood falling on his face during Quidditch (your lips twitched at the memory); and the muggle fantasy novels you hid in your room.

A warm feeling shot down your arm, heartening you to mutter the enchantment. The feeling wrapped around your body like a blanket, and when you opened your eyes, your own patronus stared back at you.

It stood metres above the rest, towering over students and patronuses alike. Wisps of silver waved to and fro its body. The only apt description for it was 'colossal'.

"Is that a giraffe?" Lockwood muttered.

"No, It's a pelican." You smiled at his frown. "Of course, it's a giraffe, Lockwood."

You'd never seen one so pretty.

It glowed so bright that Lockwood looked blue in its light. He spared you a look of resignation.

You win.

A swell of pride came to the surface before the patronus wilted away. The space it stood turned black.

Hollers rung out, shaking the bricked walls. A new wave of excitement seized the room. You didn't even glance at the Professor but you could feel her heated gaze on the back of your head. That was victory enough.

—

Three years following that day, you're harrowed by the thought of leaving this place behind. Hogwarts felt like home, more so than the one you shared with your parents.

It was difficult to imagine life without the sky above the dining tables or the constant presence of Prefects scolding lower years.

Soon, your rivalry with Lockwood would fade to the black, too. As far as you knew, the fool was gunning to be an auror. Becoming one yourself wasn't a path you were inclined to take.

You passed the hourglasses of House Points and watched as more trickled into Slytherin's glass, and you felt nothing. The fact that you came to peace with having less points should have been concerning. Your mother would scorn you if she ever caught you thinking that way.

Not wanting to linger, you turned for the dining hall.

You didn't flinch when a weight fell over your shoulders and Lockwood's pretty face invaded your periphery. You should have known he couldn't leave you alone for too long.

"Lockwood."

He grinned. "My dearest vexation."

Your nose scrunched, irritation injected with the smallest feeling of familiarity. "Don't call me that."

"Copy that," He smiled, dragging you closer by the arm around your shoulders. "sweetheart."

It was a lost cause to correct the priss.

"I thought you would've matured by now. Disappointing, really."

"I could be mature, or I could point out the fact that we have fifty points above Ravenclaw."

"I don't mind."

He stalled, and you stopped with him. You didn't really have a choice when he had you under his wing.

He searched your eyes, bewildered. Unsettled, even. "What's on with you?"

You tried to shrug him off but he held fast, fingers practically melded to your arm. "I'm fine, thank you very much. I just don't see the point of upholding this... this–" What was this? You didn't finish the thought before swaying the conversation elsewhere. "We're graduating this year. Might as well set an example for the first-years."

"Our squabbles make it fun for them." On the brink of being offended, he insisted, "They have plenty of examples as is. Kat Godwin sucks the life out of everything, George is best friends with Moaning Myrtle, and Lucy is off talking to the illusive Gray Lady."

You groaned. "That isn't the point."

You made an attempt to shove him, but he caught your hand.

"You have got to start thinking of better ways to express yourself other than hitting or shoving. You should know I always see it coming."

"I can express myself just fine," you respired, yanking your hand away. "But do go ahead. Indulge me. What, pray tell, does that make us?"

Lockwood flourished his free hand as he spoke. "We are 'the arch rivals who makes their problem everyone's problem'. The lower years adore it!"

"Do they?"

In time for your asking, a group of second-years waved at Lockwood, and then to you. He waved back whilst you offered them a terse smile.

One of the girls elbowed her friend. As whispery as her tone was, everyone still heard her. "See? Told you they suit each other."

"They are a couple. Of course, they do," the friend replied.

"Not a couple," you corrected swiftly.

They scurried faster. Before they left the hall, one yelled out, "Just kiss already!"

Despite his matching flush, Lockwood turned to you with a cheeky grin. "You heard them. Let us kiss." He advanced, lips puckered.

You blocked the way with your palm, spreading your fingers until you could push his head back by his forehead. "Yeah– No."

You pried yourself free from his grip to sit with your friends. He didn't fight it, but you weren't surprised that he shouted after you. "But I was right! We have to give the audience what they want!"

"Mr. Lockwood!" Professor McGonagall stood to reprimand him.

You turned away to hide a laugh.

—

The day was lovely. The previous day's rain left a dewy haze in its wake. It was chilly but not cold, and the sun and clouds looked remarkably friendly that morning.

Even then, you didn't know what it was. Your stomach churned for a reason unseen. In the stillness, you could hear a pin drop. You could hear yourself think for once.

Not long after the nagging feeling arrived, you came to the horrific conclusion that Lockwood's absence felt off-putting. You were walking to potions class alone, for the first time in years.

There was no Anthony Lockwood galloping behind you, throwing his arm around you and messing up your hair when you shrug him off. There was no warning as to what your class would be covering that day or a passive-aggressive jab about the most recent Quidditch match.

And, bizarrely, you missed the chaos. You shuddered as the thought struck you.

You held your books tighter and quickened your pace to get to class. When you arrived at Potions, Lockwood-less, your classmates stood to verify the emptiness of the doorway for themselves. Even they were puzzled.

James cocked a brow as you sat and laid out your items without a noise. "Where's lover boy?"

"Using his brain and finally leaving me alone," you responded, wincing at the hint of exasperation in your tone. You didn't mean to sound so dejected, and you definitely didn't intend to slam your things on your desk either. There's a lot of things you didn't intend to do today and 'mentioning Lockwood' was now at the top of that list.

"Mhm," James leaned back in his seat, eyeing you warily. "You don't look too happy."

"I stayed up late doing that essay about counter-potions," you reasoned, having a hard time getting the words out.

James looked pained when you mentioned it. Seconds later, you stifled a laugh when he admitted to forgetting all about that assignment.

Contrary to what you'd promised yourself, Lockwood remained in the back of your mind the entire period.

—

When had Anthony Lockwood ever been interested in Oriana Cai?

That's the first question that popped into your head as you watched him kneel before her with a bouquet of the reddest roses you'd ever seen.

The display was so unexpected, it knocked the air out of your lungs. Your jaw fell slack. James had to pick it up off the ground before you came back to your senses.

In that time, Oriana squealed and clapped, throwing herself forward and strangling the bane-of-your-existence in a hug he enjoyed a little too much. The flowers ended up discarded on the floor.

You had more sense than to gawk. Your chest constricted when Lockwood didn't even acknowledge you as you passed. You shook off the feeling along with the sense of dread you felt from earlier.

His affairs were none of your business, yet, you found yourself thinking about it when you didn't intend to. It's a stake to the heart that his scheduled banter and crude comments were put on hold for whatever that was.

Lockwood had forsaken his seat across from you in favour of sitting with Oriana and her clique. They laughed all through lunch break, his teeth on display, stuck in an unmoving smile.

He looks like a clown, you thought as you skewered a floret of broccoli onto your fork.

You glanced at the professors' table to see if they'd caught onto Lockwood's bizarre behaviour, but they were daft to it.

To any normal person, Lockwood was being a silly boy with a crush. To you, it was abnormal.

Lockwood didn't have the balls to be that forward. How could you say that without sounding obsessed with him?

"If you stare any longer, you might actually burn a hole through his head." James nudged your side and you returned it with a harder shove. "Woah! Cool down, smarty pants. I'm on your side here. I'm just saying, glaring daggers at him won't do much."

"He's being odd," you whispered petulantly.

"I know!" James set his elbow on the table. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Me? Why would I do anything?"

Your eyes landed on Lockwood again. You sucked your teeth before looking away.

James snapped his fingers, forcing you to look up as he pointed an accusatory finger at you. "That. That's why you would do something."

"I don't meddle in Lockwood's affairs. He can do whatever he wants," you said tersely. "If he's so immersed in his romantic life, I might as well get ahead and score more points for my house."

"It bothers you, doesn't it?"

"No." Another unfortunate vegetable faced the wrath of your fork. James flinched. "It doesn't bother me in the slightest."

"If you need me to help, just give me a bell." James vacated his seat, gave your shoulder a firm pat, then went off to check on his cousins, praying none of them caught whatever Lockwood's got.

You stewed in your own thoughts before you gave into temptation and looked at Lockwood for the last time. For lunch, at least.

He blinked rapidly, like there were stars stuck in his eyes. The distorted look on his face dissipated when Oriana popped a wad of gum into his mouth. He chewed and chewed until the colour returned to his face. Redder than before.

You tried to shovel your conspiracies down with your lunch. You even chewed slower to put your focus elsewhere, but you couldn't shake off the dread that roiled in the recess of your mind.

—

"I can extend my essay by three paragraphs," you said to Lockwood in the library, attempting to coax him out of his stupor. "I'd beat your record."

"Yeah." He sighed, daydreaming. He hadn't written anything in his scroll. His competitive spirit died somewhere between his confession and now.

You slid into the seat across from him and waved in his face. He looked right through you, staring at the wall. When you followed his gaze, your expression fell flat.

He wasn't staring at the wall, he was staring at Oriana Cai, again. She wiggled her fingers at him, giggling behind her hand.

The moment she saw you, she didn't even attempt to hide her disdain. Suddenly, the library felt colder than before. For the first time in forever, you couldn't find the right words to explain it.

—

You watched Lockwood's change of behaviour with a scrutinising eye. You managed to pick up on a few things that changed.

First, he was infatuated with Oriana Cai. You caught them snogging the other day and you had to hold your breath to keep your lunch down. So much for decorum.

Second, he'd lost all interest in everything other than his girlfriend. He hadn't mentioned Quidditch in the past week, and he didn't have a modicum of concern for his plummeting scores. It was a scenario you never thought possible.

Lastly, Lockwood had a newly acquired addiction to bubblegum. Not just any type of gum. It was Bombarda of Flavour: Berry Kiss.

With a bit of research, you discovered that BOF was a brand run by Oriana's family. Any sane person would assume that Lockwood was an avid fan of his girlfriend's family business, but you were everything but sane.

When you presented the facts to James, he continued to chew on his liquorice. "And? Where is this going?"

"The sweets are infused with Amortentia," you concluded.

James stopped, stared at his liquorice with distrust, then threw it into a bin. "How can you be so sure?"

"Cai's family runs a gum business. Lockwood's been acting weird since he started chewing the gum Cai brought him. It can't be simple coincidence."

"So, not only are you accusing Cai of spiking gum with amortentia, but her family of being an accessory to misuse of magic as well?"

"They've got to be aware of what she's doing, at least! And they're not stopping her, are they? They're just as guilty," you said fervently.

"Fine," James relented. "How are we going to prove that and save your guy?"

"He's not my guy."

"Sure."

You cleared your throat before sitting down. "We need to steal from the potions classroom."

"You are... insane."

There was a bated silence that followed. You raised your brows at him.

He cracked a smile. "I'm in."

—

Potters had a speciality for breaking rules. You came to that conclusion after James, Albus (James's younger brother), and Scorpius Malfoy managed to steal the ingredients you needed without being caught. They looked quite proud of themselves too.

You wasted no time laying out your theory scrolls and recipe book.

"What's she doing?" Albus asked.

"Saving Lockwood," James answered as-a-matter-of-factly.

"I knew something was wrong with him," Scorpius rasped. "Knew something was up with them too."

You silenced him and ordered James to escort the boys back to their dorm. They didn't go without a fight, but James was experienced enough to wrangle them away.

—

"Lockwood—"

He passed you without a second glance.

Your heart flatlined, but you fought against the feeling and recalled why you were there. You steeled your resolve.

With shining eyes and pulled shoulders, you pivoted and captured his arm. The indifference in his eyes was an arrow passing straight through you.

You had to swallow the lump in your throat to find your voice. "Could you try this for me?"

There was no readily available remedy for amortentia, leaving one with the mere hope that its effects diminish over time. The problem was that Oriana Cai had a continuous supply of bewitching gums intentionally keeping him under her enchantment.

You used all your potions knowledge to concoct a solution that would—cross your fingers—work. It was blended into a scrumptious looking cookie thanks to the expertise of culinary enthusiast, George Karim.

You were worried that he wouldn't even give it a try, but he took the package from your hands.

"Thanks."

He walked away without a second thought. It tore your heart in two, but he accepted the cookie! You raised your arms in triumph, stopping short when he tossed the cookie and its cute wrapper out of the nearest window.

Your excitement plummeted along with it.

—

You took a chapter out of Lockwood's book and persevered. He no longer competed with you to answer the professors' questions, but you took every chance to goad him into a debate. All for naught. He barely did anything anymore.

You tried to cure him several more times with the same anti-Amortentia solution. Three times to be exact: ice cream, soup, and—your most desperate attempt yet—gum.

In the end, he'd throw them all away.

All he would put in his mouth was anything Cai spoon-fed him. It made you want to throttle him.

Lockwood was a capable wizard, and the witch had reduced him to something short of being a man-baby.

On your worst days, you'd reluctantly admitted to missing the banter. Even his annoying grin; the one that rose higher on the right side. The same one that had eluded you since the beginning of term.

The seasons changed. Oriana Cai still had Anthony Lockwood under her thumb.

You melted into the velvet blue couch, sighing to the starlit window of Ravenclaw turret. Even the sheer beauty of the common rooms did little to console you.

You draped your arm over your eyes. "Who knew things were this boring without that pest?"

James, who wasn't even supposed to be allowed into the tower, grasped his chest. "Ouch. What of the rest of us?"

"Rowena!" shouted George. You jumped when he slammed his book shut. "I thought your raving about your books was bad enough. Just tell him you miss him already,"

He was done with you sneaking James in to concoct whatever else you were thinking up. He had lost the plot. At that point, even he was versed in anti-amortentia theory.

"She doesn't miss him," James sighed, bored. "apparently."

"I don't," you said promptly. "Karim, you should be more concerned. Your friend is being spelled into being a muppet."

"I am concerned," George retorted hotly. "But I am so sick of staying up 'till Merlin knows when to find out what you're going to spin into a dish next. I can't even study in peace!"

"We're not that bad, are we?" Looking for backup, you propped your chin over the back of the couch, shooting your most precious smile at your youngsters, Lorcan and Lysander Scamander.

Lorcan shook his head, and Lysander nodded his.

"It's a draw," James chuckled.

Frustration poured from George. "Can you please just find somewhere else to scheme? I want to study and not hear 'Lockwood' every bloody second."

"Fine." You hugged your pile of recipe pages to your chest. "We'll go somewhere we're appreciated."

"Oh, please. Don't go too far. The end of the world doesn't actually exist," George nipped.

James snorted, amused.

You closed the door behind you, finally giving Ravenclaw Tower some much deserved silence.

—

Another crumpled up piece of paper rolled on the rim of the bin before unceremoniously falling out.

You knew your onions, but this was getting tedious. After wasting hours relishing in the staleness of your coffee and the soreness of your fingers, you were just about ready to throw in the towel.

James had left you a bit ago, something about helping Lucy with setting up the flying lesson for the first-years.

They were probably done with it by then and you were still there, trying to brainstorm a method that would knock some sense back into the tosser you called a rival.

About a metre of wasted scroll and dried ink were the results of your efforts. Even then, you didn't reach a plausible solution to your problem.

When you succumbed to your headache and glanced at the clock, the lateness kickstarted your bloodstream. When you stood, you swayed from the dark spots that danced in your vision.

You didn't allow yourself to stay in a haze for too long. You had already missed two and a half classes by the time you broke out of your reverie.

The halls were all empty. You were bound to be in trouble.

You were a punctual student, an excellent student. You were miffed that all it took for you to slip was the absence of a boy. Pathetic. Then again... The boy was what made winning fun.

Your brisk walk quickened to a jog, dreading the inevitability of explaining your tardiness.

"Sweetheart?"

You paused, opening your ears.

Silence.

You scoffed and picked up your stride. Then you heard him again, saying your name. It was odd — odd enough for you to realise that it wasn't a figment of your imagination.

His voice was a trap and you submitted to it too easily. You spun back around to trace the voice and stopped short of the bend. Anyone would have stalled at the rare sight of Oriana Cai angry, her nails sinking into Lockwood's cheeks.

Bile rose to your throat.

Lockwood's back was pushed flush against the wall, he was fervently shaking his head like he was shaking the daze out of his system.

"Quiet!" she commanded him. "Darling, I'm only doing this for us."

His hand closed around her wrist but whatever the potion had done to him left him fatigued. "No, my—" He licked his bottom lip, correcting himself. "She's—"

"Not here! How many times am I going to tell you?"

To your relief, she retracted her nails from him. Your heart started back up when she produced a pack of gum.

"You're better off with me, Ant. I love you, not her. She's nothing but a bitter wench who didn't realise what she had until someone took it from her. See how she only looks for you when we're together? She's selfish!"

"You don't understand," he tried to slap the gum from her hand but she was more sober than he was. For the first time in a long time, the right side of his mouth tipped up. It wounded you. "She needs me. She just won't admit it."

Oriana didn't take it well. Her face bursted in shades of red. Her beautiful features twisted into a grizzly scowl. "None of her!"

"Expelliarmus!"

Your hand quivered as you casted, but your magic did what it was meant to. The gum flew from her hand.

Her glowering face turned to you with killer intent.

"You!" She flew at you. Her billowing robes a thing plucked from your worst nightmares.

Your hand flicked instinctively. "Expecto patronum!"

She shrieked. Your silvery protector crashing against her face.

None of you saw what form it took, but the burst of silver straight into her eyes stunned her long enough for you to run around her and take Lockwood by the arm. His hands quivered; less from adrenaline, more from pure exhaustion. You could almost feel his pulse under your palm.

You coaxed him to muster his strength. "Come on, you barbarian. We need to get help."

The chuckle he let out was pathetic, but it's familiar enough to make you crack a smile. There's your Lockwood after all. He wasn't all gone.

"Knew you'd save me," he rasped. You held him tighter when he stumbled. He held on with what strength he could muster. "You always do."

Not the time to disarm you with a statement like that. An angry stupefy soared overhead, quickly followed by what you assumed was the cruciatus curse. You grunted when an angry zap nicked your side.

You held onto Lockwood and he held onto you, both clattering down the longest steps of your lives. An inspired, deranged girl at your heels.

"Give me my boyfriend back!" She shrieked, casting a fury of spells at you. The echo of the halls amplified her bellows. "He's mine! I earned him!"

He tripped on a lifted tile, leaning on you as you rushed for the landing.

Your heartbeat made it's way to your ears. Every breath felt forced. You pushed ahead, dragging Lockwood's weight down every winding twist in the moving steps.

A very explosive bombarda forced you to stagger back and reconsider your escape route. Only, there was no escape route. The changing stairwells had you and Lockwood trapped on a landing.

Oriana descended like an angel made from her own delusions.

Your lungs struggled to take in air with an unbearable stitch in your aide. Lockwood collapsed to his knees, drained of energy. As his eyes fought to stay open, he clung to your hand like it was his lifeline.

You shifted to hide his crumpled form from Cai.

"You've had your chance, Scarecrow." Cai laughed, on the brink of tears. In her eyes, she was as innocent as a girl who simply had something swiped from her. "He was at your knees for years! Why can't you let him be happy with me? Give him to me, please..."

Your jaw tensed. The lick of anger in your chest stoked to a fire the longer she spoke.

"He's not an object," you managed without spitting flames. "He can feel what he wants, when he wants. If he wishes to walk away from me after all this... I wouldn't blame him. But casting a spell on him? That's not love, Cai. It isn't love. You're trapping him."

Cai's nose flared. "What a saint! Sorry, should I let him grieve something he never had with you? You're blind to not see it. You ruined him! This is the only way. I can help him if you just let me—"

Something moved in your periphery. A mop of black hair, the best wingman in Hogwarts.

You were on the verge of a smile, feeling your adrenaline decrescendo. "Your family, they know what you're doing?"

She grinned. "My family supports my decisions. Contrary to yours, I hear. They agree that you're a heartless witch, and a dose of amortentia should fix him for me."

Your breath hitched. Lockwood clenched your hand, bringing you back.

"For your information," your lip twitched. "I'm an Eagle, not a Scarecrow. Get your house representatives right."

You collapsed the moment a barrier surged around her, her screaming muffled by the incantations.

James came down the steps in stride with Professor Flitwick.

"Not 'your guy', huh?" James taunted, crouching beside you. You offered him a tight-lipped smile.

Professor Flitwick fortified his barrier before he addressed you. "Splendid patronus. You're the first to project your voice and have it travel as far as it did. I expected no less from our ace student. As for Ms. Cai..." He looked at her with pinched brows.. He wasn't sure what to do, really. There had never been a situation that drastic before. "She will be penalised accordingly."

The weight on your shoulders lifted, but a new one came just as quick. You straightened your back to support Lockwood's limp weight.

The warmth of his breath fanned your neck, a feeling that made your stomach churn for all the wrong reasons. He still smelt like the berry-flavoured gum that got him into this mess in the first place.

The same mess that had made you miss a few classes for the first time in six years.

With the last of your energy, you raised a trembling hand. "Professor?"

"Yes?"

"Are we considered tardy?"

He pushed his glasses higher up his nose before replying. "That should be the least of your troubles, you." Professor Flitwick turned to your friend. "James Potter?"

James saluted. "I've got them, prof."

"Please refrain from calling me 'prof', Mr Potter."

"Yes, prof."

—

Madame Pomfrey had a lot to say about the unforthcoming mess that was Lockwood, post-Amortentia.

For the better part of the appointment, Madame Pomfrey concluded that Lockwood wasn't severely altered by the prolonged exposure to love potion. For the worse part, he was advised to sit out of anything too physically demanding until he felt like himself again.

"But how can I feel like myself without Quidditch?" he agonised, as if you beheld all the answers.

You were forced to hear it, seeing as you were roommates until Madame Pomfrey declared you both stable enough to go free.

You buried yourself into the stiff pillows of the medical ward. "A week of rest and observation isn't as bad as the months you were bewitched, honestly."

"Pray, how can it be worse?"

You lifted your head. "Ever read out a lengthy love poem in the middle of the dining hall?"

"No..."

Your lips tipped up. "Yes."

He shut his eyes and splayed his hand over his head, trying to wash out the visualisation of actually doing that for all of Hogwarts to see.

"End me," he rasped.

"If you insist," your smile stretched. "You recited one for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Every. Single. Day."

He slapped another hand over his face. "Oh... what have I done to deserve this?"

"Caught the eye of a loony, apparently. It was horrid. I felt sorry for you."

"Don't patronise me."

You jerked a finger at him. "I earned the right. I got a nasty laceration in my side for you. Unwillingly, might I add."

His arms fell away, honeyed eyes set on you. "Please, if you were unwilling, you wouldn't have tried so hard to save me."

"If I left you for dead, I would be a monster."

"A very pretty one," he chimed.

"So you can still pull that drivel out of your arse. Good to know we didn't lose you."

"Say what you will." He crossed his arms behind his head, smiling like a jester. "I know you have a place for me in that shrivelled, darkened heart of yours."

"My heart isn't shrivelled or darkened," you said defiantly.

He quirked a brow, smirking. "You correct that but not the fact that I have a place in it?"

"You—" You opted to chuck your emptied juice carton at him.

In classic Lockwood fashion, he caught the carton in his hand and waved it triumphantly. "Try again, sweetheart. I know your habits like I know the back of my hand."

You raised a not-so-friendly finger and slid your curtain to hide yourself from his view. Still, you heard his laughter, loud and alive.

You weren't aware of how much you'd missed it until you caught yourself smiling.

—

Anthony Lockwood was the kind of child who would climb up the slide. Not because it was fun, but because he liked the thrill of breaking the rules.

Some things never changed, because he had convinced you to accompany him on a night fly while Madame Pomfrey was off collecting herbs from the green house.

You had flown through the worst weather while playing Quidditch, but it struck you that you'd never been out this late. Not one-on-one with Lockwood, at least.

It was a terrible, unsafe idea, but he had a way with words. He made it seem like a once in a lifetime opportunity. You weren't sure whether that was true, since he did use his prefect status to sneak into places he wasn't allowed into.

You knew that turning around was crossed off your list the moment he broke into the closet and extracted your broom for you.

"I have a hard time believing you've never done this before," you whispered as you took in the sight of the Quidditch Pitch, void of life and light.

It was a haunting sight, but Lockwood had been right about it being a once in a lifetime scene. The moon was the only guiding light, drowning everything in a seductive mauve colour. It brought out the beauty of sparse light and silhouettes, you almost believed you stepped into one of your fantasy novels.

He flashed his teeth at you before he vaulted over the partition and traipsed across the grass. His trusty broom already levitating by his side. "I've never done this with you before, if that's what you're asking."

It wasn't, but you didn't want to know who else would join Lockwood in his idiocy.

You followed suit and mounted your broom, allowing yourself to rise several metres to feel the bite of the nocturnal chill.

"It's an amazing feeling, isn't it?" Lockwood shouted, his two feet still on the ground.

"I'm not going to admit that I enjoy breaking the rules," you responded, flying modest circles while taking in the scene.

While the wind whistled in your ears and tousled your hair, he wheeled a box out of storage and flipped the latches.

You squinted, trying to see what he was doing but his back was covering the contents of the box.

"What's that?"

A golden streak of light veered away from him. Even as the breeze bellowed in your ear, you could hear its tinkling wings.

The Snitch.

"Can't have fun without a challenge," Lockwood said. His boisterous laughter echoed in your ears as he hopped onto his broom and zoomed up, up, and up, already chasing the golden menace.

He passed you, his robes grazing your elbow. You didn't think twice. You gave chase, following the direction you had seen the Snitch blitz to.

Lockwood's curls fought against velocity. You were almost tempted to comment on it before you saw a glimmer in the corner of your eye.

You and Lockwood swerved at the same time. Waves of black, blue, and green flagged through darkness as you bent forward, urging your trusty broom to overtake Lockwood's. You were closing in on the Snitch, stretching your hand to reach for it.

It's buzzing crescendoed in your ears, forcing your blood to pump as Lockwood did the same.

Oh, so close.

The Snitch brushed your fingertips before it zagged. Spinning in the air before rushing right at you.

You bent your body, narrowly missing a Snitch to the nose. The same couldn't be said for Lockwood.

You heard the thump of the collision before you saw him clutching his mouth. It was futile for you to hold in a laugh.

"You alright?"

His glare only made you laugh harder.

"Ouch," he hissed, taking his hand away from his mouth.

You snorted after seeing the damage.

Luckily, nothing was broken, but there was a faint pink smudge across his bottom lip and cheek.

You raised a brow. "You wear lipstick?"

"It's lip balm," he said haughtily, wiping away the smudge. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"No," You held a laugh long enough to reach across to wipe the smidge he couldn't quite swipe away. He stiffened at your touch. You did your best to hold in a reaction of your own. "I just didn't expect you to be a lip balm sort of guy."

"Do I look like a lipstick guy?" he inquired, regaining himself. "Thank you for thinking so, but you can keep your pigmented cosmetics to yourself. They look better on you anyway."

"Complimenting me now? You're sure your noggin's alright, chap?"

"Don't 'chap' me, sweetheart. It makes me feel old."

"I thought you liked the seniority," you taunted. "'Being in seventh-year means the youngest look up to us' and all. Your words, not mine."

"You're a real ray of sunshine, aren't you?"

You gasped, clutching your chest. "How can you say that when the moon is out?"

"Oh, bother." He bristled. "You've shown greater concern for the moon's feelings than you have mine for the past six years. You wound me."

"That's because the moon listens. You never do," you pointed out.

"I do," he replied. "Only for things that matter."

"So, the camel-llama debate didn't matter?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "You're still on that?"

"I always will be. What muggle can't tell those animals apart? You should be ashamed."

"We were eleven!"

"Old enough for you to have admitted defeat, but no! You kept getting them wrong and saying you were right." He pinched his nose as you went on. "Then you started bothering me because you couldn't admit defeat. Now look at us. Six years later and I'm still right."

His eyes met yours, creased with an impending smile. "When we passed the hourglasses, Slytherin was ten points above Ravenclaw."

"You prat—"

Your head was thrown sideways as a flit of gold smashed into you. Your lip pulsed. Luckily, you had the mind to stretch your hand and catch the golden bugger.

The Snitch fought in your grip. Eventually, its wings tucked in. Then, a bated silence. Only for a moment. Lockwood snorted as you massage your jaw.

You gave him a nasty glare. "Not a word."

"I wasn't going to say anything," he lied. "Except, your lipstick smeared."

"Rowena..."

"Here, let me."

He sported a boyish grin as he reached across, mirroring your actions from earlier. You swatted him away and he simply laughed in response.

—

With your feet on the grass, you were glad to be done with your excursion; More relieved that he let you take the win.

You're not sure a bleeding lip was worth it though, but, at least, it was over.

After packing up the Snitch and putting away your brooms (plus making it seem like you two had never been there at all), you started the walk back up to the castle's medical ward.

Somewhere on the cobblestone path, Lockwood had drawn a curious notebook and quill from his robes. "So," he flipped to a page that had been sectioned into two, scored by stick lines. "What have I missed while I was bewitched?"

You eyed the notebook. "Is that... a tally?"

"Yes," he replied. "Now, what did I miss? I had one up on you before my memories went hazy."

"Just start a new one," you urged him.

Thinking of what you achieved while he was out of it was in the same league as winning a race against a slug. There was no fulfilment.

"C'mon," Lockwood cajoled, stepping closer to you. "I've been tallying since fourth year."

You raised a brow. "Fourth year?"

"The class on the Patronus charm inspired me," he replied. "Since we're always butting heads, having a tally made it feel official."

"How do I know you haven't picked your wins and excluded mine?"

"Have you no faith in me?"

"Do you want a real answer?"

He pursed his lips, earning a laugh from you.

"I respect you, you know. Even if you are the way you are," he told you, turning the notebook to show you the tally.

The first column was his score. The second one beheld 'vexation' instead of your name. The scores were neck-and-neck, save for the singular tick on his side that put him in the lead.

He quickly drew one more stick under your column, putting you two at a draw once more. "I'll count this impromptu Quidditch match, on the condition that you won't tell a soul that it was me who snuck out first."

"You must be dedicated," you chortled. "Just count from here on out. I haven't done much, honestly."

He quirked a brow, speaking slowly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Why are you talking like that?"

"Nothing. I'm just surprised." He closed the notebook and pocketed it with his quill. "You're usually more competitive."

"That's when I don’t spend an afternoon running for my life, Lockwood."

"You make a fair point."

You were making your way into the thresh of the castle now. The torches warmed the air, thawing the chill as you flounced forth.

There was a peace in the silence and a sweetness in the solitude. You felt Lockwood's hand brush yours and found that you enjoyed it more than you thought. Not that you would say anything about it.

You're not sure whether he caught on to the lilt of your lips before he threw his arm over your shoulders, just like old times.

This time, it felt different. The heat he let off was a juxtaposition to the bite of the night, and you found yourself melting into him even more.

You would have been fine in the quiet, but Lockwood had never been friends with it.

"George told me you were scheming to cure me. How were you planning to do that exactly?"

He kicked a pebble out of your way. You withheld the urge to smile.

"It was an amplified version of a regular love potion reversal. Same one we did research work on last year."

"What did you change?"

"Thrice the dose of rosemary and dried salamander. I also added a touch of pig tongue."

"Wouldn't doubling the wormroot do the same thing?"

"No," you scoffed. "That would expel the fragrance, but it wouldn't counteract the effects of the love potion."

"Doesn't the dried salamander do that?"

"Rosemary thins out the viscosity of the love potion and the dried salamander washes down the magic that messes with your thought process."

He smiled but there was no commitment in it. "Apologies, I'm no love potion whiz."

"Next thing you know, you'll be telling me crushed jasmine will cure insanity."

"I get it, sweetheart. That doesn't explain the pig tongue."

"I was hoping the horrid taste would wake you up from your delusions."

"I think it would have worked."

"It would have," you boasted, "if you had any sense in you to try."

He chuckled, apologising in smiles. Lockwood closed the distance by ruffling your hair. You waved him away, but that did little to stop him.

"You got the higher mark on that research paper," he recalled.

"I did." You glowed with pride. "As is always the case for Potions, and Transfiguration, and Charms—"

"What are you planning to do when we're done with Hogwarts?"

His expression turned dire, like he had been agonising over when to ask the fated question. It might have been a trick of the light, but his eyes glazed.

You considered his question for a moment. "I'm expanding into healing magic." Just envisioning how far your knowledge could go brought a smile to your face. "I'm good at the cardinal subjects for healing. I enjoy them enough to see myself heading in that direction."

"That's serious," he said, genuinely taken by your answer. "You have to be recommended by a professor to take on a role at a hospital or ward, don't you?"

You tried to keep your smile humble. "I already have a recommendation."

He tilted his head so you could see the surprise on his face. "Really? Who?"

"Madame Pomfrey. I'll be her apprentice next year. Hopefully, I'll move to St. Mungo's in a few years."

"Funny," he jested, bumping your hip with his. "What would she say to the bludgers you've batted at me?"

"Your insults about me are tantamount to nothing in her eyes. She adores me."

"Because you're a kiss-up?"

You stopped, jabbing a finger at his chest. "Because I have wit."

His lips lilted into that smile you knew so well. The right of his mouth rose higher than the left, short of turning into a smirk. "You have a lot more than wit, sweetheart."

Your heart did unspeakable things. For a heart-stalling moment, you forgot to say something back.

You looked at him, he looked at you. He was closer than you'd thought. Lockwood was unfairly dashing in torch light. Windswept hair, sweat on his brow, and everything.

He seemed to drift closer and closer, but it's you who inched forward. The lesser the distance, the more honest you felt.

His eyes dipped to your lips and—

A shriek, high and shrill, broke the spell. Both you and Lockwood leapt apart. You dusted off your cloak and he rubbed his nape.

The shrieking voice returned. "Dragon!"

Dragon?

You lurched for the entrance. You couldn't see much in the mouth of the castle. Neither could Lockwood, but you felt it. The buzz before the chase, the stacking of adrenaline and the thrill of trouble creeping up on you.

Your eyes locked with his, and you knew you're thinking the same thing.

When the winds of a Romanian Longhorn flattened the trees and blew out the torches, it was the flag at the beginning of a race. You and Lockwood were running for it.

—

You found that sprinting in the dark was akin to swimming upstream. You'd tripped over several roots and rocks, and you still haven't found which pocket you hid your wand in. It was a humbling experience, being in the throes of losing something with extension charms in your robes.

After furiously tapping himself down, Lockwood found his. He flicked his wand and yelled into the air, "Accio Brooms!"

"Why didn't we do that earlier?"

Lockwood flashed a smile. "We have an excuse to destroy the storage room door now."

You were on the verge of yelling. "How would we explain why we're out here?"

"Don't think too hard, you'll hurt yourself." He made another gesture with his wand before a glow illuminated from the tip of it — lighting up the path. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there, sweetheart. We have a dragon to catch."

As the Lumos rose in intensity, the path turned treacherous. The cobbled walkway was turning into pointed stones and angry branches. The trees began to move, contorting into all sorts of grotesque shapes and snares.

Lockwood had taken the lead, taking the brunt of their greedy clutches. You had to grab the back of his robe to make sure he didn't get snatched away by the foliage.

You would have buckled at the wooden stakes that bent toward you if your brooms hadn't snapped through their grappling, snapping inferior splinters before you found your grip.

The uptake was sharp, desperate to get away from the furious trees. You clung to your broom and swallowed down the urge to retch.

Lockwood, who had levelled beside you, looked fine. You would have thrown a rock at him if you weren't turning green.

He set a hand on your back, rubbing slow circles as he surveyed the area. You appreciated the gesture.

"It's heading for the Quidditch Pitch. If we get there fast enough, we can trap it there. Easier to manage in a controlled area."

"It's a dragon, Lockwood. It would burn the place down." You straighten up ever so slightly. "On top of that, it's a Romanian Longhorn."

"I know. Endangered species. We'll have to be cautious. She could turn us into a kebab." His lips tilted into a smile. "I wager we can tame her in less than an hour."

You exhaled the last of your nausea. A grin forming on your face. "Think half."

"Ambitious, aren't we?"

You flew forward, seeing the whiskers of fire curling in the distance. "Scared, serpent boy?"

There were flames in his eyes as he sped ahead, robes soaring behind him. "Never!"

—

"You distract her. I stun her," Lockwood prompted as soon as the Quidditch Pitch came into view.

Metres above you, the Longhorn huffed plumes of smoke down on you. You tried to be quiet, but you did have qualms with Lockwood's plan.

"You're the faster flyer, why am I the distraction?"

He pointed at his chest, like that was the answer. "I'm still recovering."

"That's rich!" You still haven't found your wand and the tosser was playing sick. "You dragged me out here to fly thirty minutes ago. Don't give me that."

"What? I can't hear you!" He veered further from you. "You're the most capable witch of our age. There is no one else I'd do this with!"

He was gone from sight before you could bump him off of his broom.

Then again, you'd rather die fighting than die a sitting duck. You angled your broom up, zooming into the beast's sight before it spotted Lockwood.

Its breath was sulphur against your skin, fighting the chill but lighting a spark of fear. Its pondering yellow eyes circled on you before its mouth creaked open.

"Lockwood, work quickly!"

In a dragon chase, one must remember three things: your size advantage, the dragon's breath hurt as much as its fire, and the dragon can and will play dirty.

You were an agile flyer, ducking whenever the strokes of its inner fire hurled for you, but even you had to exercise all of your flyer's knowledge to evade its claws. A swipe, a lick of flames, a swipe, another swipe — it was practically toying with you.

The only good thing that came with it playing with its food was the fact that you had lured it right where you wanted it.

The Quidditch Pitch was gargantuan compared to the juvenile specimen. You just hoped the place wouldn't go up in flames.

You hadn't seen Lockwood in a good minute, almost believing he'd shirked you, but then you glimpsed a flicker of serpent green in your periphery and ease up.

Before long, the dragon grew tired of the play and decided that she wanted to sink her teeth into something real.

You felt a nip at the end of your broom and zagged in the air. You steadied your mount before feeling your blood rush faster.

She was snapping at you. You chanced a glance and found the black in her eyes flattened to slits, hunger dancing in the embers of them.

"Lockwood!" you cried, narrowly dodging an eager claw. "Double time!"

"I found a soft spot! Give me a minute!"

"We don't have that much time," you surmised based on the increased momentum of the beast's strikes.

After a full turn-around to swing her tail at you, you dove. Nose aimed right down to the grass. You didn't even want to look back and see how close she was.

Gravity would be on her side but pulling up now could mean flying right into her furnace of a mouth. You didn't know which gruesome death was the lesser of two evils.

In the distance, you heard Lockwood. "Stupefy!"

The dragon nipped on your broom once more before you felt a tug on your robe. Your grip slipped, your broom flew in the opposite direction. Leaving you to crash and roll into the grass, ignoring the pain of carpet burn as you helped yourself onto your feet.

You didn't get far before your legs collapsed, your whole body weight crashing on your shoulder. You were never the type to go down without a fight. You kept kicking in a desperate attempt to escape the giant.

"Lockwood!"

"Wait for me!"

You felt its breath. Molten and fear-rushing, melting the hair on your legs as you watched your own reflection in its eye.

And then, its head hit the ground and its jaw lulled. Craning open but never snapping, just barely missing your foot as you pulled your limbs towards yourself.

The lines on Lockwood's face were deeper when you laid eyes on him. When he saw that you were alright, his expression flipped like a switch. A smile formed on his face, like you didn't almost lose your life.

He hopped off of his broom and approached.

"I didn't know you could look scared."

"I was almost a dragon's dinner," you spat.

You didn't fight him as he hooked his arms under yours and hauled you up. He kept an arm around you while the feeling returned to your legs.

He chuckled in a way that could make anyone believe he was faultless. "Sorry. It was a bother finding a soft spot. This big girl has pretty solid armour for a juvenile."

"That is the last time I ever follow your instructions. I knew getting mixed up with you was a death sentence."

"Yet," he chirped, brushing off the soot remains of the edges of your hood. "you're standing here, alive."

"I regret trusting you."

"No, you don't." He flourished a hand at the slumbering beast. "Just look at what putting your heads together did."

"It won't stay asleep forever," you whispered.

Just standing there, right at the alcove of its jaw, felt like standing on the tightrope of death. Suffice it to say, you wanted to be elsewhere.

You tasted the sweet, cool air as you replenished the oxygen in your lungs. Annoyance crept in as you realised that, despite your best efforts, you were still heaving. Adrenaline refusing to crest.

You tried to shove Lockwood but he had caught your arm. "Had to wait 'till the last minute, didn't you?" you nipped.

"I just told you, it's not easy to look for a chink in a dragon's scales. Be optimistic. I could have let her take your legs."

"You wouldn't."

"You're right, I wouldn't, but it's nice to imagine that I could be spiteful."

You snorted, trying not to flinch as the beast blinked its bleary eyes at you. "Let's put the big guy to sleep. Whoever takes care of him must be worried."

"She's a lady," Lockwood corrected.

You forced a smile. "My apologies, I didn't have the time to check in the midst of my near-delimbing."

"Easy mistake." He shrugged. "How about we tie up those loose ends?"

"We would've had it done by now if you stopped chattering."

"Last I checked, you were chattering back."

"You—"

The dragon blew out a warm breath, chilling you. You would've crumpled if Lockwood wasn't holding you up.

"Never you mind," you rectified. "You know the Sleeping Trance Charm, don't you?"

He balanced you on one arm, his hold snaking around your waist. With his free hand, he raised his wand at the dragon. "How to Pacify A Dragon 101. Of course, I do."

"Semi-circle motions," you reminded as the giant gold eyes blinked at you.

"I know that already, sweetheart. You know," Lockwood trailed off. His eyes landed on you. You ignore it for the sake of your already racing heart. "We make a pretty good team."

You allowed yourself a smile. "When you're not being insufferable."

"You always think I'm insufferable."

"So, you are self-aware."

"Oh, shut up." He didn't sound like he meant it.

The world must have been pitted against you, because the drowse in the dragon's eyes disappeared before Lockwood could even mutter the spell.

Its jaws widened, and Lockwood pulled you back just before they snapped. Half a foot from taking a chunk out of you and Lockwood.

"That's not good," Lockwood grunted. He accioed his broom closer. By how hard he was pulling you, you assumed he was trying to get you to clamber on as well.

That would be dooming the two of you. Being a singular target was like turning yourselves into a barbeque.

You pushed him away, catching the panic in his eyes for a moment.

You threw your arms out, signalling him away. "Go!"

Lockwood stalled, hand on his broom. "But—"

"Go!"

He mounted reluctantly. Taking off to grab the Longhorn's attention while you were squabbling for your broom.

When you found it, your worst fears were confirmed. The world really did want you dead.

Your broom was snapped clean in two after colliding with the base of the highest hoop. Mourning your trusted companion wasn't an option, because the dragon had spotted you. Its neck craned, rearing like a snake before it struck.

You tapped your pockets, desperate to find your wand. Not in that pocket, not in that one—

At long last, you fished it out of your most unused pocket. You pointed its end at the beast but a flash of green and silver disrupted your vision.

A tug on your arm and the feeling of rising winds brought you to the present. Lockwood had grabbed you and given you a seat on his broom, saving you from a very fiery end. The patch of grass you were standing on was charred to a crisp.

"Calm down, sweetheart. I can feel you shaking." His mouth was at your ear. You shrunk even more to hide from his view.

Your heart lurched as the Romanian Longhorn roared. You leaned closer to Lockwood, feeling the steady lub-dub through his shirt. It sang your anxieties to repose.

"We need a new plan," you told him, trying to keep your mind in one place. "I don't think she'll fall for another one of our two-person schemes."

"We're one broom down, so, how do you suggest we do that?"

You two watched as the Longhorn stretched its wings, kick starting your panic.

Lockwood leaned forward and tapped your leg. "Hold on tight."

Your hands on the broom fastened until your knuckles turned bloodless.

With renewed determination, he said, "We have to try the Sleeping Trance Charm again."

"While it's wide awake?"

"I'm sorry, would you like to ask her to sit and make it easier for us?"

You pinched his arm in response. The gesture was returned with Lockwood twisting his broom to have you two dangling upside down. One hand jutted out and grabbed Lockwood by the cloak.

"Lockwood, you prat!"

"Say sorry."

"You — Gah! Sorry!"

He smirked as he righted the broom.

Given a new perspective, you wheezed. "We have to do something before it burns down the whole pitch."

"We could summon the rest of the brooms," Lockwood suggested.

He flew higher as the Longhorn swiped for your legs.

"That would just make a mess. She can burn them. Then we'd have a bigger mess to clean up, plus a debt to whoever owns those brooms."

"Well..." Lockwood looked down at the dragon. "I could offer a special deal on pens to rack up enough pounds to pay it back."

"Pens?"

"A muggle writing device. Better and cleaner than ink and quill," he quipped. "I sell them to earn a few pounds. Don't give me that disapproving look, I gave you one for your birthday."

You reeled. "That's what it was? I didn't think 'pens' looked like that. They're supposed to be made of metal, no?"

"The archaic ones, yes. Now, there are plastic, ballpoint pens."

"Why are we talking about this? We can be turned into crispy bacon at any second now."

"Sweetheart, it's either we sacrifice the brooms or we turn into bacon, as you so nicely put it."

Your heart lurched. "My mother would kill me if we fell into debt, Lockwood. Thinking about it now, she'd behead me if she finds out about this mess."

He was genuinely perplexed by the fear that laced your voice. "I thought you were from a pureblood family."

"I am!" You trilled, sounding like you needed to prove something. "But things aren't that easy. Things are earned."

"They would understand. This is a life or death situation here!"

"No, I– Just– We can't."

"Okay..." He did his best to calm you down. It didn't help that he could practically feel the dragon's breath at this distance. "We ditch that idea. How's a firework charm?"

"Yes! Good idea."

You readied your wand. Only to stop short as silver-blue figures circled the dragon. It didn't take a genius to spot a patronus, a handful of them. You spotted a silvery cat crash into the dragon's side.

A non-corporeal patronus materialised at your side, speaking with the voice of Professor Flitwick. "Do your best not to use explosives. Her caregiver's orders."

More patronuses rose like shrouds of smoke and magic, disorienting the dragon in the midst of them. Some were fully manifested, some were faint — like they had been casted by a novice.

One look down confirmed your thoughts. Students and teachers alike were casting patronuses to keep you and Lockwood from turning into Dragon Dinner. Others were busy casting a large-scale protego to isolate the creature.

The Romanian Longhorn's only choice was to fly higher and higher. Lockwood followed, strategically hiding behind patronuses as they passed.

"You have your wand?" Lockwood inquired as the air began to thin. Breathing was a task you had to do consciously to stay awake.

"Of course, I do."

"This is our chance," he told you. He poised his wand.

You raised yours, too. "I'll cast a patronus to hide the glow of the Sleeping Trance Charm."

"Here's to hoping we keep all of our limbs."

He eased closer. You readied yourself, going through all of your best memories. You didn't go back to thoughts of your favourite books or your academics—No. Your mind kept circling back to your earlier moments with Lockwood: the sneaking out, the snitch, that moment at the threshold...

Blue sand trickled from the tip of your wand. Kicking up magic that twisted into the form of a crane. Your brows furrowed as you muttered the enchantment again, only for the patronus to stretch its wings and soar towards the dragon.

You threw a glance at Lockwood from over your shoulder. "I told you I would cast the patronus."

"You are," Lockwood quipped. He did a terrible job of hiding his smile, voice pressed like he was using the last of his air to say it. "That's your patronus."

"No, it's yours." Your tone lacked conviction, and substance — seeing as the crane did burst from your wand.

Lockwood chanced a glance at you, giving you a glimpse of that smirky smile that you'd recognize even in another life. "Have something you need to tell me, sweetheart?"

"Piss off," you said. You pulled his cheek forward, forcing him to face the winds of the dragon he was supposed to be charming. "Focus on what you have to do!"

"We'll get back to this."

He aimed at the dragon and muttered, "Dormitus."

Its eyes were locked on your patronus, following its path, unaware of its eyelids drooping and its waving wings slowing.

Slowly, the dragon began to lose altitude. Closer and closer to the ground as students and professors scuttled out of the way.

The winds dissipated as it laid its scaled head on the grass, finally quelled.

You expelled a breath you were holding in. Lockwood did the same, you felt his chest flush against your back as he laxed.

Lockwood landed a ways away and dismounted first, helping you off but never actually letting you go. Your connected hands dropped between you as you both took the time to calm your heartbeats.

A deranged laugh slipped from your lips. "If you weren't such a danger magnet, you'd have a promising future as an auror."

He looked at you, a confusing mix of disbelief and hope on his face. "You mean that?"

You shrugged with a lipped smile. Not even his habit of looking at the floor could hide his smile from you. You could see it clearly as the sun rose higher.

The moment of peace was interrupted by the furious shuffling of boots on grass. You raised your heads and spotted the unmistakable figures of Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, and Hagrid.

"There you are." Lockwood said charmingly, casting a smile to match. "We were just about to come and ask what we should do about this—"

McGonagall called you both by name. Even you flinched at her vehemence.

"Why, I never!" She looked between you, clear aggravation carved into the lines of her face. "In all my years, I have never seen such a display of recklessness! You could have died. How could we ever explain that to your parents?"

You watched Lockwood's smile widen. A precursor to him saying, "Professor, with all due respect, my parents are dead."

Professor McGonagall was speechless, momentarily at a loss.

You took the chance to fill in the silence. "And I do believe Mr. Harry Potter has done worse."

Her eyes hardened as she wound her cloak tighter around herself. "I apologise for my earlier statement, Mr. Lockwood, but this kind of disobedience and endangerment cannot be tolerated. I expect you both to know where this is leading."

"Cleaning the toilets?" you two said in sync.

"Worse," Professor McGonagall looked quite proud of herself. "Detention."

You and Lockwood sobered.

"Professor, I'm a prefect," Lockwood reasoned. "And still in recovery."

"And I'm your best student," you chipped in. "Certainly, that means something."

McGonagall tipped her chin. "Then you'll be pleased to hear that the pair of you are the first to make it to detention with those accomplishments." Her tone turned frosty. "Friday evening. You know which room. Good day."

You were still reeling when Professor Flitwick motioned to his mouth. "You two should clean yourselves up, lest some misunderstand the smudges on your lips."

Hagrid flashed you two a friendly smile as you and Lockwood disconnected arms to swipe at your lips.

—

Detention didn't last too long. After a good three debates where you and Lockwood vaulted between being friends, being enemies, and being on the brink of committing murder, the kind, ghostly professor in charge let you free for his own sanity.

—

By the time you two returned to your regularly scheduled programming, Cai had been expelled and given a fancy room in St. Mungo's. Lockwood was properly compensated by the BOF company, and the pair of you received an additional fee to assure your silence. You gave your word, but one, James Potter, never made the pact. He reported the happenings to his father and promptly had the company shut down for misuse of magic.

Best wingman, indeed.

In the aurora of a half-realised friendship, you allowed Lockwood to keep his arm on your shoulder as a form of gratitude. He took every chance he got to practise his privilege.

He pulled you closer, practically nuzzling your hair. "You do appreciate me, after all."

"Barely," you replied.

The admission was enough to bring a smile to his face. If you got too soft, he'd assume you transformed into someone else entirely.

Lockwood, himself, had returned to his usual self; disputing you in class, outdoing your word counts, and (a recent development) stealing your quills to replace them with pens. How the professors didn't notice was beyond you.

You missed the banter and the thrill of the competition, but not the dingy smell of the DADA classroom. It was as pungent as always.

"Seventh years." The Professor's tone was different compared to the hundred lessons you've had before this. Dare you say she even sounded melancholic. There's a gaggle of students that laughed about it but she was more lenient, she said nothing to them. "This is your last year in Hogwarts and your last year under my tutelage. This year, we focus on practicality and efficiency. Using your knowledge against another witch or wizard."

She flicked her wand and the crowd parted, pulled in opposite directions by invisible hands.

Gasps rang out, friends clung closer to each other, and you grabbed Lockwood's sleeve when you were shoved aside. His arm dropped to support your weight by the small of your back.

You looked up and he was smiling down at you, the right side of his smile higher than the left. Familiar. Though, he was rather close.

You opened your mouth to complain, only to shudder at the sound of glass breaking. The chandelier above fell, and Professor proceeded to transfigure it into a glass cage of sorts.

She looked pleased with herself as the crystalline cage settled into a dome shape, resting both hands on her wand as she beamed at the parted crowd. "Today, we duel!"

You covered your ears at the sheer volume of your classmates' bellows. Several students looked forward to this day. They could finally let loose and cast spells like they were meant to. The girl to your right bit the end of her wand, looking a lot like a panther ready to lunge.

You grimaced and sent your prayers to Rowena Ravenclaw to save you from the hungry ones.

"Looking forward to it?" Lockwood asked, glueing himself to the spot next to you, chivalrously blocking you from the onslaught of moving bodies.

You could barely see him because the lights have been dimmed to bring all eyes to the duelling cage. You didn't know why you were even searching for his eyes in the first place.

"No," you finally answered. Your eyes landed on the cage, catching the faint veins of blue shift in and out of existence around it. Kind of like the webs of light at the surface of muggle pools. You would have missed them if you weren't squinting. "I aspire to be a healer. This is the type of thing I advise against."

He caught on to the magic, too. "Don't stress too much. The cage is enchanted to snuff out all malignant magic to avoid injury."

"How do you know?"

"That's a large-scale protego charm. Knowing the professor, she tweaked it to limit anyone who goes too far." He nudged your side. You heard the smirk in his tone. "Not bad for an aspiring auror, right?"

"Right," you agreed.

You didn't expect him to sputter. You shushed him when several heads turned your way.

"What was that?"

He patted down his robe, like it would help him collect himself. "That was surprise, sweetheart. I didn't expect you to agree with me."

"Are you suggesting that I'm unnegotiable?"

"No," he answered. "You simply... oppose me most of the time—all of the time."

"You're very easy to oppose. I just pick the choice that has a lower mortality rate. You always seem to be doing dangerous things, Mr. Lockwood."

"I'm Mr. Lockwood now, huh?" That smile again.

"Yes, you are."

"Could you call me that more often?"

His smile made you conscious. You crossed your arms over your chest, like that would protect you. "Why?"

"I like how it sounds," he replied. "I'd do just about anything to hear it again."

"Hm..." Your eyes drifted to the sparks of spells being swished back and forth. The cage turned into a mirrorball. "Win your match."

Lockwood drew himself up to full height, rolling his shoulders back with a confident grin. "Easy."

"Really? Easier than being love-spelled by a fangirl?"

Your stomach turned. That's how you knew you'd said something wrong. Your stance changed. You almost hit yourself for saying something so uncalled for.

He opened his mouth to defend himself but the Professor's voice cut through his.

"Anthony Lockwood and James Potter versus Daria Thomas-Finnigan and..." She dragged the silence on, smirking as she finally uttered your name. Professor Loathes-Your-Guts clearly, still, loathes your guts.

The room divided into two once more; those cheering for Slytherin and Gryffindor, and those cheering for Ravenclaw. The energy could rival that of a Quidditch match.

"May the best team win," was Lockwood's cold farewell. He was gruff and unjesting—a complete departure from his usual visage that it scared you. He had never been so forbidding to you, even as rivals.

He and James entered on the right wing, and you and Daria entered through the left. The circle under you lit up blue. The Professor's magic gripped you, encompassing your whole body.

Lockwood had been right. Professor kept strict tabs on everyone in the cage, and you regretted stepping in when you looked across the way.

Both Lockwood and James were ready to kill. It was an exaggeration, but you'd never seen either look so deathly competitive.

Daria's hand on your shoulder reeled you back to the present. She graced you with a smile. "Gryffindor might have good fighters but we've got something better." You were tempted to say 'female anatomy' but she spoke over your thoughts. "We've got brain."

You drew your shoulders up and gripped your wand fiercely. You faced forward as the Professor yelled, "Start."

⚜ PART 2 | SERIES MASTERLIST

SWEETHEARTS ➺ @kiyasoup @toddandersondupe @locknco @onecojg @avdiobliss @mentallyillsodapop @mitskiswift99 @mischivana @bella-rose29 @wordsarelife

⌠ @novelizt 2023 ⌡

#— ❨ 🌺 ❩ 𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐙𝐈𝐄'𝐒 𝐔𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐀 ₊˚.༄#lockwood hogwarts au #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood x you #anthony lockwood fanfiction #anthony lockwood angst

274 notes · View notes

beebopboom · 6 months

Text

Greasy Johnson: a Red Herring?

This is a season 3 speculation post - you know not what to do with them

ok so i’ve fallen down a Greasy Johnson is Jesus rabbit hole and I love it - seems pretty plausible (here are some of of the pieces that sent me down here - Jesus 2.0 rides a Motorcycle Scooter , Greasy Johnson is Jesus, and Greasy Johnson in the book)

To summarize Greasy Johnson is the third baby in the swap who grows up near Adam and has kind of a “rival gang” who in the book is used as the reason why Adam finds a fight between two rivals ridiculous

plus you have the working title for the talked about sequel 668: The Neighbor of the Beast which more than likely is Greasy Johnson house and his thing with tropical fish - just a lot of things pointing to him being Jesus

But!! I want to talk about something a little different (and I can recognize this is probably just my want for Warlock to come back as someone important) because it was a choice not have him mentioned after the swap in the show.

What if Warlock is Jesus? Now just hear me out

If i’m following the swap right Warlock is our baby draped in blue and is the Young’s actual son

Now going back a bit I believe Heaven has been testing out aspects of what is said to happen in the Second Coming for a while now maybe as far back as 1827 but probably got close to right around 1941 and was just waiting for Hell to have the Antichrist and trigger Armageddon

and yknow for being an order of satanic nuns they sure do have a lot of Jesus on the Cross hanging around. why? - it’s almost like the were also meant to deliver him as well

So when Hell pulled their final card - so did Heaven

Now who was not meant to be there that night and messed everything up - the Young’s and their baby, Warlock - it’s almost like it was a divine intervention. And like I said earlier Warlock is our baby draped in blue (like Jesus) and our Ace card (ace up their sleeve anyone?)

Greasy Johnson was apart of Hells plan and set up - Warlock was not

also he has traveled the world because of the Dowling’s work before being tempted by Hastur which he denies

and the whales and dinosaurs we see in his room - you got your mothers humor don’t you?

and he is the only one who has to make a return to the UK - the plane in the opening sequence

what about Greasy Johnson and the neighbor of the beast though? that seems to be a pretty great fit and I agree - he is going to be the reason the swap is discovered and they all get together again - whatever that reason may be (*cough*dying*cough*)

and not mentioning him further in season one allows for him to come in as a completely new character and story that we get to follow around with points in his life pointing towards him being Jesus - as a distraction for the characters and for us

but where does Aziraphale come into this and why does the Metatron need an angel of his talents? - Heaven has also lost its card(baby), the trick worked a little too well and there are still two children to choose between, if they could find them - and Aziraphale, who has shown is apt at finding and identifying the Antichrist and knows Earth better than any angel, is just the being for the job

I recognize this is a lot of speculation and this is just kinda just a crack theory but it wouldn’t leave me alone so I’d thought I’d share

and mostly I think it’d be funny that in thinking they were raising the Antichrist they were actually raising Jesus Christ

(but also it would fit a lot of the headcannons floating around. Jesus being a right terror? check. Them raising Jesus? already did that. Trans!Jesus? remember all those trans!warlock headcannons. Jesus having a mentor relationship with Crowley? the demon raised Warlock. Going out for a drink? Warlock would an adult now by the time season 3 comes out and they keep following that the events in the show are happening at the present time it comes out trend - just on and on)

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens 3 #good omens speculation #good omens season 3 speculation #aziraphale #crowley #adam young #warlock dowling #greasy johnson #the baby swap #good omens theory #good omens headcanons #good omens meta

200 notes · View notes

baldursgate3tempobsessed · 6 months

Note

Hey!

Just read „Mirror Mirror“ and I saw that you‘re still taking requests so here’s something! :))

I saw a fanart of Ascended Astarion smoking and blowing the smoke seductively into Tavs mouth, who’s sitting in his lap and I swear, that’s some hot stuff!

So I‘ve been thinking about Astarion sitting in his study, still all dressed up in a fancy outfit, doing some important paperwork (he is such an important politician now after all) and smoking a cigarette or cigar with a nice glass of whiskey, looking so powerful and then Tav comes in and sees him, finding all of this incredibly hot and takes her rightful place in his lap…. ;)

I see your vision and I respect it. One small change is his outfit is fancyish but a lil on the casual side since he's at home. But still scary prettyman!

TW: Graphic smut, spoilers for the game with embellishments, ascended astarion acting like himself, though in a mild form since this is mostly just banging and fluff.

Astarion sighed as he set the paper down, rubbing at his temples as he considered his options. The letter from Mizora was tempting, to say the least. A personal assassin that could materialize out of thin air obviously had its perks. But... the terms were concerning, solely for the fact that they were too simple. A year of her services in exchange for a place to stay in Baldur's Gate, at his home.

He was tempted. But the thought of that devil having such clear access to you was non-negotiable. Especially when he had no insight on her motivations. No, he'd have to find another way to get rid of his political rivals, preferably without getting personally involved. He did so love the heroic image he had cultivated amongst the common folk, one that would be hard to maintain if he was caught with his fangs digging in the nape of the Captain of the Guard.

What a headache.

He leaned back in his chair, thoughtful as he took another drag of his cigarette, his drink in his other hand. No one said that regional domination would be easy. He just wished it wasn't so irritating. Maybe they shouldn't have gotten rid of Gortesh after all, he was a backstabbing little weasel but at least then Astarion wouldn't have to deal with pesky things like ethics. But that was too little too late. It's not like he could un-decapitate the man.

Astarion paused his musings when something started to tickle at the back of his mind. A presence, lurking in the darkness. Astarion smiled to himself as he set his whiskey down, calling out into the black hallway, "I see you over there pet."

Astarion grinned as you came into view, already relaxing at the mere sight of you. You leaned against the doorway, clad in nothing but a thin nightdress. Thin enough for him to nearly be able to see through it, your feet bare. You looked delicious, the perfect distraction from his troubled thoughts.

"Am I disturbing you?" You asked coyly, fully aware that you never could. There you were, the most amazing thing that had ever happened to him. His favorite pet, his most precious treasure. How could you ever disturb him?

Astarion chuckled as he leaned back in his chair, "Would you care?"

"Not particularly," You sighed as you waltzed into the room, "Especially considering how I'm the one who has been kept waiting."

Astarion rolled his eyes, ignoring the little dig as he patted his lap, "Come here my love, let me get a better look at you."

You went easily, settling into his lap with a happy sigh.

"Such a pretty thing," Astarion murmured as he looked you over, his dick already twitching at the sight of you; your nipples pebbling in the cold air, completely visible through the light cloth. You looked divine.

Astarion let his hand creep up your thigh, playing with the hem of your short slip as he took another drag. One that he decided to share. Astarion gripped you by the chin, a soft order escaping his lips, “Open up darling.”

You popped your mouth right open, so obedient it made his heart sing. He breathed the smoke into your lungs, pressing a barely there kiss against your lips before he pulled back; happy to see the way your pupils were already dilated.

"What are you doing out of bed my sweet?" Astarion asked, only a touch of discontentment coloring his voice. You knew how he felt about you wandering around at night, even in your own home. He liked to know where you were at all times, no ifs, ands, or buts. Though… looking over you once more, he supposed he could make an exception.

"No reason in particular," You said, an obvious lie. One that Astarion would be able to parse out even if he didn't have full access to your mind. It wasn't helping that you were already squirming in his lap, seemingly trying your best to discreetly arouse him even more.

Astarion set his cigarette down on the ashtray, moving to run his free hand through your hair before gripping it harshly, chuckling at the way it made you gasp.

"We talked about lying pet," Astarion murmured, the hand in your hair tightening, "Unless you're looking for a punishment?"

"Maybe I just missed you," You tried again, your breath already quickening. Astarion wouldn't be surprised if you were already dripping into your panties. You did love it when he got rough.

Besides, at least that was closer to the truth.

Astarion's hand crept further up your leg, caressing your inner thigh as you shuddered, "Have I been neglecting you pet? How inconsiderate of me. But I did warn you that it would be a busy week."

"But you seem tired," You mumbled, leaning in to start kissing up the line of his throat, your hands running up and down his chest, "You've been working so hard lately. Don't you think you've earned a break?"

"Kingdoms don't build themselves darling," Astarion shot back half-heartedly. But you both knew he was already sold. You had won the second you came into view, "But perhaps I could be convinced. Did you have something in mind?"

"Mm, I'm not sure," You said, like you weren't the one grinding your perfect ass against him like a whore, "But I'm sure we can think of something."

That was enough of the coy act. Astraion wretched your head back without warning, sinking his fangs into your neck. Perhaps you could have done with a warning, not that it would have mattered. He had earned the right to do with you as he pleased. You yelped at the unexpected pain but he could taste your arousal on his tongue, spiked through your blood. To this day it continued to be the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted.

Astarion popped off of you with a smirk, near giddy at seeing that hazy look already in your eyes. He trailed bloody kisses up your throat, "Good girls ask for what they want, don't they? Unless you're looking for a punishment."

You were nearly panting as you writhed in his lap, frustrated desperation seeping into your voice when you begged, "Fuck me? Please?"

It was a good start, but Astarion knew that you could do better. He laughed, his voice rough as his fangs scraped against your delicate skin, "I think you can try harder than that, darling."

You were gripping at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you whimpered, "Please my love? I’ve missed you all day. Don’t make me wait any longer."

“Have I been neglecting you, my treasure?” Astarion murmured, his hand trailing down from your hair, moving to slip the thin straps of your dress off of your shoulders.

“You have,” You whined as he tugged on your dress, watching with rapt attention as he let it fall. He wasted no time in leaning forward to wrap his lips around your nipple; tasting you as you whimpered, “I-please Astarion. I need you inside me. It aches without you, I can’t take it. Please.”

Perfect words from perfect lips. That was the end of his manufactured patience. Astarion was already tearing your nightgown off completely, rendering it to tatters as he feasted on you with his eyes. He could buy you another, one in every color if you wished. But for now it was just in the way.

He lifted you up onto the desk, ignoring your surprised gasp as you set you on the edge. His eyes were already narrowing downward, your cunt bare and glistening before him.

Astarion ran his finger up the seam of it, grinning when he realized you were already dripping, “No panties tonight darling? Naughty girl."

"You don't like it?" You coyly asked as you worked to undo his belt, making quick work of getting his cock out, “I figured it was more economical to not let you tear apart everything I own.”

Astarion laughed as he spread your legs further apart, clever fingers working over your clit as you moaned, “Perhaps we should forget about clothing entirely then for you. It certainly would be more convenient.”

A complete bluff, one obvious enough to make you giggle. Though, it was a fun thought, one that Astarion would actually consider entertaining if he wasn’t so self-aware. No, it would take less than a day for him to rip out the eyes of the entire staff for seeing you like this, gorgeous, bare, and his.

Your hands were shaking as you rubbed the head of him over your folds, your head thrown back as you moaned. He pushed into you hard and fast, groaning at how wonderfully soaked and tight you felt. There truly was nothing better. He gripped your hips, hard enough to bruise as you pulled you on and off his cock; your eyes rolling back into your head at the impressive display of strength.

“T-Thank you, thank you,” You mewled as you wrapped your arms around his neck, tugging him down closer, “Feels good. So good. Love you so much.”

Astarion couldn’t help but smile at that, feeling just as lovesick and obsessed as the day he made you his. There really was nothing better than this, making love to the brightest part of his soul. You clinging onto him for dear life as he fucked into you, completely uncaring for the books and papers he was spilling onto the floor. Whispering sweet nothings into his ear, your legs wrapped around him; always trying to pull him closer.

He wasn’t going to last long like this. But he’d be damned if you didn’t reach your peak first. He snaked a hand between the two of you, roughly rubbing circles onto your clit before capturing your lips in a deep kiss.

You gasped as he played with you, your pussy clenching around him as you came. It felt divine, the perfect sensation to tip him right over the edge, coming deeply inside you while he panted into your mouth.

"I love you," You whispered against his lips, your voice still slurring as your body twitched from the aftershocks, “Love you so much.”

You were running your fingers through his hair as you lazily kissed each other, holding him so closely that it made his heart sing.

“I love you too pet,” Astarion murmured back, meaning every word, “More than you’ll ever know.”

"Tired now,” You sighed as your nails pleasantly scratched his scalp, “Carry me upstairs?"

Astarion was already hefting you into his arms before you could finish the question, tucking himself back into his pants before lifting you up completely, "Of course my love."

As he walked you upstairs, Astarion was struck with the realization that he could barely remember what he had been worried about in the first place. He smiled to himself as you cuddled against his chest, leaning in to press a light kiss to your hair.

You always knew just what he needed.

#ascended astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x tav #astarion #astarion x reader #I have a “insert word here”#little thing kink #this one took a minute #the dirty is difficult man

299 notes · View notes

magistralucis · 8 months

Text

I think what makes Trazyn exceptional is that he actually talks to his retainers, like actually converses with them, no matter what the stakes are. I don't mean that as a part of solving problems or giving orders. He just genuinely seems to like talking to the people around him, and as a result, what we know about the people around him develops naturally.

Sannet. Ashkut. Huntmaster, who as a deathmark should probably not have a place of honour among necron nobility, but whom Trazyn trusts with his Empathic Obliterator (see: The Bleeding Stars). His crypteks all have names and their two cents to add to the Timesplinter Cloak discussion, and it seems they all feel relatively comfortable bullshitting with one another (see: Sannet vs. Trazyn, Tekk-Nev). Koloma, the human assistant. Since necron rulers aren't normally obliged to hear their inferiors' opinions about anything, Trazyn and his court stand out - you wouldn't think Solemnace ran on a skeleton crew, since even their brief conversations add to the richness of the setting.

And I can't stress that part enough: no matter what the stakes are. We have Trazyn's conversations from just about every context, from slice-of-life moments to active godmurdering. Compare to Oltyx, for example, who's never in a low-stakes situation; in every chapter he's fighting for something greater than himself, and that struggle's reflected in every conversation he has with his people. These conversations are some of the most philosophical discussions in necron lit, but they're not really casual. Members of Oltyx's court are threads in a tapestry, and we follow them closely as Oltyx's epic unfolds, watching them unravel or grow stronger in the process.

They are a necessity and a tragedy. Trazyn's retainers are low-key, but sparkle organically nonetheless, because he pats people's backs in reassurance, thinks about wine, and asks about the significance of the pentatonic scale. The little things are important! They are what makes life familiar! Not at all common a necron should care about this, save for perhaps Zahndrekh - not that his court appreciates it, outside of Obyron, and even Obyron tires of it sometimes.

Which brings us, too, to the matter of Orikan! The Infinite and the Divine could be divided into two halves, the first being T/O's conflict and the second their co-operation, and the latter is marked by when Trazyn starts talking about those things with Orikan. I don't think Orikan finds those topics fulfilling, but he is certainly affected by Trazyn's willingness to talk to him, and their discussion that follows at the opera is the existential highlight of the novel.

And it was a positive change, even if it didn't iron out their differences. Orikan realized solitude did not serve him well. He went from having Vishani's voice (plus a plasmancer ally he didn't care for) to taking down a god with his rival wielding a galaxy-wide variety of armies. Don't reckon that would have come about if Trazyn had been nothing but sullen and silent all that time, or if he'd not tried to speak to Orikan of the little things that were important to him. Caffeine. Puppetry. Labour rights. That kind of thing.

In short:

Dude was so real for this, ngl

#warhammer 40k #trazyn the infinite #orikan the diviner #the infinite and the divine #necrons #trazyn #orikan #the twice dead king #oltyx #necron #essay #i would watch a sitcom set entirely in solemnace and nowhere else

262 notes · View notes

geekgirles · 9 days

Text

The Doll and the Dragon

Chapter 5: Brown Eyes, Blue Eyes, Green Eyes

Word Count: 29,752

Read on AO3

Previous/Next

Chapter Summary: "Tensions rise when an emissary from Bonta invites the Eliatrope King, his siblings, and especially the Divine Doll living with them to an official event in Bonta, and the fact that Yugo and Amalia's relationship hasn't been quite the same since they came back from their little adventure certainly doesn't help. But things only get more complicated when the appearance of a new rival makes Yugo's blood run cold."

He was mesmerised the moment she stepped into the room. It was as if she alone reflected all the light shining down on them, drawing it to her body and leaving everything else in total darkness.

She was indeed a beacon of light and hope amidst the miserable hole that had become of his existence in the last few centuries. And all because he’d learned too late you couldn’t rely on anyone but yourself.

Oh, but when his eyes first landed on her, he knew he had finally found the one person who truly deserved to be by his side. Just one wayward look from her brown eyes had been enough to melt his frozen heart, breathing new life into an old carcass whose only single-minded focus had been his people’s protection and well-being. How much they would be able to benefit, having her ruling by his side. Just one look at her was all he needed to know she was the key to solving every single misfortune ailing his people.

She was simply exquisite. His fingers itched to reach out to her and be able to run his hands up and down her body, marvelling at the unparalleled softness of her mahogany skin; kneading her supple flesh until every inch of her skin was covered with his fingertips. He couldn’t help but bite his own lip at the sight of hers, pouty and plump, beckoning him to bite down on them and taste her. How did he burn to weave his fingers through her forest-green locks, the idea of inhaling her soft fragrance almost enough to bring him over the edge.

She was simply divine. A true gift from the gods. Her tantalising, childbearing hips swayed back and forth in a most alluring dance, drawing all eyes to her scrumptious figure even as it was hidden from view with those rags he made her wear.

His gaze turned dark as he left his beloved’s sight to settle on him. So aloof, so distant, so indifferent. So unworthy of her. He didn’t know the true extent of the challenges one must face for his people. He couldn’t treat such a vision of loveliness like she deserved to be treated. He didn’t deserve her.

And there was nothing he wouldn’t do to make her his.

.....................................................................................................................

Yugo had had no way of knowing the chain of events that day would unravel. In fact, not even Chibi would have been able to predict the turn things were about to take that day.

The Eliatrope King and his siblings were gathered at the council room, having their first non-Amalia-related meeting practically since she arrived, when he was overtaken by a strong sense of déjà vu. Right as Shinonomé was in the midst of giving her and Qilby’s report on their latest findings on a medicinal herb they’d been growing, the doors burst open, a very disgruntled-looking member of their elite guard panting as he struggled to catch his breath.

His eyes were wide with shock.

Before Phaeris could even finish demanding an explanation for why he would interrupt a Council meeting, the guard managed to blurt out an answer that chilled them to their very core:

“An… an emissary from…from Bonta is here… He… He wishes to…to see you, Your Majesty.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Yugo had already teleported out of the room, his pace brisk and alert at this unexpected development. The pit in his stomach only grew worse when the guard informed him of the emissary’s extraordinary abilities—he only demanded an audience with their king after beating most of the elite guards single-handedly.

In the midst of such worrisome news, Yugo couldn’t help but be impressed. If he really was that good, then how come he hadn’t been sent alongside the rest of this world’s heroes to face him last time? The thrill-seeking part of him couldn’t help but muse about how that might have actually made things more interesting back then.

When he finally made it in front of the gates guarding the throne room, the Eliatrope made the split-second decision of not entering through them. That was what their ‘guest’ would have been expecting, after all, and he wasn’t in the mood to entertain any intruders. So, with a snap of his fingers, a portal materialised right underneath his feet and transported him right above his throne, allowing him to land on top of his seat with practised ease.

Much like what happened the last time they had company, Yugo certainly hadn’t been expecting what stood right in the middle of the room.

Bonta’s emissary was a remarkably small man, even shorter than Glip. He wore a patched-up grey romper and slippers, with a leather belt adorned by a rather large metal buckle. Beige fingerless gloves covered his hands, and a short-sleeved dark blue coat with a fur collar was draped over his form. He seemed to carry some sort of wooden backpack on his back.

But the strangest thing of all was his skin. It was dark, remarkably dark. But it wasn’t like Amalia’s mahogany skin. No. Bonta’s ambassador was black as coal from head-to-toe, the only exception was his pointy, grey nose. Even his eyes were black! Truth be told, it took Yugo a minute to realise that, no, his coat’s hood—which was adorned by two woolly antennae—didn’t obscure his face; his face was pitch black, too!

Not for the first time since their arrival, the Eliatrope King quietly wondered to himself just where on the Krozmos his people ended up. The World of Twelve could not be considered normal. First, living dolls sent by the gods, and now this.

Unbelievable. Simply unbelievable.

As Yugo and Bonta’s emissary entered a staring contest, both of them willing the other to break the silence first, several flashes of light followed by the sound of someone landing on the floor was all Yugo needed to know his siblings had arrived. The king didn’t even have to break eye contact with their uninvited guest to know Adamaï was hovering beside him.

Finally, Yugo had had enough.

“I sure hope you have a good explanation for your intrusion, Mister…?”

“I’m known amongst the Twelvians as Master Joris, Your Majesty.” The emissary, Joris, responded immediately, lowering his body as a sign of respect. “And with all due respect, I believe you should find my explanation more than satisfactory.”

“That I have a hard time imagining.” Yugo commented with a raised eyebrow, before his expression turned dark. “After all, you seem to have attacked some of my guards and trespassed on our property.”

Joris’ voice remained eerily calm even as he explained himself, “I apologise if any harm has befallen your people, King Yugo, but I was tasked with a mission and fulfilling it is my highest priority.”

“Oh.” It was Adamaï who spoke, sarcasm dripping from his voice as he regarded the ambassador cautiously. “And pray tell, Master Joris, whatever could it be?”

He remained as stone-faced as ever. When he slung his log-backpack out of his shoulders, the Council tensed up immediately, each and every one of them taking on defensive and offensive positions in case the little man tried anything. However, the aggression in their eyes was replaced by pure shock when Master Joris simply placed his backpack on the floor next to him as he lowered himself on one knee as a sign of respect.

And even that was nothing compared to their astonishment at his next words:

“Queen Astra of Bonta has sent me here to inquire about the Sadida woman living on the island with you.”

At that revelation, Yugo almost choked on his own spit. All around him, his siblings shared worried, perplexed glances at the accusation, even if they tried to hide their surprise around their ‘guest’. A Sadida woman? What? They hadn’t had any contact with the outside world since the Twelvians sent their warriors after him! Where in the Great Goddess’ name did they get that idea from—?

And then the truth dawned on him.

Amalia.

While it was true Amalia looked indiscernible from a human, she most certainly was not. Her presenting herself in her doll form the very first time they met more than confirmed that. But that still didn’t explain why Bonta’s queen was so certain they harboured a Sadida woman with them. More importantly, it didn’t explain how they’d come to be privy to that piece of information.

If he wanted answers, he would have to be very careful with his wording.

“I’m afraid I’m obligated to inform you that no Sadida woman lives here, Master Joris.” Technically, that wasn’t a lie.

Master Joris narrowed his eyes almost imperceptibly. He understood what was going on here. You didn’t become one of the queen of Bonta’s most trusted envoys without learning a thing or two about high politics, after all. If he wanted answers, he would have to provide some of his own until he managed to gather enough intel.

“With all due respect, my King,” He started, his head bowed in order to appear non-threatening. Although he had to admit it might be too late for that after his treatment of their guards. “We were informed of her presence by some Cra soldiers that were flying over the area. I do not know how deep your knowledge is on the races populating our world, Your Majesty, but a Cra’s sight is second to none, and their sense of honour is unparalleled.” Joris finally raised his head to look deep into the Eliatrope’s eye, his words laced with the utmost seriousness and sincerity. “They would never lie about something like this.”

Yugo’s eyes widened like saucers at his words as they finally provided him with the missing piece to complete the puzzle, and he could sense his siblings had the same reaction. The Cra sentinels from a few weeks ago! But when could they have seen—? But of course! Phaeris informed him of their ‘visit’ the very same day he and Adamaï took Amalia out of the palace. They must have caught sight of her then!

As he gathered his thoughts, Efrim snarled at the emissary, and for once his king was grateful for his distrusting nature, “And what exactly were those Cra doing around our territory in the first place? Does their strong sense of honour not apply to spying on others?”

However, Joris remained unperturbed, meeting the dragon’s accusatory glare with a stony glance of his own. “Rest assured, this has nothing to do with your people being spied on.” He wisely chose not to comment on how, technically speaking, Oma Island wasn’t their territory; they just claimed it for themselves and no one had been willing to take it back yet. “Cra are often sent on reconnaissance all around the World of Twelve. Their stumbling across your people was not their intention.”

Their suspicion hung heavily in the air. While Nora kept her brother from acting rashly, the rest of the Council members all tried to convey the same thing to Yugo through their eyes: “We cannot risk causing further trouble with the Twelvians, find out what he wants and send him away.”

Which was much easier said than done after what Master Joris said next, “It was during one of those missions when, trying to use their eyesight to better locate themselves, they saw a young Sadida woman by your side, Your Majesty.”

His hands clutching at the armrest of his throne for support, Yugo forced himself to remain as composed as possible, knowing how showing too much emotion could have terrible consequences.

“I understand, Master Joris. However, I maintain we do not have a Sadida woman with us. Those Cra soldiers were mistaken.”

Once again, Master Joris’ whole demeanour remained unchanged. He had seen far too much in his long life to let himself be swayed so easily. “Your Majesty, I beg you to listen to what I have to say: a Cra’s eyes are never mistaken. The other kingdoms are already aware of the situation and on high alert, especially the Sadida Kingdom. They fear you might have taken one of their own.”

Or a betrayal, it’s what went unsaid, but everyone heard it loud and clear nonetheless.

“If you do not return her to her people or, at the very least, explain why she is here with you, this could result in war.” Joris sentenced, his eyes severe as he implored the Eliatropes to see reason. And yet, despite himself, the dark-skinned Bontarian couldn’t help the feeling of apprehension taking hold of his heart and squeezing it tight.

Given the outcome of sending their greatest warriors to battle King Yugo, he sincerely feared the Twelvians would fail despite the overwhelming odds in their favour.

The chance of living in peace with the Twelvians slipping from his fingers right under his nose, Yugo was left with no choice but to make a rash decision. His siblings, especially Adamaï, could chew him out for it later.

Praying to the Great Goddess that this wouldn’t come back to bite him, he finally said, “We don’t have a Sadida woman living with us.”

Joris barely suppressed the urge to sigh and shake his head ruefully. So that was it, huh? They’d rather face war than come clean. Queen Astra would not like this, and Prince Armand would most likely throw a fit at their insolence, and while King Oakheart would try to remain level-headed and composed, even he would not be able to let this offence go. They were going to war.

“Thank you for your time, Your Majesty.” Master Joris bowed his head one last time before raising to his feet. However, just as he was about to grab hold of his backpack and be on his way, his fingers froze at the king’s next words just as he was about to reach for the handle:

“She is a Divine Doll sent by the gods themselves as a sign of good will. We have not caused the Sadida nation any harm.”

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Joris allowed himself to lose his composure. Whirling back around to face the Eliatrope monarch—and noting the discreet, astounded looks the blue-and-white dragon by his side sent him—, he couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice.

“What did you just say, Your Majesty?”

For once, it was Yugo who remained unperturbed. “The young woman the Cra saw isn’t a Sadida.” He paused, weighing his next words carefully. “Well, not exactly. She is a Divine Doll that was sent to us by the gods about two months ago. She’s been living with us ever since.”

Joris could not believe his own ears. A Divine Doll, sent to the World of Twelve? After all this time? He had to be sure the Eliatrope King knew what he was talking about. He simply could not know the significance those dolls held to their world.

“A Divine Doll, you say? And pray tell, which one of Sadida’s ten dolls lives on Oma alongside you, my King?”

Yugo braced himself for what was sure to come next. “His eleventh doll, Amalia.”

Bonta’s emissary almost had to do a double take. Then, he blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice. He implored the gods to give him some kind of sign he had heard him wrong. He had to have heard him wrong. There was simply no way he actually said there was an eleventh doll. Had Prince Armand been there, he would have already attacked the Eliatrope with a giant carnivorous plant for daring to disgrace his culture so brazenly.

“Your Majesty, I’m afraid that is impossible. Sadida only made ten dolls back in the Primitive Era.” He forced his voice to remain as even as possible, choosing his words very carefully. It looked like they indeed had taken a Sadida prisoner and were either mocking their beliefs or she had lied about her identity. For what purpose, he could only wonder.

“Perhaps that is so.” The new voice forced Joris to turn around in surprise. It belonged to an older-looking Eliatrope with a white tunic and glasses. “Indeed, from what I’ve gathered, Sadida created ten dolls in the Primitive Era, but I believe my king never said anything about this doll being from then.”

The Bontarian furrowed his brow, intrigued. “What are you implying, Master…?”

“Qilby.” He supplied simply, his tone far too affable for the kind of bombshells he was dropping. “And I’m simply speaking the truth, Master Joris. Our dear doll was not created in the Primitive Era, but she was made especially for our king.”

Qilby’s claim feeling like a suckerpunch, he only vaguely registered what the bespectacled Eliatrope said next, “Yugo hasn’t lied once during this entire conversation, Master Joris. The woman the Cra soldiers saw is not a Sadida, yet she is indeed Sadida’s eleventh doll.”

If what they were saying was true… That, that changed everything. He had to make sure. He had to see her with his own two eyes before he risked causing a commotion amongst the Twelvians. If Sadida had truly created a new Divine Doll after all this time… It would shake the very foundations of their civilisation.

His resolution unshakable, he turned once again to face the King of the Eliatropes, “Your Majesty, I request an audience with this Divine Doll.”

Yugo could feel himself bristle at the request, his death grip on his throne turning his knuckles white. His whole body went taut at the mere notion of introducing Amalia to the Twelvians. For a moment, he seriously considered declining, but then he looked around him, his dark brown eyes registering everyone staring expectantly back at him. He looked at the few guards remaining, the sight reminding him of the fact that Master Joris had only attacked his subjects because he and his people still didn’t consider the Eliatropes as one of their own.

And then he thought of Amalia, how her presence was supposed to be a sign of good will, a bridge between the Eliatropes and the races native to the World of Twelve. He almost let out a mirthless chuckle at the reminder. The gods sent Sadida’s most precious flower yet they didn’t do anything to ease their worshippers into accepting them. And then, as if his mother Herself were looking out for him, he remembered Qilby’s words from back when Amalia first entered their lives:

“Not even them would be able to reject our presence for much longer if they learned we have their gods’ blessings.”

Yugo couldn’t help but let out a small gasp at the memory. Loath as he was to admit it sometimes, Qilby’s prodigious memory and his matter-of-factly nature had saved him more than once. They reminded him once again of the place Amalia occupied in their lives:

She was their key to earning the Twelvians’ acceptance.

Ignoring the strange pang in his chest at his thought process, telling him for some reason that wasn’t quite it, the king eventually allowed a pleased smile to tug at the corner of his lip. With a gracious nod towards Master Joris, he turned to the guard that had warned them of the Bontarian’s visit. “Please, Elias, escort Lady Amalia to the throne room.”

“Yes, my King.” With a deep bow, his arm to his chest, Elias did as he was told. As soon as the portal flickered into existence, he was gone.

Catching Master Joris standing tall—or, well, as tall as someone so short could stand—and alert as he waited for Amalia to arrive, Yugo couldn’t help but feel a little sheepish. With a clear of his throat to gain his attention, as soon as the emissary’s black eyes flickered over to him, he explained, “My apologies, Master Joris, but I would suggest you get comfortable.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty, but if Lady Amalia truly is a Divine Doll, then it is imperative I greet her with the respect she is due. Introducing myself to her while sitting down seems hardly appropriate.”

“Oh, and I respect your commitment to protocol, Master Joris. It’s just that it might take them a little while to arrive.”

“I was under the impression that your portals served to transport you from one place to another almost immediately?”

The emissary didn’t miss the way the king and the dragon by his side exchanged meaningful glances. “That is true. However, Amalia will not be coming through a portal.”

Joris quirked an eyebrow at that.

.......................................................................................................................

Saying Amalia fell off her bed in surprise when one of the palace’s elite guards stepped out of a portal and into her room wouldn’t have been right. So the two of them had agreed not to speak a word of the incident. However, that was nothing compared to how taken aback she’d been upon being informed Yugo requested her presence at the throne room.

As Amalia kindly rejected the guard’s—Elias, he introduced himself as—offer to go through one of his portals and allowed herself to be escorted to the throne room, the doll couldn’t help but let her mind wander. The current state of her relationship with the Eliatrope King at the forefront of her mind.

The distance he drew between the two of them hadn’t lessened any in the past few weeks. If anything, it only grew a little bit wider each passing day. It was so frustrating, to know the cordiality you were treated with was nothing compared to the warmth you’d once been subjected to. The kindness and care Yugo used to treat her with could put the sun’s rays to shame, whereas now that stiff politeness of him could put out any fire.

They had yet to have any more meaningful conversations since they returned from the beach, their current interactions amounted to little more than pointless small talk and awkward greetings. The longest the two of them had held a conversation as of late had been when she begged him to talk to Glip and Baltazar about attending their classes.

Ever since then she shared longer, more meaningful conversations with her classmates, some of whom still had trouble remembering irregular verbs, mind you; than the one person on Oma she thought she could call her friend.

She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t frustrated. And mad. Oh, she was so mad at him for daring to give her the cold shoulder without so much of an explanation! One second they were out and about on their first adventure and having a great time, and the next he acted like having her around was physically painful! And now he summoned her to the throne room like nothing happened? Now he wanted to talk to her?

What gives?!

And why the throne room, of all places!? Couldn’t he have just knocked on her door to talk to her like a normal person? Or, seeing as he was anything but ‘normal’, was it really so hard to visit her balcony and ask for a moment of her time? Apparently it was, for he just had to summon her to the freakin’ throne room like a gobball to the slaughterhouse.

Stealing a quick glance at Elias’ back, the Divine Doll went to discreetly and quickly rub the side of her face with the back of her hands, trying to keep the tears at bay. More than anything she felt hurt. So terribly, incredibly hurt. Her heart would give an uncomfortable squeeze whenever she dwelled too much on her own loneliness. And yet, she couldn’t help but wrack her brain every night as she went to sleep in a desperate attempt to make sense of it all. But no matter how much she tossed and turned and tortured herself, she always came up empty-handed. She just couldn’t understand.

All she knew was Yugo was pushing her away and she didn’t even know what she’d done wrong.

Just as the stinging in her eyes was beginning to become too much to bear and Amalia could feel her throat beginning to constrict into watery sobs, Elias halted abruptly. Looking up in surprise, she saw they had finally made it to the throne room. They’d finally made it to Yugo.

Placing a hand against the gates, the guard asked her, “Are you ready, Lady Amalia?”

Scrambling to blink her tears away and to smooth out her clothes and touch up her hair, all in an attempt to present herself as put-together as possible despite her turbulent thoughts, Amalia gave him a resolute nod.

“Yes, I’m ready. Thank you, Elias.”

With a nod of his own, the young guard opened the gates and welcomed her inside. Entering that room for the first time since she first arrived, Amalia let her gaze wander and reacquaintance itself with what lay inside.

Supporting the weight of the massive oval dome acting as their roof stood eight malachite columns forming an arch, causing the light filtered through the windows to bathe everything in a greenish blue hue. Each of them were separated by what at first glance looked like large stained glass windows but that, upon closer inspection, one could see were actually portals connecting to the different areas around the island to grant their subjects easier access—something she learned from asking Glip about their own portals located around their classroom.

Standing on the other side of the room, meant to be the first thing you saw upon opening the doors, was a long staircase connected to the throne. Amalia hadn’t seen many in the relatively short time she’d been alive, but she had to admit the sight was as impressive now as it had been when she first arrived. Sculpted in stone, the back of the throne branched into two large and imposing dragon wings; an actual green-coloured stained glass window depicting the Eliatropes’ emblem—a spiral formed by an Eliatrope baby and a dragon cub—could be seen right between the two wings.

Now that she looked more closely, Amalia could make out six hollowed spaces located at specific spots on the wings, but before she could try and discern what they truly were, she was brought back to the present by her heart skipping a beat when she accidentally locked eyes with Yugo.

Heat coming to her cheeks at their brief interaction, she bashfully turned her head away, reprimanding herself on seemingly forgetting she was supposed to be mad at him. Just as she did that, however, her gaze ended up on a mysterious little man instead, the sight causing her to blink in surprise. This time, she had to bring a hand to her chest at the powerful thud resounding in her ribcage at the sight of him.

She didn’t know how or why, but this man held a lot of power. She could just feel it.

Yugo’s voice cut through the fog in her mind, and she had to bite down her bottom lip to prevent herself from sighing. She hated how much she missed the sound of his voice.

“Amalia, allow me to introduce you to Master Joris.” He gestured at the man from his throne. “He’s been sent here on behalf of the queen of Bonta.”

Amalia blinked, shocked. Oh, that… That was new. Shaking her head slightly to gather herself up, she curtsied to their guest. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Master Joris.”

For his part, Joris had to admit that for the first time in a very long time he was left quite stumped. The young lady before him was a true vision of loveliness, with her soft and delicate features, her silky green hair, her doe-like eyes, and her elegant figure. He had a feeling she had to be the most beautiful Sadida he had ever laid his eyes on. The only one he believed could eclipse her beauty was the late Queen Sheran Sharm, whose hand had been the most coveted amongst the nations until she eventually chose to marry King Oakheart.

Truth be told, the resemblance was uncanny.

However, perfect as Lady Amalia looked, she was still just a Sadida. Her complete lack of doll-like attributes like stitches or the leafy headband Divine Dolls were known for were proof enough of her utter lack of divinity.

“The pleasure is all mine, Lady Amalia.” He greeted back, his manners impeccable even as he feared he was being duped. “Forgive me for being so brazen, my Lady, but His Majesty has informed me of your heritage?”

“My heritage…?” She echoed, not sure where this was going.

“Indeed. I was told you are Sadida’s eleventh doll.” He explained. “And that you were sent here by the gods?”

Oh, so that was what he meant. Amalia let a small smile grace her features. “That is correct, Master Joris. Father created me to be Yugo’s’ bride.” She stated proudly, completely unaware of the way her declaration had Yugo panicking inside. Okay, he did not mean for that piece of information to slip out. And judging by the way Master Joris’ eyes widened in surprise, there was no way he hadn’t heard her.

Ignoring the way the Council of Six collectively lost their minds as they tried to figure out how to do damage control of the situation without screaming their lungs out hysterically, Amalia went on, “He says I am his masterpiece.”

Even in the midst of his internal screaming, Yugo couldn’t help but agree with the Leafy God. Amalia was truly a marvel of nature. Regardless of how her sisters had turned out, it was clear the nature god had outdone himself. Which, more often than not, only made his already difficult life harder.

“I am sure Sadida Himself is very proud of the outcome, Your Grace… if what you say it’s true.”

That made her frown, uncertain. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I beg your pardon, Lady Amalia, but I was sent here to inquire about the sighting of a Sadida woman living on Oma Island alongside the Eliatropes. You see, such a thing could have rather… unfortunate consequences we ought to avoid. Which is why I am here, to make sure there is nothing to worry about.”

“But there isn’t any Sadida woman living on Oma Island…” Amalia muttered, squinting her eyes, uncomprehending.

“That is what King Yugo said as well, yes.” Joris nodded, before his dark gaze met Amalia’s brown eyes, a small shiver running down her spine at the intensity of his stare. “He explained you’re actually a Divine Doll, but I’m afraid that is something I must verify myself.” Then, raising his palm up, he gestured towards her, “If you don’t mind…”

Despite the rocky state their relationship was in, Amalia found herself staring back at Yugo for guidance. “I don’t understand…”

His heart squeezing in pity at the sight of the doll’s discomfort, Yugo offered, “I believe Master Joris is trying to ask you for some proof that you are indeed a Divine Doll, Amalia.” His voice was so soft and reassuring he surprised even himself.

He tried to ignore the way his siblings exchanged knowing glances as they gestured at him with their heads.

Again, Amalia blinked, only this time she was more surprised at the simplicity of the answer. “Oh, really?” She asked, turning back to the emissary for confirmation.

“If it’s not too much trouble, my Lady…”

While Master Joris remained as stoic and alert as always, his hands behind his back as he awaited for Amalia to prove her identity, the Eliatropes and their dragons braced themselves. Adamaï in particular snapped his mouth tightly shut. They were already used to the doll’s demonstrations of divine power and were half expecting some kind of mystical wind to pick up at any given time and scoop Amalia up while leaving a mess of leaves or flower petals in its wake.

In fact, they were so ready for some kind of chaos to ensue they couldn’t decide whether to be disappointed or relieved when Amalia disappeared behind a harmless puff of smoke instead. Both the Council of Six and Master Joris could only look on, perplexed, as a small brown and green rag doll emerged from the puff of smoke and walked over to Bonta’s emissary.

As soon as they were just a few inches apart, Amalia smiled up at a speechless Master Joris before bowing down deeply. “As I said, my name is Amalia, Master Joris. I am Sadida’s eleventh Divine Doll. I hope this is enough to prove my identity.”

For his part, Joris just… stared, almost unblinkingly. Okay, even he had to admit this was new. On the bright side, it also proved that Lady Amalia was definitely one of Sadida’s dolls.

Snapping out of his trance, he cleared his throat a little awkwardly. He returned Amalia’s bow with a small one of his own. “It is more than enough, my Lady. My apologies for doubting you.”

“I trust this is enough to assuage your queen and the other nations’ concerns?” Yugo stated, his demeanour outwardly calm despite the undercurrent of powerful emotions running below his skin. He didn’t even have to look to know his siblings shared the same fears: the last thing their people needed was another war for their right to exist.

Which is why a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders when Master Joris nodded in response. “Rest assured, Your Majesty. This should be enough to put our rulers at ease.” But just as Yugo and his siblings were about to release a sigh of relief, the emissary’s next words caused them to stiffen up again, “However, I hope you will understand I must inform them of Lady Amalia’s true nature. This kind of development, Sire, is… It’s truly astounding for our people, you see.”

“I understand.” The Eliatrope barely suppressed the urge to groan and rub his face in aggravation. Still, there was something he had to ask. “But do tell me, Master Joris, will this affect my people and our relationship with your leaders in any way?”

“All I can say for certain, King Yugo, is that they will surely grow interested. As I said, Lady Amalia’s presence is a very serious matter.”

“Do you mean my presence might cause problems?” Amalia inquired with a worried hand to her chest, her doll-like appearance only showcasing the vulnerability she was displaying at that moment. She had mostly remained silent during the two men’s exchange, but her worries had spiked up at the thought of causing trouble for the Eliatropes.

Distantly, Yugo couldn’t help but notice it was kind of adorable… Before realising what he was thinking and forcing himself to focus on the conversation at hand with a shake of his head.

Master Joris was quick to raise his hands in a placating manner. “Oh, no, my Lady. It’s not that. Trust me, no Twelvian would be foolish enough to try anything against one of Sadida’s dolls.” From the corner of his eye, Yugo could see Nora releasing a sigh of relief at that. He honestly felt the same way, as it meant their people should be safe as long as Amalia was with them. His eyes flickered back to the ambassador when the Bontarian added, “Although I should probably warn you your presence will warrant their interest in you. Expect more news from Bonta in the near future.” He told that last part to Yugo, turning to meet him directly in the eye.

“We will, Master Joris. Thank you for your visit.” It’s what he said, but deep down Yugo was far too occupied begging Eliatrope to let this be a one-time thing.

And thus, with one last polite bow to both the king and his bride, Master Joris picked his backpack up and, under everyone’s astounded gaze, disappeared in the blink of an eye, a gust of wind the only indication he had ever been there.

“Okay, I think it’s high time I said what’s on everyone’s minds”, Chibi spoke up for the first time since they met their unexpected guest, gesturing wildly at the space he had just occupied, “What in the Great Goddess’ name was that guy?!”

While his siblings shared their theories on the mysterious little man that had just turned their world upside down, Yugo’s eyes fleetingly met Amalia’s, before the two of them averted their gazes as quickly as if they’d been burned, a flush on their cheeks that didn’t go unnoticed by Adamaï.

.........................................................................................................................

Sure enough, just as Master Joris had promised, barely a week after his surprise visit, a Cra-crafted magic arrow drove itself into a wall, startling them all. To say Glip almost had a heart attack as he saw it pass right under his nose, literally, would be an understatement. With class cancelled that day due to the sudden fright, the Council of Six met up once again for an urgent meeting, apprehension behind their every move as they all gathered around their king to discover the contents of the letter.

Unsurprisingly, it was a letter from Master Joris informing them of Queen Astra and the other rulers’ reaction upon discovering they harboured Sadida’s youngest daughter. Surprisingly—and by that they meant shockingly, astonishingly, heart-attack-worthily—, the World of Twelve’s different nations had convened amongst themselves and reached the decision to extend the Eliatropes an invitation to Bonta, where they would all meet up in a banquet meant to celebrate such wondrous occasion.

All they asked of the Eliatropes in return was that both King Yugo and Lady Amalia were present. Beyond that, any other member of their ruling class was welcomed to attend as well.

Once they got over their initial shock and excitement over what that could mean to their people, the most cautious members of the Council—namely, Mina, Phaeris, Chibi, and Grougaloragran—warned them they had to be careful. As great an opportunity as it was, they could not let their guards down, therefore, it would be wise if some members stayed behind to oversee and protect their kingdom in case of an attack or an emergency.

They all agreed wholeheartedly with that. Not surprisingly, Efrim was the first to volunteer to stay behind, and Yugo couldn’t help but feel grateful for that. His youngest brother’s hostile and distrustful nature, especially around Amalia, would not do them any favours with improving their relationship with the Twelvians. And seeing as Glip, Baltazar, and Shinonomé would remain as well and they weren’t exactly battle-oriented, then having the more combat-ready Efrim around was actually the wisest choice.

As they all discussed how they would proceed and how they would behave at the festivities, Yugo couldn’t help the strangled yelp that escaped his lips when Nora roughly grabbed him by the hood and yanked him down to her eye-level. Her pink eyes glimmered with the utmost seriousness, the kind that she usually reserved solely for battle.

Struggling out of her grip, he scowled at her. “Nora, what are you doing?!”

But she remained unbothered, her hands on her hips and her face as expressive as a rock. Rather than acknowledge his rightful outburst, she just stated flatly. “You have to summon the Royal tailor. Now.”

The king’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Are you sure? I mean, it’s true it’s been a while since we last donned more formal clothing, but—.”

“It’s not that!” Nora snapped. Giving her brother’s words some thought, though, her hand to her chin, she then admitted. “Alright, that too. After all, we can’t exactly present ourselves to what’s supposed to be a civilised party wearing our battlesuits; we must showcase our people’s own rich heritage and history to the other rulers. But that’s not what I meant!”

“Then what did you mean?”

Nora actually rubbed her face in frustration, groaning exasperatedly as she went. Each passing day the reason why Yugo never got married was less of a mystery and more of a foregone conclusion.

“Amalia, Yugo. I mean Amalia! The Twelvians think she’s your bride, meaning she will be our queen!” She hissed, causing her brother to flinch at her outburst. “If we want to show them we are serious about coexisting peacefully, we must show them Amalia is one of us so they'll have no chance to try and drive us away!”

Just as she finished her little spiel, she brought a hand behind her back and opened a portal. Sticking her hand inside, she flicked Efrim in the back as a warning to keep his mouth shut. Knowing him, no doubt he was about to protest and insist the Sadida Doll was definitely not one of them.

“Nora is right.” Shinonomé agreed, coming to stand by her sister as she stared directly into her king’s eyes. “As impressive as Amalia’s shapeshifting can be, I highly doubt she’ll be able to replicate our traditional ceremonial clothing. She needs a professional’s help.”

“Grougaloragran would appreciate a new ceremonial tunic as well.” The black dragon piped up, though he shrank a little into himself at the unimpressed glances his siblings were sending him. Feeling a little bashful, he rushed out to say, “That and we should show the Twelvians we are taking this invitation seriously. We must look the part.”

Yugo could only look back and forth between his siblings in disbelief, his mouth agape. Groaning quietly to himself, a hand to his temple to soothe his rapidly impending headache, he couldn’t take it anymore. Sometimes his siblings were impossible.

“Whoah, whoah, whoah!” He exclaimed loud enough for them to hear. After a short while of him gesturing wildly at them, their heads finally snapped to look back at their king, expectantly. “Have you all forgotten already?! Despite what Master Joris and the Twelvians seem to believe, Amalia is not my bride! I’ll have to clear up any misunderstandings at the celebration before they can cause any trouble!”

“Well, duh.” Phaeris chimed in, shrugging. Yugo could feel himself staring owlishly at the turquoise dragon; that had to be the least dignified reaction he’d seen of him in the several centuries they’d been alive during their current reincarnation.

Unperturbed by his king’s stare, the dragon went on, as if what he was about to say were common sense, “It is important we explain the situation with Lady Amalia, it’s true. Otherwise, they might accuse us of lying to serve our own purposes.”

Some of the tension left Yugo’s body. “Yes, that’s right. Thank you, Phaeris.”

But Phaeris wasn’t done. “But, as Nora pointed out, it is also imperative we make it clear that Lady Amalia is with us, lest we risk being deemed as undeserving by the other nations and they try to take her away.”

“Which would then rob us of any immunity Lady Amalia’s presence might grant us by virtue of her being a Divine Doll.” Mina finished for him, sharing a meaningful nod with her twin.

“In other words, you’d better summon the Royal tailor as soon as possible, Yugo. We’re going shopping!” Nora announced, throwing one hand in the air in celebration. Truth be told, the tone of her voice sounded more like she was just looking forward to getting some new clothing, rather than preparing for an extremely important diplomatic mission.

As the rest of the Council murmured in agreement all around him, Mina and Chibi discussing things like the overall design of the outfits they would commission, Yugo eventually gave up with a sigh and a helpless shrug. He arched an eyebrow when Adamaï landed softly by his side, an encouraging grin on his maw.

“Look on the bright side, Brother. You’ve been thinking about summoning the Royal tailor on Amalia’s behalf for a while now. Now’s your chance.” He winked playfully at him.

Yugo snorted at his brother’s antics. “Oh, Ad. You always know just what to say.” He rolled his eyes, only half-joking.

......................................................................................................................

Lately, the best way Amalia had to describe her life would be by saying each day felt like a tornado passed by and turned it all upside down, swooping her up as it went. One day Yugo summoned her to the throne room where she had to prove her identity to a mysterious little man overflowing with power beyond mortal comprehension, and the next there was a knock on her door she barely had a few seconds to even respond to before a bearded, older-looking Eliatrope came rushing in and started taking her measurements and talking about fabrics, and complementary colours and ball gown shapes and who knew what else.

Amalia was convinced not even her father had pricked her with a needle as many times as this man—the Royal tailor, apparently—had when he was sewing her up. And she was a doll Sadida made from scratch!

Now, despite her limited time on the World of Twelve, Amalia had to admit she had grown to be quite coquettish. It didn’t take long for her to develop a healthy kind of appreciation for quality clothing and looking one’s best. And when the tailor told her she had been summoned to Bonta alongside the Council of Six, she was more than willing to go along with it and look the part.

What she wasn’t so appreciative about, however, was spending countless hours still as a statue as she had her measurements taken and her skin pricked by needles. And finding out about said invitation through the tailor and his assistants when it should have been from Yugo was just the last nail on the coffin. Especially when, apparently, the Twelvians expected her to go as Yugo’s plus-one.

That little son of a weed was starting to really get on her nerves. In fact, Amalia remembered she couldn’t keep her temper from flaring at such revelation, to the point she ended up startling the poor tailor half to death when she stomped on the floor in frustration and her bed shot up to the ceiling in response, the action causing a small tremor to echo around the palace.

One thing was to avoid her—which was a very hurtful thing to do to a friend in the first place—, but to send literally anyone else to tell her important news, especially when they concerned the two of them? She was starting to get really sick and tired of whatever game Yugo was playing.

A scoff escaped her lips, which earned her the curious glances of the guards escorting her. But she paid them no mind. She was far too busy wallowing in her own bitterness. She was so angry she had to bite down on her bottom lip to keep herself from groaning in aggravation.

So he wanted to play, huh? Fine, she would play along. She would go to the banquet in Bonta as his partner, play the part, but she was done being the only one always making an effort to get close to each other. So his definition of friendship was to be distant and aloof? Fine. That was exactly how she was gonna be.

The Sadida Doll had just made up her mind when she was finally led to the palace entrance, where she’d meet up with Yugo and the rest of the attending members of the Council before they all left for Bonta. Despite the large gates leading outside being closed, the doll could still make out the excited chatter coming from the other side. The Royal tailor had been so kind as to inform her they would address their people first before parting for Bonta, hence the location where they would meet up at.

Fine by her. She had yet to truly meet any non-Primordial Eliatropes beyond the palace staff and the children.

As she waited for the Council to appear, Amalia took some time to admire her new clothes. In the end, she had to admit she liked her new dress a lot more than she had been expecting she would.

More importantly, she had been pleasantly surprised to find out she quite enjoyed the simple elegance it conveyed. She wore a modest cream silk dress that reached down to her feet and left her shoulders and arms exposed. Apparently, that colour had been chosen precisely so it would create a nice contrast with her dark skin. The tailor had described it as having a semi-sweetheart neckline and a mermaid skirt, although he insisted it would not impede her mobility and the skirt was specifically designed to flare with her movements. And Amalia had to admit she liked the way it fluttered around her as she walked.

While primarily white, the dress wasn’t without a touch of colour. A forest green sash was tied around her waist, with the ends hanging from the centre and going all the way down to just above her shins. A golden belt buckle showcasing the Eliatropes’ emblem helped fasten it. And draped around her shoulders was a large, sheer equally green shawl. The fabric was big enough to act almost like a cape. Much like the belt buckle, it was fastened around her neck with a matching golden brooch with their emblem engraved on it.

As for her hair, for once Amalia wore it almost entirely loose, allowing it to stretch down to its actual length—just below her upper back. A simple high bun held together by a modest headband completed the hairdo.

Despite how peeved she was feeling at the moment, Amalia had to admit both the Royal tailor and his assistants had done a splendid job. She would have to thank them later.

Her good mood instantly soured as soon as she registered the familiar flash of blue light from the corner of her eyes. The soft thud! coming from beside her as well as the fact that she could feel someone towering over her was all she needed to know Yugo and his siblings had arrived.

“Good afternoon, Amalia.”

Wait, that was it? That was all he had to say after so long without even speaking a word to each other? Just a simple greeting? No apology due to how he’d been acting? No further explanation as to what they’d be up against? Didn't he have anything to say about how she looked?!

The Divine Doll grit her teeth and clenched her fist so hard she almost drew blood, trying to restrain herself. She had already decided she wouldn’t let him affect her anymore. Forcing herself to take a calming breath through her nose, she turned to look back at Yugo…and was left frozen on the spot, although she could feel her cheeks grow hot at the sight.

Much like herself, Yugo had dressed himself up for the occasion. And much to her chagrin, her eyes immediately travelled up and down his body in admiration as her brain struggled to process what was going on.

While he still wore a blue hooded cloak, this one had more golden details than his usual one, with gold lining up the seams beyond just the hood. Even in her speechless state, a part of Amalia couldn’t help but find it odd that he insisted on covering his head despite going on official business with the other monarchs, although she was oddly relieved and endeared to see it wasn't enough to hide the fact that he’d braided the bangs framing his face. She hated how adorable it looked. Instead of his usual bodysuit, he wore white harem pants and sandals, and while his dark blue fingerless gloves remained, the same couldn’t be said about his sleeves, as he wore an equally blue, sleeveless, high neck top with more golden lining highlighting his pectorals and sides. A silk sash the same colour as his cloak tied to the side of his waist completed the ensemble, joining both halves of his outfit seamlessly.

However, what really caught her eye about the ensemble was how the lack of sleeves brought attention to the weird markings on his arms. They were like spirals going up and down his arms, snaking around his forearms and curling it on themselves on his shoulders and wrists. It was definitely strange, and yet, the weirdest thing of all had to be how those markings looked more like scars, for the skin they covered was of a darker tone as the rest of him.

She must have been staring a little too hard, for after letting out what sounded like an awkward cough, Yugo eventually explained. “These are ceremonial Wakfung tattoos.” He gestured at them. “It’s not customary for Eliatropes to get them—if you look closely, you’ll see none of my siblings have them—, but I find they help to better project and manipulate wakfu. Ad has them too, though only in his true dragon form.”

Blinking slowly in surprise—partly at the information and partly because that was the longest he’d spoken to her in a while—, Amalia finally turned her focus back at the remaining members of the Council of Six. Sure enough, not only did they not have the same markings as Yugo on their skin, but they also wore similar clothes to him, even if they shared the same colour palette as their regular outfits or had little details that helped them to stand out. For example, Nora wore a bandana around her neck, no doubt meant to act like her usual mask; and Chibi had pieces of gold scattered all over his clothes; Mina was the only one beside herself to wear a dress, and her hat was more elaborate than usual, with even more details embroidered onto it; and Qilby… Well, he looked marginally less haggard than normal.

Adamaï, Grougaloragran, and Phaeris, however, looked the same except for Grougal’s tunic looking a little more regal. Amalia supposed it made sense; as dragons they didn’t have much use for clothing in the first place.

She was so engrossed in her own thoughts, she couldn’t stifle the gasp that let her mouth when Yugo interlocked their arms, the crook of her arm coming to rest against his. She was so startled by the action she almost forgot to be angry at him. But she recovered just in time to discreetly puff out her cheeks in annoyance.

“Are you ready, Amalia?” He asked, and for a moment she hated how genuinely concerned he sounded. But she was not going to fall for his fake pleasantries again.

Her tone was flat when she answered, “Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

Before Yugo had time to dwell on the apparent lack of her usual excitement, Chibi turned to address the guards standing by the door. “Open the gates.”

“Yes, sir!” With their customary greeting, they pulled the rope that served to open the large doors, giving way to the excited crowd outside as they cheered and celebrated their leaders.

“Long live the Council of Six! Long live King Yugo!”

“May the Great Goddess be with you!”

“All hail our leaders!”

After a few more minutes of cheering and applause, Yugo raised his hand as a silent request for his subjects to quiet down. Seeing the gesture, little by little, the noise around them died down, the Eliatropes present waiting for their king to speak.

Yugo allowed a reassuring smile to tug at the corner of his lips. “My beloved people, as you all know, we have been granted a once-in-a-lifetime chance to prove our intentions are pure to the natives of this world. It is our duty, as your leaders, not to let you down.”

“Today we will be travelling to Bonta,” Chibi continued, his tone measured and collected. Amalia was sure that had to be the most serious she ever heard him. “From what we’ve gathered, the city is one of the most prosperous and powerful nations in all of the World of Twelve. And such, it is imperative we leave a lasting impression on them, for this could be the first step into receiving their blessing to live alongside the Twelvians.”

“We promise to both gather information regarding our neighbours and to prove our own worth as a kingdom.” Qilby added, adjusting his glasses with one finger.

“Hopefully, by the time this is over, we will have earned their respect and will be one step closer to finally earning their trust.” Nora went on, her pink gaze betraying her hopes for what the night might entail.

As the members of the Council kept on talking and assuring their people they would do everything in their power to bridge the gap between Twelvians and Eliatropes—something Amalia still didn’t fully understand but no one bothered to tell her about—, the Divine Doll felt a hand tugging at the skirt of her dress. Blinking in surprise, she looked down and found herself face-to-face with a beaming little girl.

She remembered her from class, her name was Camilla and she was very shy but very sweet once you got to know her. Which was why it was such a shock that she seemed to have overcome her shyness to hand a flower to her, a small blush on her cheeks.

Oh. That explained the little prick of pain she felt earlier.

Allowing her first genuine smile of the day to grace her features, Amalia leaned down and gracefully took the flower from the girl’s hands and placed it at the base of her bun. And with that, little Camilla beamed up at the Sadida Doll once more before going back to her parents.

It was at that moment that Amalia realised things had got oddly quiet. Looking back at the crowd, she almost flinched upon realising they were all staring back at her. Her second mistake was subconsciously glancing at Yugo for answers, the sight causing her chest to constrict almost painfully.

The way the Eliatrope King was looking at her—his eyes glimmering with fondness and an unfairly adorable grin on his lips—was as soft as butter. Despite the way her heart skipped a beat, a part of Amalia wished he wouldn’t look at her like that, not when he had spent weeks avoiding her like the plague. It was simply unfair.

What he said next almost brought her to tears.

“I would like to thank Amalia especially for making all of this possible.” He said, and the doll couldn’t decide between swooning at his words or smack him on the back of his head with a vine. “Without her, who knows how long it would have taken the other nations to express an interest in getting to know us.”

“Long live Lady Amalia!” The Eliatropes gathered exclaimed almost in perfect unison.

In spite of her turbulent emotions, the green-haired beauty had to admit it felt rather nice to have your name chanted like that.

Just then, Qilby stepped forward, holding several glass bottles in his hands. He took one and raised it high above for all to see. “These potions were sent to us by the ambassador of Bonta himself. Apparently, they will transport us directly to the palace, where the banquet will take place.” After he said that, he distributed each and every one of them amongst his siblings and the doll.

As she took hers and stared back at it, Amalia thanked Sadida for their existence. She could not promise her new dress would arrive intact at Bonta had she had to travel through one of Yugo’s portals again.

Yugo himself spoke next, taking the cap off and raising his own potion up, an action they all soon mimicked. “For our future!” And he gulped down the magic beverage.

“For our future!” The Council repeated, following suit and drinking their own, with Amalia scrambling to do the same.

And in a literal flash, they were gone.

.................................................................................................................

When her eyes finally adjusted to the change in lighting filtering through her eyelids after drinking the potion, she finally opened her big brown eyes to take it all in. What she saw caused her to let out a gasp of surprise.

They had been transported into a moderately-sized hexagonal room with white marble walls, royal blue tapestries hanging from some of them while the others held portraits of what she could only assume were relevant figures in Bontarian history. She was inclined to believe they were previous rulers, as they all wore some sort of golden crown with wings. Beyond that, there were potted plants adorning the corners—they were healthy, she could tell, but they would definitely benefit from some actual soil and sunlight.

“Looks like they’re waiting for us.” Nora piped up, drawing Amalia’s attention with her.

Her eyes landing where the pink-eyed Eliatrope was staring at, the doll finally took notice of the large royal blue with golden hinged doors right in front of them, the cacophony of voices coming from behind. Amalia couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that. It felt like all she did lately was wait in front of doors.

“So, how long do we have to wait for?” Chibi asked no one in particular. “Do we just go in or…?”

“Phaeris believes it is customary to wait until one is formally introduced by an announcer. Perhaps that is the case here as well.” The turquoise dragon pointed out.

“For once we agree, Phaeris.” Qilby murmured, rolling his eyes alongside his dragon sibling upon making eye-contact with each other. With a low scoff, he adjusted his glasses over his nose. “I suggest we wait until we are formally introduced.”

“And what if no one is supposed to introduce us?” Adamaï questioned, an eyebrow raised.

“Then we wait for Bonta's little errand boy to come find us.” The eldest Eliatrope said dismissively.

As the others were discussing how and when they should step through the doors to meet the other leaders waiting for them, Amalia was momentarily startled by Yugo placing his hand over the one resting on the crook of his forearm. Even though she knew it was meant to be a polite way to ask for her attention, given his recent behaviour towards her, to the doll it felt more like a loud demand.

“Amalia, remember how you introduced yourself to Master Joris?” He asked, momentarily taking her aback. Then again, what else was new with this man?

“You mean the first or the second time?” She shot back, trying to keep her voice cool and unaffected.

“Uh… The second one. When you transformed to prove your identity.”

“Oh. Yes, I remember.” She nodded. “Why do you ask?”

“Do you remember you told him you’re supposed to be my bride?”

Her eyes widened as realisation finally hit her. Oh. That. She had been so caught up trying to assure Master Joris she truly was a Divine Doll and talking about how her father had created her, she totally forgot about that little detail. More specifically, the fact that she had been told that wouldn’t be happening almost as soon as she stepped foot in Oma.

She averted her eyes as she shyly pushed her fringe away, embarrassed. “I’m sorry about that, Yugo. I really wasn’t thinking about that back then.”

“It’s okay, Amalia.” He told her reassuringly, and at that moment she wanted nothing more than for him to stop being so good to her if he was only going to go back to ignoring her once this was over. “Don’t worry, I’ll clear up the misunderstanding. But I need you to do something for me. Is that okay?”

“What is it?”

“My people, they… We need this. We need to leave a good impression on this world’s rulers, and you’re our key to achieving that.” He swallowed, as if to give himself some time to gather his thoughts and find the right words to say. His hold on her hand tightened a little. “My siblings and I believe the Twelvians will be more welcoming of our people if they see you’ve become one of us. So even if you’re not my bride, we… I need you to show them that your home is Oma Island, that your presence among us is indeed the gods giving us their blessing to live on their world. Do you think… Do you think you can do that?”

Even though he was in no position to ask any favours of her right now, not after the way he’d treated her lately, or the fact that the way he phrased it made it sound like he himself didn’t believe her being sent to them was meant as a sign of good will from the gods—from her father—, Amalia had to bite down the retort forming on the tip of her tongue. Despite everything, he was right. She still didn’t know what the situation was like between the Eliatropes and the Twelvians, but the more time passed, the more she felt it couldn’t be good.

Even if no one told her upfront, it was clear to see if you paid close attention. Like the way Yugo insisted she wouldn’t be able to leave the island even when she was allowed to explore with him by her side. Or the children’s wistful sighs and longing looks at the thought of playing outside of Oma’s confines. Or the way the entire Council and palace staff seemed on edge as soon as Master Joris arrived.

Whatever the reason, this was important to all of them. And she couldn’t risk jeopardising it just because she was mad at Yugo.

So with a sigh and a heavy heart, yet feeling determined by her choice, Amalia gently squeezed his hand back. “Rest assured, Yugo. You and your people have welcomed me to your kingdom, and now I shall honour our agreement. You can count on me.”

If the king noticed the way she was back to talking in an overly formal manner with him after so long, he didn’t show. Instead, he just smiled down at the doll. “Thank you, Amalia. Really, it means a lot.”

Not trusting her own voice, the Sadida Doll limited herself to nodding.

Finally, it looked as if Phaeris’ prediction had been right, because they were all brought back to the present by the sound of trumpets being played coming from the other side of the doors. Then, as they all took positions to present themselves as composed and regally as possible, a nasally voice announced, “Presenting King Yugo of the Eliatropes and Lady Amalia, accompanied by the distinguished members of the Council of Six Adamaï, Chibi, Grougaloragran, Mina, Phaeris, Nora, and Qilby.”

“Why do I gotta go last? I’m the eldest!” She heard Qilby grumble to himself, before he let out a little, outraged huff.

No sooner was the announcer done speaking, did the gates open up, bathing the waiting room in the bright lights coming from the incredibly vast ballroom, a cacophony of voices echoing around the walls as they all took their visitors in.

As they made their way inside, his hold on Amalia tight but not too much as to not risk hurting her, for he feared the Twelvians would try to separate her from him—from them!—, Yugo wasted no time scanning the room. Many of the people present he recognised from their botched attempt at introducing themselves, when they accidentally crashed a meeting between the world’s leaders, but many others he did not remember. While most of the guests appeared to be Bontarians, many others had more defined races, which suggested they belonged to their respective ruler’s entourage.

Or maybe Bonta was that much of a cosmopolitan and multiethnic area. That, he didn’t know.

For her part, Amalia was enraptured at the prospect of finally meeting the gods’ followers. As her eyes travelled around the space in search of her father’s people—in search of her people—, she could finally see for herself how, indeed, a god’s worshippers inherited some key aspects from their deity.

Eniripsa’s followers shared their patron goddess’ delicate features and fairy-like wings, all of them traits that underlaid their unparalleled skill at tending to the ill and wounded without even batting an eyelash. She had trouble understanding why Fecas had blue hair while their goddess was a dark brunette, but the golden, horned armour some of them wore was unmistakable. Cra had inherited their goddess’ golden hair, pointy ears, and poise, even if Amalia had to admit the older woman who seemed to act as their leader hadn’t exactly inherited the same astonishing beauty as her father’s dear friend.

While, oddly enough, female Sram were pretty much regular, masked women, it was plain to see their god’s skull-like features through his male followers. All Ecaflips present seemed to replicate their god’s feline grace, and the way she could spot several of them playing card games around the room made their connection to the feline deity of chance all the clearer.

As their group slowly made their way to the centre of the room, where a portly woman with golden skin, short platinum blond hair and covered by a blue mink cape stood alongside a much taller, dark-skinned woman with much narrower features—the familiar crowns on their heads hinting at their true position as Bonta’s rulers—, the sight of Master Joris by their side brought a relieved smile to Amalia’s features.

To be honest, she was glad to see a familiar face. Especially after catching sight of what she could only assume was the Osamodas royal family. Besides their blue skin and moorg-like ears and horns, the reason she could easily pinpoint their loyalty to the beast god was the fact that she got the exact same feeling she experienced when she had been first introduced to their patron god. And it wasn’t a pleasant one.

Although she had to admit her eyes lingered for a moment longer on what appeared to be the eldest daughter, as her clothing was closer to something she herself would wear—although a lot tackier—compared to the feathered robes the members of her family donned. But even that did nothing to soothe her nerves as her cold, calculating red eyes seemed to scrutinise her.

She sent a quick prayer to her father so they wouldn’t have to interact.��

Almost as if Sadida himself had heard his youngest daughter’s plea and sought to offer some comfort, Amalia’s whole face lit up in excitement when she finally took notice of the small entourage standing close to the Bonta rulers. The strong sense of kinship that enveloped her let her know she’d just found exactly what she’d been looking for: the Sadida royal family.

It seemed to be composed of a father and son duo, the few remaining men by their side appeared to be on high alert, which implied they were actually some high ranking officials rather than royals. Through them, the Divine Doll could see some key aspects that immediately reminded her of her father. Beyond standing taller than most other races, their skin was also considerably darker—unless you counted Twelvians whose gods had blue skin, like Osamodas and Sram, of course—, not unlike tree bark. Their clothing, heavily inspired by the vegetation they surely surrounded themselves with, was also a clear indicator of where their faith laid. However, the biggest indicator was their head and hair. Even though they didn’t wear masks like Sadida, the men’s faces were entirely covered by their green manes, regardless of how they were styled, clearly acting as a nod to her father’s aversion to showing his true face.

As they finally arrived right in front of Bonta’s queen—or was it queens?—, Amalia couldn’t wipe the grin off her face at having finally found her people. After weeks of being the only non-Eliatrope or non-dragon on Oma, it was extremely pleasant to find more people like her.

Her gaze flickered back up to the women standing before them when one of them cleared her throat. It was the shortest one.

“Greetings, King Yugo of the Eliatropes and honourable members of the Council of Six. We are immensely honoured by your presence.” Amalia almost flinched when her golden eyes landed on her. “And especially you, Lady Amalia. Your arrival truly is a blessing.”

Not sure what else to do, Amalia simply offered a polite bow of her head. “It is I who is blessed to be here, um…” She trailed off, mortified to realise she had no idea whom she was even addressing.

Luckily for her, the woman simply let out a thunderous cackle. “Wherever are my manners? I have yet to introduce myself.” With a low chuckle, she stood a little bit taller, her head held up high as she spread her arms wide in a welcoming gesture. “I am Queen Astra of Bonta, and by my side is my wife, Queen Selene.” She gestured at the dark-skinned woman.

The woman, Selene, offered a small nod and a smile of her own, “Pleasure to meet you.”

This time, it was Yugo’s turn to speak, “I believe I speak on behalf of not only my siblings, but the entirety of our people when I say we are truly honoured to be welcomed into your land, Your Majesties.” He made a show of looking around. “And to be given the opportunity to officially meet the World of Twelve’s royal families, too.”

“Trust me, King Yugo. No Twelvian in their right mind would ever want to miss such a momentous occasion. As far as I’m concerned, the only ones who aren’t here are the Brakmarians.”

Even though her tone was meant to be affable and kind, there was something under the surface that caused the Eliatropes to tense up. They knew they wouldn’t suddenly be welcomed with open arms just because the other nations now knew about Amalia, so they knew better than to lower their guards in the face of a possible sneak attack. The fact that Brakmar chose not to attend the banquet was a bad sign. Maybe there were Twelvians foolish enough to disrespect one of Sadida’s dolls.

Sensing the rising tension, Queen Selene rushed out to clarify. “Please, don’t misunderstand. The only reason they’re not here is because of Bonta and Brakmar’s ongoing rivalry.” She let out an amused chuckle, though it was hard to tell how much of it was real and how much of it was rehearsed. “Truth be told, had the banquet taken place in Brakmar, Astra and I would have most likely sent Master Joris in our stead.”

Their eyebrows raising slightly at that revelation, both Yugo and Amalia flashed questioning glances Master Joris’ way, who limited himself to confirming his queen’s explanation with a silent nod.

Queen Astra’s imposing voice drew their attention back to her. “But enough of all this pointless chatter, there will be time for that throughout the night. Right now, I’d highly recommend you enjoy yourselves and mingle with the other guests as we wait for dinner to be served. After all, that’s what we’re all gathered here today for.”

“Everyone here is especially interested in hearing more from you, Lady Amalia.” Queen Selene added, a wry smile on her lips. She motioned for them to go. “Let’s not keep them waiting for much longer.”

Thanking and bowing to them one last time, the Eliatrope entourage turned around to make their way to a less crowded area where they could begin strategising on how to best benefit from the night. As they went, everyone gathered went back to their own conversations, almost as if they hadn’t been carefully studying their every move as soon as they stepped into the room.

Eventually, they stopped near a table overflowing with refreshments and appetisers that stood close to the windows leading to the balcony and a little ways off to the centre of the room, where distinguished gentlemen were beginning to take lovely ladies out for a dance after politely asking. As the music coming from the small orchestra began to play, filling the air with uplifting melodies, couples would move to the beat of the music, their coordinated steps creating a magical choreography that left Amalia breathless even as she remained rooted to the spot.

The scene brought forth a strong sense of nostalgia with it. Memories of her father and sisters dancing under the moonlight flooding her senses.

A small voice in the back of her head urged her to ask Yugo to take her dancing, but she quickly dismissed it as a lost cause. He hadn’t even complimented her on how she looked today, there was no way he would ever be willing to dance with her.

At least she could always watch and dream, she sighed wistfully.

Her focus was momentarily broken from the dancefloor by the sight of a wineglass appearing right in front of her. Her eyes followed the arm holding the glass until she was staring back at Yugo.

“It’s only fruit punch.” He assured her, twirling the contents of her glass experimentally. “I figured it’d be wiser since we do not know your alcohol tolerance and it wouldn’t be wise to find out at an event like this one.”

The doll had to suppress the urge to sulk and roll her eyes. Of course, he wasn’t looking out for her, but for his people. He couldn’t afford to have her embarrass him on such an important night. A nod was all the acknowledgement he got before she took the beverage from his hand and took a sip. Well, at least it was sweet enough to taste good.

Yugo couldn’t help the small pit of worry that formed in his stomach at her reaction. Amalia had been acting strange all day. He had honestly expected her to be ecstatic at the idea of leaving the island to attend a party so far away, and yet, her face remained the perfect image of stoicism and indifference throughout. She only allowed for a smile to grace her lips when that little girl handed her the daisy she still wore at the base of her bun.

Truth be told, such little detail went wonderfully with the rest of her outfit. The little flower combined with her traditional Eliatrope clothing made her stand out among him and his siblings—even if she always did just that on her own.

She was a beautiful flower amongst Eliatrope’s children.

But that still didn’t explain her behaviour. He was about to open up his mouth to ask her about it when—

“It is a great pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Lady Amalia.” A refined yet smarmy-sounding voice came from in front of them. Yugo didn’t know why, but it made his insides churn. “I must say, you are vastly more beautiful than rumours had me believe.”

Finally, sidestepping other astonished guests who kept murmuring amongst themselves, the origin of the voice revealed itself, causing Yugo to narrow his eyes as he stood a little closer to an unsuspecting Amalia, who could only look on, taken aback. The person who spoke seemed to be a man, and while that would have been the logical conclusion judging solely from his voice, the presence of his broad shoulders and narrow waist confirmed the king’s suspicions.

The feeling of dread that overtook his whole being only intensified the longer he stared at the man. Truth was, whoever this person was, he was peculiar, to say the least. For starters, he was unnecessarily overdressed; with his cyan and light blue jumpsuit, white gloves, and brown snow boots. Draped over his shoulders was a white-furred cape that reached down to his lower back. Judging by his brooch and belt buckle and their obvious relation to time, he had to be a Xelor. And yet, none of that explained the fact that he was wearing winter clothing at a place as warm as Bonta during this time of year. And it certainly didn’t explain why his whole face was encased in ice, two bright, blue round eyes the only thing discernible behind it.

And the way he addressed Amalia… His hold on his own glass tightened. One thing was for certain: he did not like this man one bit.

But before the king could so much as send him packing, Amalia finally found her voice. “Oh, um, the pleasure is all mine, Mister…?”

The masked figure chuckled light-heartedly, bringing a hand to his chest. “Of course, how rude of me. Forgive me, my Lady. I am Count Harebourg, ruler of Frigost.”

Wait, count? Frigost? That didn’t sound like any of the territories where the World of Twelve’s leaders resided, let alone the Xelor royal family—whom, with a quick glance to the side, Yugo found standing all the other way from them and away from Harebourg. Then what was he doing here?

Thankfully, before his twin could do anything rash, it was Adamaï who spoke up. In all honesty, he had almost forgotten he was even there in the first place. “And what brings you all the way here, Your Grace?”

If the dragon’s question bothered him, it was impossible to tell with his mask. And yet, Yugo could hear the smirk in his voice as he answered clear as day, making his skin bristle. “Why, to meet the famed Eliatrope Council everyone has been talking so much about, of course.”

Finally, he leaned forward slightly in a bow, a hand to his chest. But for some reason, the action, polite as it might’ve been, did nothing to endear the guy to Yugo. Things only got worse when he turned his focus back on Amalia, a protective instinct taking over the king as he felt her flinch under the count’s scrutiny. He had to keep himself from scowling.

“Although I would be lying if I said your presence had no sway over my decision, my Lady. After all, it’s not everyday one gets to meet a Divine Doll such as yourself.” Just as Harebourg reached out his hand to grab Amalia’s, he was stopped in his tracks by the Eliatrope King’s voice, a warning laced with his tone.

“I believe we would all feel more at ease if you showed your face, Your Grace. I’m afraid your mask is frightening Amalia.”

“Yugo!” The doll hissed, flustered.

Harebourg himself only let out a low chuckle, his true feelings well-hidden behind his mask. And yet, Yugo could easily make out the tinge of irony in his words. “Says the king who refuses to take his hood off even inside someone else’s home.”

The only thing stopping the Eliatrope from walking right into the Xelor's personal space and pointing a wakfu sword right at his throat, a snarl on his lips, was Adamaï’s steady claw on his shoulders. That, and Amalia's frantic attempts at defusing the situation.

“You…You really don’t have to take off your mask, Count Harebourg. Yugo… um, he didn’t mean to… It’s just…erm…”

However, even as she sputtered on, she flashed the king a brief, warning glare that took him slightly aback and took his words away. She hadn’t looked at him like that since the portal fiasco where she ended up throwing up on a nearby bush. And now she was glaring at him over this guy? Really?

Just, what had got into her?

Unbeknownst to the two of them, the count’s skin prickled at the familiarity in the doll’s voice as she addressed the king. Luckily, he managed to mask his feelings well. Instead, he brought his hands behind his back and puffed his chest out.

“On the contrary, Lady Amalia.” He told her, making her look up at him in surprise. And for a moment, Yugo and Adamaï could only blink in surprise as well, until the Xelor’s next words soured the Eliatrope’s mood further. “While His Majesty could have indeed phrased it better, he is not wrong in pointing out my appearance might be displeasing for you. Please, allow me to rectify that.”

“You really don’t have to do that, Your—.” She trailed off, the words dying in her throat.

No sooner was Count Harebourg done talking than the ice encasing his head was melted by a series of copper valves all around his neck letting out steam. Under the block of ice, the count’s face was hidden by a metal mask with bright, blue glass eyes that, with a mechanical sound, opened up and stored itself away, revealing the count’s true face.

While Amalia’s face grew hot and Adamaï’s jaw dropped, Yugo’s blood ran cold. The feeling only got worse when he heard Nora, of all people, let out an appreciative whistle before saying, “Oh, my…”

“Indeed.” Mina concurred, her tone appreciative. All around them, people whispered, with the women’s input being very much positive.

Much to Yugo’s chagrin, even he had to understand the ladies’ reaction upon the count revealing his true face. The man before them was objectively handsome, with not even the fact that a rather nasty scar on his left eye covered only by a large blue lens taking away from his attractiveness. With his fair skin, squared jaw, icy blue eye and well-trimmed, snow-white hair, he looked every bit the aristocrat he was supposed to be.

The Eliatrope’s heart throbbed painfully at the awestruck look on Amalia’s face as she stared back at Count Harebourg. The cold dread in his veins was only melted off when Frigost’s ruler was faster than him and took the doll’s hand in his and brought it to his lips. Whatever cold he felt before was quickly being replaced by the burning anger encompassing his entire being at the action.

He hadn’t even noticed his clenched hands, tight to the point of turning his knuckles white, were crackling with wakfu until Adamaï made him look at him, his eyes shining with worry. Not finding the strength to answer the question in his brother’s gaze, Yugo simply shoved his claw off his shoulder and focused back on the exchange taking place right in front of him.

“I certainly do hope my true appearance isn’t quite as displeasing as my mask, my Lady.” The count chuckled, his tone light. “I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if it was.”

She didn’t know why, but she actually giggled at his joke, her nose wrinkling adorably as she did so. And it felt like a knife to Yugo’s heart. “Rest assured, Your Grace. I’d be lying if I didn’t say your face isn’t nice to look at.” Just as the words left her mouth, her eyes widened, a furious flush overtaking her features as she registered what she’d just said aloud.

Yugo couldn’t do much but flicker his eyes back and forth between the two of them, his mouth agape. Were they… were they actually flirting? And right in front of him?!

He started at that train of thought, all his other functions shutting down momentarily. What was it to him? Amalia was his friend and his guest and her presence was key in his people’s future, so it was only natural if he grew protective of her, but she was her own person. If she wanted to flirt with some mask-wearing, one-eyed, aristocratic weirdo, it was her choice! And he had to respect it.

That still didn’t mean he didn’t have a right to feel his skin bristle at the hungry look Harebourg was regarding her with. Okay, so it was still her choice, but she was also far too innocent and inexperienced to be truly left to her own devices. He’d better keep an eye out.

Which was another reason why he could hardly contain the smirk from tugging at his lips when Grougaloragran (finally!) intervened.

“One of the queen’s little attendants has just told Grougaloragran dinner will be served shortly and we should start heading to the banquet hall to be directed at our respective seats.” It was then that the black dragon realised he had actually walked in on something. Tilting his head to the side, he furrowed his brow in confusion. “Uh… Is Grougaloragran interrupting anything?”

Before Amalia got a chance to say anything, Yugo beat her to it, his tone far too chipper for it to be genuine. “Nope! In fact, I’d say you’re just in time, Grougal. I’m starving!” He made a show of rubbing his belly to emphasise his point. Not wasting any time, he interlocked arms with the Divine Doll once more and began to all but drag her away in the direction everybody else seemed to be heading towards.

He threw a dismissive wave over his shoulder and the count’s way. “Lovely talking to you, Count Harebourg. See you after dinner.”

That snapped Amalia, who until then had been staring at Yugo as if he’d sprouted a second head, out of her disbelief-induced stupor. She quickly turned to look at the Xelor over her shoulder and sent him her own wave. “It was great meeting you, Your Grace. Hopefully we’ll get to talk some more tonight.”

“I’ll be counting down the minutes, my Lady! Hopefully you’ll even save me a dance.” He called out to her, before disappearing amidst the throngs of guests making their way towards the banquet hall.

“Keep dreaming, loverboy.” The Eliatrope king couldn’t help but think spitefully to himself.

By his side, Amalia blinked in surprise at the count’s sudden departure, before her brow hardened into a scowl as she side-eyed her ‘friend’. Just, what was that about? First he told her about how important this night was to him and his people, only to then act like he was just itching to bite the count’s head off like some rabid Bow Wow?

And why? Just because Count Harebourg had been nothing but charming to her even if he was a little weird? Please, it wasn’t like he had any reason to get this mad just because some other guy was paying attention to—.

Her train of thought skidded to a halt, her eyes widening at the realisation. Eyes flickering back and forth between Yugo’s pouting face and the space Count Harebourg had been occupying before vanishing, she couldn’t prevent a little smirk from stretching over her lips.

Maybe it was time for a little payback.

........................................................................................................................

“Okay, what was that?” Chibi whispered to his siblings, voicing everyone’s thoughts.

They were walking a little behind Yugo and Amalia, with enough space between them to be able to talk freely about what they just bore witness to, as long as they weren’t too loud. And by Eliatrope, there were no words to describe what they bore witness to.

“Pretty sure it was our king about to go off on that count.” Qilby clicked his tongue and shook his head ruefully. He leaned closer to Nora. “I told you his vehement denial of his denial was a bad sign.”

The pink-eyed Eliatrope nodded.

“Hopefully Yugo will be too busy interacting with the Twelvian rulers to encounter Count Harebourg again.” Phaeris noted, his arms crossed over his chest even as he had to tuck his wings closer to his body just to make sure he didn’t hit anyone as he walked. “We really can’t afford to have them come to blows.”

“Oh, but perhaps that is precisely what we need.” Mina mused aloud, drawing everyone’s startled gazes to her.

“Are my ears playing tricks on me, or are you actually in favour of our brother nuking it out against the Xelor?” Nora asked, a teasing eyebrow quirked at her sister, who simply chuckled in response, remaining as poised as always.

“I never said anything about Yugo and the count fighting, now, did I?”

And with that, she walked ahead of them, her head held up high as she entered the banquet hall and was shown to her seat, leaving her flabbergasted siblings in her wake.

All of them, but Adamaï, who had a good idea about what his wisest sister might have been talking about instead. And, as he spotted Yugo and Amalia and the stiff atmosphere around them, he had to admit she was probably right once more.

He turned his head to look at Chibi when the latter clasped his hand on his shoulder and brought him closer. “Okay, Ad. Be real with me, because I feel like I’m missing something. Is it me, or is Yugo—?”

“He very much is, Chibi. Even if he doesn’t realise it himself.”

Chibi hummed in thought. “You know, it’s kinda funny. I’m used to seeing Yugo’s eyes glow blue whenever he taps into more wakfu than usual, but I never expected him to be visited by the green-eyed monster.”

Adamaï sighed. “I suppose that makes three of us, Chibi.”

...............................................................................................................

Dinner would have been a far more pleasant experience if it hadn’t been for Yugo’s noticeably darker mood. Not like he wasn’t good at hiding it. Whenever someone held a conversation with him, he was perfectly cordial and polite, to the point it would have been impossible to tell if something was wrong. But Amalia had been on the receiving end of his hollow kindness long enough to be able to see right through him. And a quick look around his siblings was enough to tell her they knew better too.

Luckily, Amalia didn’t have much time to dwell on it, as every time her mind would start to wander, someone would address her. A part of the doll was touched at the Twelvians’ devotion and admiration of their gods, seeing as most of the time she would be asked about that person’s specific patron deity and what they were like. Her answer would always be the same, though; she hadn’t really got to talk much with them, but they were all very kind to her.

Once again, she thanked her father for the fact that none of the Osamodas royals were anywhere near her. She really didn’t know how to say ‘He was polite but very unpleasant and I could tell not even his horns were genuine’ to their faces without sounding rude. At the same time, she also felt extremely awkward when she saw the Sadida Crown Prince was seated alongside the Osamodas princess she saw earlier, which meant the reason behind her Sadida-like dress was that they were at the very least betrothed.

Amalia hadn’t even stepped foot on the Sadida Kingdom and she already feared for her father’s people’s future if an Osamodas was to rule them.

Regardless of her personal feelings on the horned god and his followers, at the end of the feast Queen Astra had declared they were now free to spend the rest of the night however they pleased. And for a bunch of Eliatropes with a mission, that meant fostering closer relationships with the other royals.

More importantly, in spite of the rocky state her and Yugo’s relationship was in, he had gone out of his way to ask her for help, and Amalia was not petty enough to deny him and his people of an opportunity they had long been waiting for. Regardless of how tired she felt. She honestly didn't know how these people did it. It had only been a few hours of interacting with others and she was already exhausted.

As much as it saddened her to admit it, she was beginning to think she wouldn’t be able to dance after all out of sheer exhaustion.

She was about to follow after him and his siblings as the Eniripsa Queen asked for their presence when Master Joris appeared seemingly out of nowhere. His sudden appearance caused Yugo to halt and stare at him expectantly.

“If I may, Your Majesty,” he started, his little, black eyes set on the Eliatrope King. “I believe it would be better if Lady Amalia sat this one out.”

Yugo blinked, surprised. “I beg your pardon?”

The ambassador raised his hands up placatingly. “I mean no offence, King Yugo. It’s just that there was a time where I was new to this kind of gathering, too.” He looked back at the Sadida Doll, offering her the kindest smile she had ever seen on the little man’s face. “I do not know how you’ve been spending your time on Oma, Your Grace, but I know from experience spending all night talking to dignitaries when you’re not used to it can be quite taxing.”

It was as if Master Joris’ words had forced Amalia to acknowledge for the first time the true depth of her exhaustion. Her feet ached against the cold floor, her cheeks were sore from smiling so much, and even though she had been instilled courtesy from birth, she was beginning to feel like her head would explode if she had to address anybody else as ‘Your Highness’ or ‘Your Honour’, or by any other title one more time.

But she knew what her role was. Her presence was important to the Council, so she couldn’t just call it a night while they represented their people. She couldn’t do that to them.

Which was why she almost gasped in surprise when Yugo said, “If that is what Amalia needs, fine by me.”

“Are-are you sure, Yugo?” She asked, wrapping her arms around herself for comfort despite herself.

No. Yugo wasn’t really sure. On the one hand, because the plan was to keep Amalia close in order to showcase to the Twelvians their own gods approved of their presence on their world and, more importantly, to keep her safe in case this was just a trap to take her away. And on the other hand, because a small part of him spiked up with anxiety at the thought of leaving her alone and for Count Harebourg to find her. He hadn’t been able to move past their brief interaction all evening, the mere memory of it was enough for his expression to cloud over with emotions he himself had trouble deciphering.

But, as always, one look at Amalia was enough for his resolve to crumble like dust. She looked so tired, so vulnerable. She had been doing an astounding job all evening entertaining those who asked for a moment of her time and making sure to emphasise she had grown quite fond of Oma Island and its inhabitants. Moreover, unlike him and his siblings, who had been born to lead and navigate the world of politics and diplomacy, Amalia was a Divine Doll. Even if her true purpose remained undisclosed, Yugo highly doubted such a marvel of nature was meant to spend her time cooped up around a bunch of stubborn Dracoturkeys like monarchs were known for being.

Maybe that was why she’d been so weird all day, because she was so out of her element.

All the more reason to give her some time to relax. She’d more than earned it.

So he told her as such with a nod and a smile. “I’m positive. Go and take a break, Amalia. We’ll take it from here.” Then, he turned to Bonta’s ambassador. “Master Joris, do you think you could look after her?”

But he just shook his head regretfully. “I’m afraid I must remain by your side, my King. You see, I’m actually on-duty tonight. But rest assured, I know just what to do.” He pointed at the far side of the room, where an older-looking white Ecaflip and another that was equally old but bald were lounging on a divan, playing cards. “Those are my sons, Kerubim and Atcham, my Lady. Go with them. They’ll make sure no harm comes to you.”

Amalia could only look on, flabbergasted, but ultimately chose not to say anything. She really couldn’t explain how someone like Master Joris, who seemed to be in his thirties or his forties at most and was of an indiscernible race could be the father of two old Ecaflips, but then again, she wasn’t one to talk. After all, her father was essentially a mask-wearing, humanoid tree, yet all his daughters were either dolls or utterly beautiful young women.

There was, of course, the fact that he had literally sewn them up himself to be that way, but who was she to judge in the first place?

So with a polite nod as thanks to Master Joris and a grateful smile at Yugo, she turned back to the direction the Bontarian had pointed at and began to make her way between all the guests. Just as she avoided crashing into a laughing Iop, she bumped into somebody else.

“Oh, my Gods, I’m so sorry.” She rushed out to apologise as she touched up her hair in case it got dishevelled due to the impact.

“On the contrary, my Lady. It is I who should be apologising.” Responded a cool and collected feminine voice.

Blinking rapidly to gather her thoughts, Amalia finally allowed herself to pay more attention to the person she collided against. She was a Cra in her twenties, with short platinum hair and vibrant emerald eyes. Just by looking at her the Divine Doll was immediately reminded of her father’s close friend—unlike her people’s matriarch, the woman before her had indeed inherited the Great Huntress’ beauty.

She might have been staring for a little too long, because the Cra politely clearing her throat snapped her out of her daze. “If you will permit me, Your Grace, I’m afraid I’m needed elsewhere. So, if you don’t mind…”

“Oh! Right. Of course.” No sooner did the words leave Amalia’s mouth that the Cra left her side, disappearing amongst the throngs of people with a grace and ease that sent the Divine Doll reeling.

Blinking slowly at the woman’s retreating form just before she vanished, Amalia eventually shrugged at her hurried departure. She was probably there as part of her people’s entourage and had to return to her leader’s side. With wayward thoughts about hopefully catching sight of her later in the evening, Amalia focused back on the mission at hand—joining Master Joris’ Ecaflip sons.

The sound of boisterous laughter and muttered curses after a few more minutes of walking was all the indication she needed to know she had finally arrived.

“I don’t know why I even bother to play with you. You always cheat!” Accused the hairless Ecaflip, a slight lisp in his voice.

“Look who’s talking!” The white-haired Ecaflip shot back, offended. “Need I remind you you used to be a Brakmarian assassin? How’s that for playing dirty?”

“Would you just let it go?! That was like two lives ago!”

“It was our last life and you know it! I don’t know about you, but I’m not looking too forward to dying for real yet, so don’t go taking our nine lives away.”

“You are so dramatic.” He rolled his eyes.

“Says the one who flies off the handle whenever Ush visits…” The other scoffed.

“Don’t say that show-off’s name in my presence!” He hissed. Literally. His hackles rose and he bore his teeth at that.

“Um, excuse me?”

“What!?” Both of them snapped, flashing furious glares at whoever dared to interrupt their bickering. To say they felt like slapping themselves at the sight of the famous Divine Doll their father had been talking about standing right in front of them, flinching at their outburst, would be an understatement.

“I…Is it a bad time? Should I leave you two alone…?” Amalia trailed off, more than ready to get the Heck out of there when the Ecaflip brothers scrambled to stop her.

“No!” The white-haired one exclaimed, before forcing himself to calm down. He tried again, his tone far kinder, almost like a vendor’s. “No, no, no, my dear. It’s quite alright. You’re not interrupting anything.”

“Just some old brotherly bickering.” The hairless one waved the whole thing off, his large ears tucked to his head betraying his uneasiness. “I’m Atcham, and the lucky fleabag over there is my brother Kerubim. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Kerubim Crépin,” the aforementioned Ecaflip corrected. “But yes, it’s always a pleasure to meet a creature as lovely as you, my Lady.”

That made her giggle, the smile returning to her lips. It was nice to meet someone friendly for a change. “The pleasure is all mine, my name’s Amalia.”

“We know, little lady. Our father has been telling us all about you ever since he met you.” Atcham said, patting the space on the divan beside him and beckoning her closer. Amalia took the seat offered with a smile, careful with her dress.

“I see. It was him who told me to come with you. I hope that’s okay.”

“Oh, but of course! You have nothing to worry about!” Kerubim assured her, picking up the cards scattered over the table separating him and his brother; he began to shuffle them. “This actually reminds me of my adventuring days.”

“Wait, really? You’re an adventurer?” Amalia leaned forward in her seat, awestruck.

Before Kerubim could get a word in, Atcham corrected, “Was. The most adventurous thing he does now is doing his shop’s inventory and drinking his weight’s worth of bamboo milk.”

His hand coming to rest on top of his necklace—two dice hanging from a rope—, Kerubim grumbled, unamused at his brother’s antics. “Come on, cut me some slack. I’m not getting any younger, you know?”

“I’m only slightly younger than you and I still train every day.” Atcham retorted, not missing a beat.

At that, Kerubim harrumphed in offence, his arms folding over his chest as he stuck up his nose in distaste. “And yet, I could still beat you any day of the week.” He spat petulantly.

That got Atcham’s hackles to rise up again, his tail flicking furiously back and forth. Amalia actually had to duck to the side to avoid getting hit by it. “Only because of that ungodly luck of yours, you nepotism-enjoying fleabag!”

Sensing another argument coming, the Divine Doll chose best to intervene, and fast. But mediating between two arguing siblings was easier said and done. She needed to think of something to say that would distract them from each other. But what?

It was then that she caught sight of a waiter balancing a place with several red-tinted glasses. An idea materialising in her mind at the sight.

“I-I had no idea there were potions that could transport you from one place to another!” She sputtered out, causing both Ecaflips to turn back to her with raised eyebrows at the sudden change of topic. “I can’t even imagine the kind of thing we might have had to do to arrive here if it weren’t for your father sending them to us.”

Exchanging one look, both brothers simply shrugged, reclining back in their divans. The doll fought to urge to sigh in relief. “What can we say? That’s what they’re for.” Kerubim mused.

“Those potions certainly make travelling long distances easier.” Atcham agreed, before turning his focus back on Amalia. “But I’m sure you guys would have found a way to make it even without them. After all, you have your portals!”

Amalia chose not to comment on how she’d rather have her intestines pulled out rather than go through another Eliatrope portal. It was pretty much the same experience, after all.

Instead, she said, “I was wondering, how can you get more? You know, out of curiosity.”

But Kerubim and Atcham only shook their heads at her question, their expression regretful. It was Kerubim who spoke. “I’m afraid that isn’t so simple, my dear. Those things are hard to make and even harder to come by, meaning they can be very expensive. Of course, I always try to offer the best possible price to my customers in my shop, but even I can’t really afford to just hand them over either.”

“Which is a pity,” Atcham went on. “Since going anywhere without them can take anywhere from a few days to months, especially if you don’t have mounts like the Cra soldiers or Osamodas do.”

“I see…” That gave Amalia something to think about. So even after all this time the Twelvians hadn’t been able to figure out a better and more accessible way to travel long distances. She was shaken out of her thoughts by the side of a deck of cards being offered to her.

Looking up, she saw it was Kerubim who held it out for her, a smile on his lips. “Care to play with two old fleabags, my Lady? I must warn you, however; we won’t go easy on you just because you’re a Divine Doll.”

Amalia took the cards with a smile. “I’ve always been curious to find out if what they say about Ecaflips and their luck is true.”

“Oh, in that case you’d better throw in the towel now, my pretty. ‘Cause my brother over here is the luckiest cat on the planet, second only to our father.”

“Your father…?” She raised an eyebrow. Master Joris didn’t strike her as the kind to gamble.

“Ecaflip.” Both of them answered in unison, and if Amalia had been drinking anything, she would have done a spit take.

“Your father is Ecaflip?!” She screeched in disbelief. “But I thought it was Master Joris…”

“And he is,” Atcham nodded. “He’s our adoptive father and the one to raise us this current reincarnation.”

“But the Big Tease Himself sired us,” Kerubim finished for him. After a brief pause, he added, “And twenty more children.”

“But that means…” Amalia trailed off, trying to connect the dots even in her disbelieving state. “But that means you’re demigods like me!”

“Why did you think our dad sent you here with us?” Kerubim winked at her with a smirk on his lips.

Amalia opened her mouth to speak… and promptly closed it again. That actually made sense. However, she had no time to dwell on the implications behind that before a million questions pushed through in her mind.

“And what’s it like?” She blurted out. When her fellow demigods sent her matching questioning glances, she elaborated. “I mean, being an Ecaflip demigod. I… really haven’t met any before now.”

Their faces lighting up in understanding, the brothers exchanged another glance, this time to decide who should speak. With a gesture from Kerubim, it was Atcham who eventually explained:

“It’s not really that different from being a regular Ecaflip, really.” He shrugged before placing down one of his cards as the game went on. He jabbed a finger his hairy brother’s way, “As I said, this one was especially famous in his prime for being extremely lucky, being Ecaflip’s favourite and all… But other than that, we get a watered-down version of our father’s immortality in the form of nine lives or reincarnations, a place inside the Ecaflip dimension, and not much else, really.”

“Wait, your father plays favourites?” Amalia echoed, aghast. Out of everything the hairless cat had shared with her, her brain had locked in on that particular fact, the concept feeling foreign to her.

“You bet.” Atcham nodded, while Kerubim tried to be a bit more diplomatic.

“It’s a very common thing among parents, even if they don’t mean to. Although in my case I believe it has to do with the fact that he actually got to ‘raise’ me and grow attached to me, at least, that’s what dad said. It all happened in a past life, you see. And we don’t get to remember those.” He explained, placing his own card down, causing Atcham to click his tongue in distaste as he saw he had the upper hand. “Anyway, I’m sure you’ve experienced something similar with your father, my Lady.”

“What? No, never!” Amalia protested, visibly offended. The mere idea was preposterous. “Father has always been nothing but kind and loving towards every single one of us; he would never play favourites.”

As the Divine Doll focused back on her cards—namely to try not to get too demolished playing against two Ecaflip demigods—, the siblings shared knowing glances. They debated whether to tell her or not, but ultimately chose not to.

What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.

..................................................................................................................

It had been less than an hour since Amalia went looking for Master Joris’ sons, and they had already established conversation with at least five different rulers. It was still too soon to determine if they were truly welcoming of their people now or not, but at least bridges were beginning to be built.

The Iops were a boisterous bunch, although Qilby didn’t appreciate how they seemed to have no interest in the overwhelming source of knowledge he provided, or how they insisted on focusing on the seemingly more physically imposing members of their group. Yugo and Adamaï actually had to stop Chibi and Grougal from entertaining their desire for a playful match, knowing their siblings would demolish them. Phaeris had been challenged to a fight too, but he had always been far wiser in choosing his battles.

All in all, they seemed like perfectly amicable people, and the least likely to be scheming anything behind their backs. If only because they lacked the capacity to come up with long-term plots…

If possible, the Pandawas were even more affable. The only thing bigger than their queen’s size was her generosity. Not even five minutes into the conversation and she had already offered to share her people’s bamboo milk with them. It took a lot of convincing and a very diplomatic approach on Yugo and Adamaï’s part to kindly reject her offer; they really couldn’t afford to be intoxicated while trying to foster positive relationships with the World of Twelve’s natives.

The Sufokians were… interesting, to say the least. While they remained unfailingly polite throughout the entire conversation, the empress and his son were particularly standoffish. Their every word seemed to convey a hidden meaning, and the Eliatropes couldn’t tell if they simply didn’t hold them in high regard or if, on the contrary, they didn’t value any other nation beyond their own. It was safe to say at first glance they were the least welcoming of them out of everyone they had talked to tonight.

After talking to the Sram and Enutrof royals—and swearing they weren’t after their kamas to the latter—, Joris redirected them back to Queens Astra and Selene; Bonta’s rulers were seemingly engrossed in their own conversation. When the members of the Council arrived to their side, it was Selene who picked up on their presence.

“Ah, I see you’re making good use of your time by acquainting yourselves with the other world leaders. I trust everything is going smoothly?”

“We could not have asked for more, Your Majesty. We are truly grateful for this opportunity.” Yugo spoke for all of them, the Eliatropes and their dragon siblings bowing politely in unison to show their sincerity.

“We only regret that the Brakmarians weren’t as willing to give us a chance.” Adamaï added, testing the waters. If he played his cards right, he could use both nations’ rivalry to get into Bonta’s good graces.

His plan seemed to work, for a smirk drew itself on Astra’s lips. “It can’t be helped, Brakmar has always done their own thing. Such a backwards nation…” She shook her head regretfully, bringing a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“If you don’t mind my asking, Your Majesty, what do you mean by that?” Nora asked, intrigued.

“Brakmar’s way of doing things clashes immensely with Bonta’s, and not just because both nations were founded by opposing forces.” Selene explained, although she didn’t elaborate on that last nugget of information. “For instance, Brakmar doesn’t allow women to even attend a gobbowl match, let alone play on their team!”

“It is simply barbaric.” Astra agreed with a scoff.

“Please, forgive my ignorance, my Queens, but what is gobbowl?” Yugo inquired, genuinely curious. Though he was mostly trying to distract the Bontarians from noticing Phaeris and Mina restraining a fuming Nora from going to Brakmar and giving their rulers a piece of her equal-opportunity-opinionated mind.

“Oh, that’s true. You haven’t been here long enough to learn about it.” Astra said.

The attending members of the Council of Six collectively chose not to point out that the Twelvians hadn't really allowed them to know more about their culture until less than a week ago. Instead, they focused their attention on Joris as he went on to explain.

“Gobbowl is the World of Twelve’s most popular sport, played all over the planet, regardless of the nation.” He explained with the same stoicism so characteristic of him. “However, out of all the nations, no one can match Bonta and Brakmar’s love for it.”

“Although, in Brakmar’s case, it’s more fanaticism than love.” Selene pointed out with a sneer. “They hold it in such high regard they even allow their team’s best player to make decisive calls during trials. It wouldn’t be far-fetched to believe their authority surpasses that of the Prince of Brakmar himself!”

“There’s a match tomorrow, if you’re interested, you can experience it for yourselves. I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourselves immensely.” Astra offered, and that was the most genuine she’d sounded all evening.

“Thank you kindly, Your Majesty. We’ll think about it.” Yugo replied. “But I believe we should focus first on our diplomatic mission.”

The queens nodded, with Astra motioning for them to follow her. “Of course. There’s actually someone I believe you should meet.” She told them right before leading them somewhere else in the ballroom.

Yugo immediately understood everything as soon as the monarch stopped, gesturing at the people staring back at them expectantly. “King Yugo, esteemed members of the Eliatrope Council, allow me to introduce you to the Sadida King and Crown Prince; King Oakheart and Prince Armand Sheran Sharm.”

Yugo’s first thought upon finally coming face to face with the representatives of the nature god responsible for the curious little doll living with them had to be that, if Amalia was indiscernible from a regular Sadida woman, then the men got the short end of the stick in the beauty department.

No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t like male Sadida were ugly per se, it was that it was impossible to tell what they were. Period. The way their hair completely covered their faces did not help matters. Even so, the fact that he couldn’t see their faces didn’t mean he couldn’t sense their aura.

Even without his wakfu vision, the Eliatrope could feel the sheer power and resilience radiating off their royal family. Just the sight of them was enough for him to fully believe their patron god had played a key role in creating the world they all now lived in.

Out of the father and son duo, Prince Armand was the most conventionally attractive, even if he wasn’t exempt from his dreadlocked bangs hiding his face from view. What little the Eliatrope King could see of his face, he seemed to possess a squared, chiselled jaw that went alongside his cultivated physique. The fact that he essentially paraded said physique for all to see also helped bring attention to his sculpted body.

Judging by the way all Sadida present dressed, that is to say, scarcely so, it was clear to see Amalia’s fondness for showing some skin—and going barefoot—was a cultural thing. It was even more shocking to realise Amalia’s fashion choices were actually quite modest in comparison. In fact, Yugo didn’t know what to do with himself at that revelation. His poor heart certainly wouldn’t be able to take it.

If Prince Armand was tall, around Yugo’s own height, that was nothing compared to his father. King Oakheart seemed to be even slightly taller than Adamaï, horns included. He wasn’t as conventionally attractive as his son, with his girth being considerably greater to go along with his height, and his (facial?) hair was far more dishevelled than his son’s well-trimmed do, but his eyes still radiated the kind of wisdom and strength only a true leader could possess.

Yugo was sure he’d been alive far longer than any other person in this ballroom, and he still could only hope to one day transmit the same energy as the Sadida King did with just his gaze.

However, regardless of the respect they were due because of their position, more importantly, they were Amalia’s people. If there was someone whose good graces they needed to be in, that was them.

Which was why Yugo actually went down on one knee as he greeted them, his siblings following suit shortly after. “It is an immense honour to make your acquaintance, oh, powerful Sadida.”

“It is good to finally meet under better circumstances.” Armand commented, and Yugo could feel a chill running down his spine at the tone he used. Surely he couldn’t be talking about…

“It’s all fallen leaves, now, Armand.” The king lightly chided his son, his eyes glinting in warning. His expression turned kinder as he settled his eyes back on the Eliatropes. “Please, forgive my son, King Yugo. As you know, a king can never be too cautious, although his distrusting nature can have its own undesirable consequences.”

Privately, Yugo couldn’t help but think Prince Armand and Efrim actually had a lot in common.

“There is nothing to forgive, for you speak the truth.” Yugo said as he rose from his bowed down position, choosing to remain cordial. “But I must agree with the prince, it is great to finally be able to interact under much better circumstances.”

King Oakheart tossed his head back and let out a thunderous laugh. “Indeed, indeed. And what better circumstances than getting to meet Sadida’s eleventh doll? Her birth alone is a momentous occasion for our people.”

“I can only imagine, my King.” Yugo nodded.

Armand made a show of looking around. “And where is this famed eleventh Divine Doll? I expected her to be a part of your entourage.”

“Armand…” His father warned him, far too familiar with his son’s abrasive and distrusting nature.

But Yugo just let it all wash over him, his smile unfaltering. “Seeing as she is not used to such gatherings, Amalia seemed exhausted. So, as per Master Joris’ suggestion, I told her to rest a little alongside his sons.”

When father and son looked down at the ambassador for confirmation, their worries were put to rest by the nod of his head.

“How gracious of you, King Yugo.” Armand said kindly, but it wasn’t enough to hide the slight sarcasm that dripped from his words. “It’s such a relief to see you take such good care of your bride.”

Just like it did every time any other leader mentioned the same thing, hearing the word ‘bride’ was enough for Yugo to flinch uncomfortably, an action he tried to cover up by clearing his throat. It also caused his siblings to discreetly roll their eyes at how obvious he was being. “While I thank you for your kind words, Prince Armand, it’s hardly anything to write home about. After all, being mindful of how someone’s feeling is just basic decency.”

“Indeed.” The Sadida prince concurred.

“However, there is a correction I wish to make.”

That got their attention. After exchanging a look with his son, King Oakheart urged him to continue. “Do tell.”

Much like he’d done every time this same conversation took place, Yugo took a deep breath through his nose and prayed his mother would have mercy on him. While admitting to this was meant precisely to avoid future conflicts with the Twelvians, admitting it at all could also lead to trouble. For now, they could only hope for the best.

“The thing is…” He started, hoping beyond hope the Sadidas wouldn’t take this as a declaration of war or something of the sort. “While Amalia was certainly sent to us for the purpose of becoming my bride, I must admit that is not the case. There is nothing between us beyond a close friendship.”

“Is that so?” The king raised an eyebrow, but because he could get another word in, the Eliatrope rushed in to clarify.

“Do not misunderstand, please. My people and I are extremely grateful to have been blessed with such an honour as it is to have been sent a Divine Doll, it is simply that I—our people aren’t in need of a queen, and I would hate for Amalia to feel trapped fulfilling a role that cannot guarantee her happiness.

“Rest assured, however, we are doing everything in our power to ensure she feels welcomed and at home at all times.” He did not need to turn around to sense his siblings sending Nora meaningful glances, their younger sister dutifully keeping her mouth shut for once. Mina in particular had a hand over her shoulder in warning.

The Sadida royals could only blink in surprise at that, not sure what else to say. Finally, after an awkward pause, the king cleared his throat as he straightened himself up, Prince Armand mimicking his actions.

“That is… quite alright, King Yugo.” Oakheart said, not sure where to even begin. “As my son will be able to tell you, we know how challenging it can be to make someone that’s not from the same culture as you feel welcome alongside your own.”

For once, Armand seemed to agree. “Indeed. My wife, Aurora, is an Osamodas princess. It certainly took a while for us to find more common ground once we got married. It certainly helped when she developed a fondness for our haute couture.” He revealed with unmistakable fondness in his voice.

Yugo almost shuddered upon realising the emotionless Osamodas woman with the bangs covering half her face was the prince’s consort. Was it too bad to hope she wasn’t around whenever he had to interact with her in-laws?

“Nevertheless,” King Oakheart’s hearty voice broke him out of his musings. “We certainly hope you eventually get to introduce Lady Amalia to us. Her existence truly is a blessing for our people.”

Sharing knowing looks with Adamaï, Yugo allowed a genuine smile to grace his features.

“Of course. I’m sure she’ll love that.”

....................................................................................................................

Amalia was having a blast with Kerubim and Atcham. Granted, she hadn't won a single game, but getting to witness the two siblings bickering over the pettiest things was unendingly entertaining. She might have lost every single round, but she’d been laughing heartily almost the entire time she spent with them.

“I’m telling you, she kissed me as thanks for helping her!” Kerubim insisted for the fortieth time since the conversation began.

Atcham simply rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that.”

The white-haired Ecaflip pouted. “Why don’t you ever believe me about this sort of thing?”

“Because there’s no reason why a young, beautiful lady like the one you’re describing would ever kiss an old fleabag like yourself, gratitude be darned!” He slammed his cards hard against the table, tired of always hearing the same old song and dance. “If you told me this all happened back when you were still young, maybe I would believe you, but at your age?” He let out a loud, sarcastic cackle before turning his focus back on his cards. “Keep dreaming.”

“It’s still more believable than you losing to Ush because he keeps attacking you whenever you’re distracted…” Kerubim grumbled to himself. When he realised what he’d just said, though, it was already too late.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to utter that black cat’s name in my presence?!” The hairless Ecaflip bellowed. Even from where Amalia was sitting, it looked as if the vein in his forehead was about to pop.

As Atcham threw himself at his brother and the two of them began to roughhouse, Amalia, who had long given up on playing against them, simply leaned back on the divan, an eyebrow raised. Already used to the old Ecaflips’ childish shenanigans, she remained unflappable as they fought. But she was curious as to what they even argued about.

“Who’s Ush?” She asked, causing the brothers to halt mid-fight.

Knowing better than to be rude to a lady, the two of them broke away from each other’s hold and dusted themselves off. With a clearing of his throat, it was Kerubim who explained. “Ush Galesh is another one of Ecaflip’s demigod sons, my dear.”

“Oh, so he’s your brother?”

Atcham scoffed at the mere thought. “In name only. Not only is he from another litter, but he’s got the emotional maturity of a teenager. And the arrogance to match.”

While the doll blinked, not sure what to make of it all, Kerubim elaborated on, “Remember what we told you about our father playing favourites, my dear?” Amalia nodded. “Well, Ush never really took not being his favourite well. Even if he claims to hate our father, it’s plain to see he’s just resentful and envious because he doesn’t hold that place in his heart.

“Now, if there’s one thing Atcham is right about is the fact that Ush never really matured. He takes his anger out on anyone who crosses him and, rather than rely on his natural luck and skill as an Ecaflip, he always makes sure to have the upper-hand whenever he faces an opponent.”

“The upper-hand…?” Amalia tilted her head in confusion.

“He cheats. At everything.” Atcham told her bluntly. Then, he sent his brother a pointed look, as if daring him to contradict him, “Including our fights.”

Kerubim chose to keep his mouth shut for once.

“I see...” Amalia eventually spoke up, rubbing her arm uneasily. “Then it’s no wonder you don’t like hearing about him.”

Kerubim just shrugged. “It is what it is, my dear. Not all siblings will get along just because they’re blood related. Sometimes families are torn apart by internal factors and everyone is much happier on their own.”

That gave Amalia pause, her expression dimming. Truth be told, she hadn’t quite got over what they said about parents playing favourites, or how that applied even to her father. Would that happen to her family? Was it possible that Sadida played favourites or treated some of his daughters better than the rest and that might cause them to drift apart?

She was his youngest daughter and his masterpiece, according to the Leafy God Himself. Did that make her one of his favourites or…?

Sensing they put the very Divine Doll they were supposed to be looking after on edge, Kerubim and Atcham exchanged panicked glances. What would people think if they found out they made a Sadida Doll cry? They would be branded as worse than some of the most despicable criminals to roam the face of the planet!

People would stop coming to the shop!

As they were running out of ideas on how to cheer Amalia up, Kerubim blurted out, “Would you like something to drink, my Lady?”

That seemed to do the trick, for Amalia’s head snapped up at them and she regarded them curiously. “What?”

“Would you like something to drink?” He repeated, making good use of his vendor’s voice. “It’s been a long night. I’m sure you could use something to quench your thirst.”

Now that he mentioned it, Amalia was feeling quite parched. Something to drink should do her some good. “I actually rather enjoyed some very nice fruit punch from the food table right before we were summoned to dinner. Do you think you could get me a glass of that?” She asked them politely with a smile.

“One glass of fruit punch coming right up!” Both siblings immediately sprang into action, giving her military salutes before turning around and heading over to the refreshments table.

As Amalia watched them go, amused, she almost jumped right out of her skin when a suave voice whispered in her ear, “I thought they’d never leave.”

Whirling around in surprise, her eyes widened in shock at the person standing before her.

“Count Harebourg.” She gasped.

“Lady Amalia.” He greeted back, a grin on his face. “I was wondering if you would be interested in granting me that dance?”

Amalia actually hesitated. While it was true she longed to go to the dancefloor and that she had been pleasantly surprised by how the count truly looked, she couldn’t quite get over the feeling she got around him. More specifically, the feeling that emanated from Yugo.

Even though she came to understand the king’s uncharacteristically hostile behaviour came from the fact that the Xelor was paying attention to her, she still didn’t understand what caused it exactly. After all, her main purpose for tonight was to have people paying attention to her, and he hadn’t been anywhere near as angry when others interacted with her throughout the evening. So why did he act like that around Count Harebourg?

There was also the fact that the count himself emanated a dangerous kind of energy. She didn’t know why, but despite Harebourg’s sweet words and kind compliments, the doll couldn’t bring herself to be truly comfortable around him.

She was about to turn him down when her eyes instinctively searched for Yugo, worried about his reaction. What she saw instead made her grit her teeth in distaste.

Standing all the way from over the other side of the room, yet drawing her eye like a beacon of light inside a dark space, was the Eliatrope King. And he wasn’t alone. Beside him was the Eniripsa Queen, quite the buxom beauty who kept inspecting the muscles and tattoos on his exposed arms with keen interest. And all Yugo could do in response was flush furiously and sheepishly while making no attempt at wriggling himself free from her grasp.

Amalia’s irritation flared at the scene. So there she was, worrying about his feelings over seeing her with the count while he let whoever roam their hands all over his body. But again, what else was new? Just like she’d been trying to reach out to him and grow closer, he had been doing everything in his power to avoid her. He only started treating him decently now because he needed her.

Fine, if that was how it was going to be, she would help him get in Frigost’s good graces.

Putting on her most charming smile, she took Count Harebourg’s offered hand. “It will be my pleasure to dance with you, Your Grace.”

“Trust me, the pleasure is all mine.” The count smiled back, a predatory glint in his eye that went unnoticed by Amalia.

.....................................................................................................................

Adamaï could only blink on, unamused, as his brother let himself be inspected by the Eniripsa Queen, choosing that moment to excuse himself to get some drinks. He understood they were on a mission to foster better relationships between their people and the Twelvians, but surely, there had to be a line somewhere. Just with a quick glance at the fairy’s aura it was easy to tell she had no real interest in his brother beyond a medical one, but given how shy and easily-flustered around women Yugo could get, Adamaï was half-expecting him to self-combust anytime soon.

Having said that, this was nothing compared to the way their king’s brain would draw a blank whenever it came to the pretty flower they harboured.

That evening, the dragon had to resist the urge to roll his eyes to the back of his skull in exasperation when his twin caught sight of the Divine Doll looking all dolled-up—pun not-intended. He was starting to become intimately familiar with the way Yugo’s breath hitched at the sight of her, the small, almost imperceptible gasp that would leave his mouth each time Amalia donned a different outfit than the one they were used to seeing her with.

As expected, the moment Yugo went through his portal and landed by her side, he had the exact same reaction. His eyes widened as they travelled up and down every little detail of her body, from her shawl to her skirt, drinking her in. His fingers clearly twitched at the idea of reaching out with his hand and caressing her loose, forest-green hair. And his cheeks were dusted in pink the longer he stared at her.

How Amalia hadn’t noticed all that was beyond him.

He was so head over heels for his precious flower it was almost laughable. Except for two key factors: on the one hand, Yugo refused to admit, even to himself, that he felt anything for Amalia rather than a close friendship; and, on the other hand, in his denial and for reasons Adamaï himself didn’t fully understand for once, he insisted on keeping her as far away as possible.

And whether his twin realised it or not, that alone was pushing Amalia away.

If he didn’t put a stop to whatever hesitation he was feeling at the moment, and soon, he would lose her forever, regardless of what she could have done for their people.

Just as he returned, two glasses in hand, the Eniripsa Queen seemed to have grown bored with her inspection of the king’s physique and moved on to Nora. Given the queen’s analytical mind, it was plain to see she was far more interested in seeing the anatomical differences between male and female Eliatropes, but seeing as his younger sister was never one to turn down an offer to have a gorgeous woman near, Nora looked as pleased as punch.

The same could not be said for Yugo, who was hunched forward with his hands resting on his knees, taking deep breaths to calm his racing heart. Adamaï almost snorted at the sight. It didn’t matter if his twin was twenty or several hundred years old; he did not know how to deal with women.

Not for the first time, Adamaï thanked their mother Amalia seemed completely unaware of the power she held over him. Otherwise, they’d be doomed.

As he tried to regain his breath, having forgotten how to breathe when the Eniripsa Queen began to fondle his biceps, Yugo saw the glass offered to him from the corner of his eye. Looking up, he saw Adamaï looking down at him with an eyebrow raised in amusement.

“Thirsty?” The dragon asked, shaking the glass in front of him to get his attention.

Rolling his eyes at the ill-concealed double entendre, Yugo took the drink and took a greedy gulp. “Thank you.”

Adamaï shrugged. “Don’t mention it.” He flashed his brother a crooked smile that sent a shiver down his spine. “It must be nice being so popular.”

Yugo pouted. “Shut up. You know it’s not like that.”

“Of course, I know. But just because I know it doesn’t mean others won’t take your insistence on Amalia not being your bride as an open invitation to send wedding proposals to you.”

Yugo almost choked on his drink. “What? No! Of course not!” He insisted, offended. “Can you imagine the uproar that would cause? I can already hear the gossip: ‘The Eliatrope King turns down a Sadida Doll to marry one of our royals instead. How scandalous!’,” he mocked in an overly nasally voice. Then, he scoffed. “Please, as if I would jeopardise our kingdom’s well-being by offending the Twelvians because I disrespected a Divine Doll sent specifically for me…”

Adamaï raised an eyebrow at that, knowing that wasn’t exactly the reason why he wouldn’t choose anyone over Amalia. But he chose not to comment on it. Yugo wasn’t willing to be honest with his feelings, not even to himself, and trying to force someone as stubborn as him to see reason was like pulling teeth.

A real pain.

“And what about fostering better relationships by letting Amalia marry somebody else?”

Again, Yugo almost did a spit take at his twin's words. Whirling himself to face the dragon so fast it was a miracle he didn’t give himself whiplash, he asked, his voice strangled. “What?”

Shaking his head, Adamaï sighed. “Nothing, forget I said anything.”

Narrowing his eyes on his brother, suspicious, Yugo eventually chose to let it go… Only for him to start yet again when Adamaï said, “I’m just saying, if you insist on explaining to everyone that Amalia isn’t your bride, yet you stand around her like a guard dog whenever someone else seems taken by her, you might end up sending mixed messages.”

“‘Mixed messages’?” He repeated, incredulous. “What are you talking about, Ad?”

But Ad limited himself to sending him a pointed look. And yet, that was enough for Yugo to understand what he meant immediately.

Oh. That.

That didn’t mean he was willing to admit to anything. Sulking, he faced forwards, refusing to meet the dragon in the eye, and took another sip of his drink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

If it weren’t so frustrating, Adamaï would have actually laughed. “So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? You’re going to pretend your powers weren’t about to go haywire at the sight of Count Harebourg flirting with Amalia?”

“Hate to break it to you, Big Brother,” Nora’s sarcastic voice said practically out of nowhere. Apparently, the Eniripsa Queen had got what she’d been looking for already, leaving her free. “But green looks much better on Amalia than on you.”

Yugo frowned, knowing he was going to regret even asking, “What does that even mean?”

“Jealousy.” Qilby oh-so-helpfully supplied, appearing out of nowhere alongside the rest of his siblings. “You were seething with jealousy because your precious flower was no longer paying attention solely to yourself.”

“It’s normal to feel threatened when you stop being the hottest guy in the room. I would know.” Chibi teased, bringing a hand to his chest in mock solidarity.

Their king actually flushed at that. “That has nothing to do with anything!”

“Then what is the problem?” Mina challenged, an eyebrow raised. The calm in her voice underlaid the fact that her question was merely a formality, for she already knew the answer. She’d known long before Yugo, who still refused to open his eyes to the obvious. “If you’re not bothered by Count Harebourg’s interest in Amalia, then why did you react so strongly to it?”

Pursing his lips in thought, Yugo stubbornly chose to avert his gaze, letting out a sigh through his nose as he took another sip of his drink. “It’s not what you think.”

Because it simply couldn’t be what they all thought. He wasn’t jealous of Count Harebourg! Jealousy implied he feared he would lose Amalia to that half-blind Xelor. But that was ridiculous! The only way he could ever fear losing Amalia to another would be if he had feelings for her, and that wasn’t it.

As fond as he was of Amalia, it was purely platonic. He was only protective of her because, despite her appearance, she was so young and naïve to the world around her. Her child-like wonder and innocence left her vulnerable to being manipulated for someone’s own selfish gain.

He could’ve laughed at the thought. In a way, their situations were the opposite of each other: whereas Amalia was built to be a woman yet retained a delightfully young personality, Yugo had spent decades trapped in a child’s body despite his adult mind. And yet, the two suffered the same predicament—regardless of what they did to prove themselves, nobody ever took them seriously.

As a result, Yugo would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a strong kinship with the Divine Doll. Their similar interests and circumstances—including but not limited to their origins, which were extraordinary even by divine standards—made it all incredibly easy to grow close to her. But there were lines he shouldn’t cross. For both their sakes.

Falling in love with her was one of such lines he would not dare cross.

He was rudely reminded of that fact that day on the beach, and he hadn’t allowed himself to forget about it ever since.

Explaining what love was to Amalia and remembering why she had been sent to him in the first place was a sobering reminder of why he couldn’t afford to let his guard down and fall for her. Doing so didn’t just mean potentially falling for whatever trap the gods had set for his people, but it also meant robbing Amalia of her chance to experience love for herself.

If she truly became his bride, then she would be chained to him for as long as he lived. And the fact that she had been made precisely for that meant she would never be able to aspire for more. Whatever love she believed she felt for him would be a lie, and she didn’t deserve to think whatever one-sided thing there would be between them was love.

She might be a Divine Doll, but she wasn’t an object.

Which, apparently, nobody else seemed to be aware of. Wherever he looked, he saw people determined to worm their way into her life and gain her trust so they could eventually use her to further their goals. Inside these walls, Amalia wasn’t her own person, she wasn’t even a Divine Doll worthy of respect and admiration; she was the perfect political tool.

And everyone was frothing at the mouth at the mere thought of getting their hands on her.

And Yugo just knew Count Harebourg was the worst out of them. His intentions towards Amalia were downright sinister, no charming façade or well-constructed mask would be able to hide that.

Unbeknownst to him, his hold on his glass became a little bit tighter.

Just as Yugo got lost in his own thoughts, his siblings shared worried glances. More importantly, they were frustrated. Not just because Yugo was making things unnecessarily difficult for himself—they’d known him long enough to know that was just a staple of him—, but because they couldn’t do much to help. As close as they all were, Yugo had always liked dealing with his issues alone, sometimes not even Adamaï had access to his innermost worries and desires. The most they could do was to try and talk to him and hope something they said stuck with him long enough for him to see the error of his ways.

It was clear his feelings for Amalia would be no different.

Waiting for their king to snap out of his trance on his own, Grougaloragran let his gaze sweep around the room, bored with the lack of action. For a moment, his eyes landed on the dancefloor and the couples moving to the beat of the music but, growing disinterested even as he saw Amalia in Count Harebourg’s arms, swaying to the music, he focused on somewhere else.

…until what he’d just borne witness to registered in his mind and he was forced to do a double take.

Oh, Yugo was not going to like this.

“Uh, Yugo?” He called out to his king over his shoulder. “Grougaloragran believes you should take a look at this.”

Letting out a sigh, Yugo began, “What is it, Grougal—?”

Only to be immediately cut off by what he saw.

As his eyes followed Amalia and Harebourg as they danced, his blood reached the boiling temperature. A loud crack! echoed throughout the room as whatever remained of his drink splashed against the floor, the shattered pieces of glass falling from his hand.

...................................................................................................................

“I must admit I didn’t expect you to be such a talented dancer, my Lady.” Count Harebourg mused aloud. “Have you ever danced before?”

“You seem to be forgetting my father is known precisely for dancing on the ridges once spring arrives, Your Grace. It is only natural that his own daughters would follow in his footsteps.” Amalia smirked.

The Xelor chuckled. “How shameful of me. I hope you can forgive me, Lady Amalia.” He told her jokingly.

Amalia pretended to think about it. “Well, I suppose I can be merciful just this once.” She giggled.

“You have my thanks.” Count Harebourg smirked back at her.

Amalia had to admit, this wasn’t so bad. Sure, a part of her would’ve still preferred to dance with Yugo, but the count acted like the perfect gentleman the whole time. She was finally having some fun of her own, and Count Harebourg always made sure to make her feel comfortable and beautiful, constantly showering her with compliments and words of praise. She didn’t understand how she’d come to doubt him before.

She wouldn’t mind spending the rest of the night with someone who actually seemed to care about her.

“Do you know that we actually have something in common, my Lady?”

Amalia hummed absentmindedly, asking him to elaborate on that.

“I’m actually a demigod myself.” The count explained, and Amalia almost had to do a double take at that.

Her brown eyes wide, she asked, “You are?”

It was the count’s turn to hum. “That’s right. Xelor is my father.” He chuckled, but it sounded hollow. “I suppose that much was to be expected, given my race.”

“Oh.” For a while that was all Amalia could say, her brain scrambling to catch up with the conversation. Finally, she weakly offered. “Um, I remember meeting him in Inglorium. Right before I was sent here…”

“Oh? And, do tell, what was he like?”

A strained smile stretched over the doll’s lips. What was she supposed to say?! She had barely talked to the guy for, what, five minutes? That was hardly enough time to form an educated opinion on someone’s true character. Especially when all you could focus on as you talked to them was the fact that their eyes and mouth were on their torso and how disturbing that whole imagery was.

“He has his mouth and eyes on his torso. That’s creepy.” Her eyes widened in alarm when she realised she actually said that aloud.

She felt a little bit better when she heard him laugh, loud and unrestrained. He had a nice laugh. The feeling didn’t last long, being replaced shortly after by anxiousness taking hold of her heart at what he said next.

“That’s actually the nicest thing that comes to mind whenever I think about him.” Count Harebourg admitted, taking his hand off her waist to wipe a tear off his eye.

“Really?” Amalia found herself asking. Her heartbeat skyrocketed when the white-haired man’s face morphed into a much more sombre expression.

He remained quiet for a second, pensive, and then, with the same tone of voice one would use to share a secret, he told her:

“Lady Amalia, the truth is I hate my father.”

.....................................................................................................................

To say Yugo was livid would be an understatement. His left eye hadn’t stopped twitching since he caught sight of Count Harebourg with his hands all over Amalia. He had half the mind not to open a portal right beside him and shoot a wakfu beam at the space between them as his first, and only, warning.

The half of his mind who held him back from inflicting bodily harm on that pompous, one-eyed Xelor was called Adamaï, and he was very busy trying to keep up with his Eliatrope twin while the latter was on the verge of suffering a conniption.

“Look at him, flirting so shamelessly with someone else's bride. Can you believe it!?” Yugo all but screeched, gesturing wildly at the two as they danced.

It took every ounce of the dragon’s strength not to roll his eyes in exasperation. “Um, didn't you just spend about half an hour going around and explaining that, while we're truly honoured to take Amalia in, she is not your bride?”

“Yes, but I didn't explain it to him!” Yugo shot back, irate.

“Of course you didn’t.” Adamaï couldn’t help but to think to himself. Aloud, he said, “If it bothers you so much, why don’t you just go talk to them?”

“I can’t just do that!”

“Right, because doing so would be essentially admitting that you’re jealous.”

“I’m not—!” Yugo began, raising his voice. At least, until he noticed the curious eyes staring back at him for his outburst, which caused him to force himself to lower his voice, almost to a whisper. “I’m not jealous.”

This time, Adamaï did roll his eyes in annoyance, but his twin ignored him.

Yugo was having a really hard time standing still. On the one hand, he wanted nothing more than to march over there, grab Count Harebourg by the shoulder, maybe punch him in the face for good measure, and bring Amalia back to them. But, on the other hand, doing so could result in a number of consequences he’d do best to avoid.

Firstly, much to his chagrin, Count Harebourg was an important figure in the World of Twelve, being the ruler of Frigost and all. Secondly, he really didn’t want to cultivate the image of a violent, ill-tempered king who went around punching people he didn’t like. There was no point in trying to be diplomatic this whole time if he then acted anything but. And finally, there was Amalia herself.

Even if every fibre of his being was telling him to go get her, he still had no right to interfere. Regardless of her nature, she was not an object and she wasn’t a child, she could make her own decisions. He couldn’t just intervene in her business, especially when they were nothing to each other, at least not romantically.

As he brought a hand to his chest in an attempt to alleviate the painful pang that resounded in his ribcage at that particular train of thought, he almost didn’t hear Adamaï when he said, “Seriously, if it bothers you so much, you could always talk things out with Count Harebourg. After all, technically speaking, you’re higher up in the pecking order.”

Under no circumstances, shape or form did the two of them let out high-pitched screams at the sudden sound of Master Joris’ voice coming from behind them.

“If I were you, I’d be careful around Count Harebourg, Your Majesty.” Master Joris’ warning rang ominously, his black eyes narrowed into slits. Once he’d recovered from the fright, his words registering in his mind, Yugo couldn't help but scoff.

“You can just call me Yugo, Master Joris. After all, you already trespassed our territory uninvited. What's the point in formality?”

Unbeknownst to him, Joris squinted his eyes at him, intrigued by the new edge in the king’s voice. One that, interestingly enough, hadn't been there when he indeed presented himself at his palace, uninvited. Though glancing back at the dancing couple, he had a pretty good guess as to why that was.

“Anyway, why do you say that? Do you know the count?”

Joris nodded. Honestly, he wished he didn't. “Count Harebourg is an old enemy of mine.”

Yugo and Adamaï’s eyes widened at such revelation, taken aback. “Aren't you an esteemed member of Bonta’s court?” Another nod. “Then why would the queen invite one of your enemies to a banquet you will be attending?”

“Because, regardless of his actions, Count Harebourg is still the ruler of Frigost.” His eyes flickered back to Yugo, the way his jaw clenched a clear indication of how serious he was. “The count’s greatest priority is his people, first and foremost. Anything else is superfluous.”

“Isn't that a quality a good leader should have?” Adamaï asked, not following.

“Indeed, all good leaders should worry about their subjects’ well-being.” Joris agreed, but it was short-lived. “However, never to the extent of being willing to sacrifice another nation for their sake. Trust me, Your Majesty, Master Adamaï, Count Harebourg is not above using others to achieve his goals. And I fear someone like Lady Amalia is ripe with opportunity.”

“You think he has ulterior motives for trying to get close to Amalia?”

“All I’m saying is it would be unwise to underestimate him.” Joris insisted, but his answer was already all Yugo needed to know where Harebourg stood.

For the first time since he first met the man a scarce few hours ago, Yugo felt something other than irritation—genuine fear for Amalia's sake. “Is he truly that dangerous?” He asked, his voice uncharacteristically small.

Joris’ expression turned grave. “Let's just say you aren't the only demigods attending, my King.”

The twins exchanged alarmed glances, knowing how dangerous a demigod Xelor could be. Adamaï in particular grew irritated.

“Didn’t you send Amalia to your sons precisely to keep her safe?” He demanded to know.

“And I will have a talk with them about it, Master Adamaï. However, that doesn’t change the fact that Count Harebourg had most likely been waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce.”

Yugo’s heartbeat resounded in his ears, panic taking hold of his heart and squeezing it tightly. He had to clench his fists until his knuckles turned white to keep himself grounded, to prevent himself from creating a string of portals that would lead him directly to Amalia and allow him to hold her close while he took care of that forsaken count.

He couldn’t act on his instincts, he had to be diplomatic about it. It’d be best if they waited until the music died down to go look for her. That was the right choice, the kind of choice a king should make. He was doing the right thing, for himself and his people.

Then why was it physically painful?

Mina’s voice by his side was both a balm to his fears and a fan to the flames. He must have been so out of it he didn’t even register when she slid up next to him.

“I know you’re trying to do the right thing, Yugo.” She told him, her voice kind. How was she so good at seeing right through him? “And the right thing is making sure Amalia is alright.”

He turned his head to look at her, his eyes unblinking. Mina limited herself to pointing at the dancefloor, where the doll and the count were standing in plain sight. “Whatever it is the count’s trying to do, it’s not a simple dance anymore.”

Terror taking over him at the implications behind her words, Yugo snapped his head back to the direction she was pointing at. A powerful thud! resounded in his ribcage at the image before him, his protective senses flaring alongside a sense of rightful fury. Even from where he stood, he could see Amalia, her eyes wide and frantic as a frightened expression clouded over her features. Holding her with a vice-tight grip was Count Harebourg, the look on his face was downright nightmarish. And yet, the most terrifying thing of all had to be the very real possibility that the Xelor might hurt her.

Under Adamaï’s worried eyes, the ears in his hood twitched; that was never a good sign. His fears were confirmed shortly after.

Before the dragon could so much as blink, Yugo had already jumped inside a portal, a bright blue trail following behind him as he moved from one portal to the next, headed straight towards the dancefloor.

Towards Amalia.

Their siblings, who had watched the whole exchange, all sent pointed glances at Nora. Except for Phaeris, who just raised an eyebrow at his sister’s methods. And people said he could be a tad extreme.

“Aren't you supposed to be the mediator? You know, the one who solves conflicts?” Chibi questioned her, incredulous.

But Mina didn’t even flinch at his outburst, her smile remained exactly where it was.

“Sometimes the best way to solve an argument is by causing it.” She shot back enigmatically, before turning around and moving deeper into the throngs of people.

Not for the first time that day, her siblings exchanged helpless glances, hoping beyond hope she didn’t make a mistake. Much like how they prayed to the Great Goddess that Yugo wouldn’t get in trouble for whatever he was about to do.

......................................................................................................................

The count’s words were so unexpected, Amalia couldn’t help but break their hold, taking one step back in shock. As she stared back at the Xelor, her eyes wide in disbelief, the only sound that left her throat was a quiet, “What?”

But the count just shrugged, as if he hadn’t just shaken her perception of reality. “Don’t act so surprised, my Lady. It’s hard to feel any affection for someone who not once has been there for you when you needed him.”

That… made sense, she supposed, just like she could understand Ush’s distaste for his own father if it was true Ecaflip favoured some of his children more than others. Still, there was something in the way the count uttered those words—so matter-of-factly, so casually, almost as if it was a simple, undeniable fact of life—that sent a shiver down her spine.

Her unease only grew with each other word that left her fellow demigod’s mouth.

“And that is another thing you and I have in common.” He let out a mirthless chuckle. “I’ve always heard misery loves company, but I never truly appreciated its meaning until now.”

When the doll found her voice, it was distinctly small and anxious, “I…I don’t think I understand.”

The count’s affable tone did nothing to keep his words from feeling like cold knives aiming at her heart. “But Lady Amalia, don’t you see? We’ve both been abandoned by our respective divine fathers.”

And just like that, the ice cold fear taking hold of her heart melted away, replaced by rightful fury at such blasphemy. How dare he insult her father like that? How dare he insult her like that? How dare he?

“My father has not abandoned me, Your Grace.” She told him firmly, her tone stern as she balled her hands into fists.

Her frown only hardened into a scowl when he had the audacity to laugh at that, to laugh at her.

“Lady Amalia, your faith in your father is wonderfully refreshing, but you must face the facts.” Just then, a shadow passed over his features, the smile disappearing completely from his face. “As soon as you were created, your father dumped you here to serve as somebody else’s bride, with no care for your feelings or input. Can you really tell me Sadida hasn’t forsaken you?”

For a moment, the doll hesitated, biting her lip. Still, her father loved her. She was his masterpiece, he said so himself! And he was extremely saddened to watch her go. Besides, she wasn’t sent to the World of Twelve on a whim of her father’s, she was there for a reason.

“I’m here because the Eliatropes need me—” Amalia began to defend herself, only to be cut off by the sound of the count’s loud, unnerving laughter.

When his cackles died down and he finally looked her in the eye, it made Amalia wish he’d kept his mask on. The look on his face was the stuff of nightmares.

“The Eliatropes, you say?” He asked, even though he didn’t wait for an answer to continue. “Lady Amalia, can’t you see how those low-lives don’t deserve you? They have no right coming to our world and demanding our approval and cooperation. And now they believe themselves worthy of being sent a Divine Doll? They believe themselves worthy of you?” He let out a low, sardonic laugh, his manic eye fixed on her form.

“Don’t make me laugh.”

Before she had time to react or even register the way the partygoers were all looking at them, Count Harebourg held the Sadida Doll by her arms tight enough for her to bruise where his fingertips made contact with her skin. As that ice-powered madman stared deep into her soul, all she could do in her frightened state was to let out a pained gasp.

“Amalia, come with me to Frigost. If there’s one nation in the World of Twelve that would benefit from you becoming its ruler, that’s my home! Together, we can make everyone pay for turning their backs on us, we can get revenge on the gods for siring us and forsaking us when we need them most! For treating us like we’re replaceable instead of their own flesh and blood!

“You and I are kindred spirits, Lady Amalia, and soulmates like us must stick together.” Count Harebourg’s lips curled into a smile that was meant to be encouraging but that, combined with the almost frenzied look in his eye, only made him look like a madman. “You already hold my heart, my Lady, all that’s left to do is for you to become my countess and to rule Frigost by my side.”

Much to her chagrin, Amalia was paralysed, her mind completely blank as she found herself genuinely fearing for her life. The sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears was so loud, and her eyes so fixated on the man in front of her, she remained completely unaware of the surprised gasps echoing all around her or the flashes of blue light coming from her periphery.

Even as the count’s expression darkened into a hate-filled scowl, she remained out of it until the Xelor was shoved back and away from her with incredible force while a pair of strong, warm, protective arms held her close to an equally warm and strong body. For the first time that night, Amalia allowed herself to just melt into that person’s embrace, feeling safe at last.

She could stay in that comforting embrace forever if given the chance.

Once she’d willed her breathing to go back to normal, the doll chanced to glance up at her mysterious saviour. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of Yugo, his eyes shining a bright blue as his gaze bore down on the count menacingly, a hand outstretched and glowing ominously in case his opponent tried anything funny.

He held her even closer when Count Harebourg got back up to his feet, his own eye shining with fury at the interruption. “You!” He snarled, encasing his arms in ice sharp enough to cut through steel.

But before a fight could ensue, Queen Astra’s voice cut through the thick atmosphere like a knife. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Count Harebourg.” She warned, her guests parting to let her pass. At her feet, Master Joris brandished his log-backpack, his intentions clear.

One by one, the Bontarian guards stationed alongside the walls all came to point their weapons at the Xelor count, at the same time as the members of the Council of Six all came to their king’s aid, daring their opponent to make his move.

Looking around for a way out, Count Harebourg eventually surrendered, his shoulders slouching in defeat as he dispelled the ice on his arms. But not before flashing Yugo a hate-filled glare, a snarl curling at his lips. And with that, he let himself be enveloped by a cold breeze and disappeared.

As soon as the count vanished, the weight of everything that had just happened, as well as everything leading up to that moment, crashed over Amalia, overwhelming her senses to a point it was almost painful. Her mind a turbulent storm, she wriggled herself free from Yugo’s grasp and stormed off towards the balcony, desperate for some air.

After a quick glance his siblings’ way to ensure they’d be fine without him, a concerned Yugo was soon to follow.

................................................................................................................

The moment she made it past the threshold leading to the balcony, Amalia groaned, exasperated, “That was just infuriating!”

“Can’t really argue with you there. I’ve been getting a bad feeling from the count since we met him.” Yugo agreed, his eyes back to their usual dark brown.

He had to take a step back in surprise when Amalia whirled around to face him, a fire in her eyes, “I was talking about you!”

Yugo’s jaw dropped. “Me? But I just saved you from that freak!”

With a humph! Amalia turned back around, crossing her arms. “I didn’t need your help!” She insisted petulantly.

He couldn’t believe his ears. Mouth agape, he shot back, raising his arms in the air in exasperation. “Don't you see what that guy was trying to do from the very beginning?”

“At first he was just being nice to me!” She countered. Deep down, Amalia knew Yugo was right, but she wasn’t in the right headspace to concede anything. So she pressed on.

“Yeah, to get into your pants!” He shouted.

“I don't see how that's possible, since I’m not even wearing pants today!” She screeched right back.Then, she added, haughtily sticking her nose up in the air. “Besides, you heard Master Joris; no Twelvian in their right mind would dare lay a finger on me.”

Yugo could only blink at her, incredulous. She had to be kidding him. There was no way they were having this conversation. Not after what just happened.

“I’m sorry, but was he supposed to realise he wouldn't dare hurt you before or after he grabbed you by the arms tight enough to leave bruises on your skin?”

Amalia didn’t respond, she just stared stubbornly to the side. That lit a fire within Yugo, the outrage he felt growing by the second. So that was how it was gonna be, huh? He spent the entire night worrying for her safety, trying to look out for her, and even saving her from that lunatic, and this was how she repaid him?

He wouldn’t have been able to keep the bitterness out of his mouth even if he tried. “Maybe I should’ve let him take you to Frigost with him, seeing as you didn’t need my help.”

“Don’t pretend like you’re any better.” She shot back, turning her body completely so her back was to him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The Eliatrope asked, his voice low.

But she didn’t answer. She didn’t even look at him.

So, mustering every last bit of patience he had, he tried again. “Amalia, what’s that supposed to mean?”

She still refused to even acknowledge his presence.

“Amalia!”

Still, nothing. Growing exasperated, Yugo almost reached out to her to force her to look at him, but taking notice of how tender the skin Harebourg had grabbed her by looked, he ultimately decided against it. In the end, he opened a portal right in front of her, determined to get her to explain herself.

What he saw broke his heart in two.

Even as she still refused to meet his eyes, it was plain to see she was crying, the tears streaming down her cheeks regardless of how hard she tried to keep them at bay. And the way she was desperately hugging herself for comfort only made his heart throb painfully.

“Amalia…” His anger momentarily forgotten, he tried reaching out to her, only for her watery voice to stop him in his tracks.

“Deep down you’re just like the count, Yugo.” She said, her words like knives to his heart. “You don’t care about me as a person at all, you only care about what I can offer to you and your people.”

“Amalia, that’s not true at all!” He tried to defend himself, aghast by her accusation. “You’re my friend, of course I care about you!”

Much to his consternation, Amalia let out a loud, sardonic laugh, before her eyes turned into daggers as she finally stared back at him. “Oh, really? Is that why you’ve been ignoring me ever since we came back from the beach? Is that why you haven’t been training in front of my balcony anymore? Why, no matter how hard I try to get close to you, you do everything in your power to avoid me? Is that why you recoil from my touch as if my mere presence disgusted you?!”

As she spoke, each word filled with anger, confusion, and hurt, she took one step forward after another, forcing Yugo to go back little by little. She made sure to punctuate each question with a poke of her finger into his chest. The only reason it hurt had nothing to do with the force behind it, but because her words felt like a suckerpunch.

“What do you expect me to believe, Yugo?” She asked him rhetorically. “What do you expect me to think when the first time in weeks you spend with me has nothing to do with you wanting to be by my side, but because your people need me! Something you couldn’t even talk to me about in person. Oh, no! I had to find out through the Royal tailor!” The doll threw her arms to her sides, the tears falling freely down her cheeks.

“You’re surrounded by your family and people who love you, Yugo, but I only have you. But you…” She choked on her tears, her voice watery and broken from weeks of holding it all back. And yet, Amalia made sure to look him in the eye as she sobbed, “You want nothing to do with me…”

And finally, as her voice broke when she uttered those last few syllables, she brought her hands to her face and she sobbed. Her shoulders going up and down as she hiccuped, brokenhearted. And yet, Yugo felt like he was the one who had his heart ripped off his chest at the sight of her. At the sight of what he’d caused.

Swallowing hard, he was forced to face the truth. Amalia was right. She was right about everything. Since there was no guarantee they would ever fall in love, he had promised he’d be her friend, only to break that promise as soon as he got scared. The moment they came back from the beach he didn’t just keep her at arm’s length, he refused to even see her unless it was absolutely necessary.

And, more often than not, it was her who would be looking for him, not the other way around.

He always got defensive and protective of her whenever she wasn’t near, her happiness becoming a priority. But whenever the doll was within reach, his doubts weighed him down and prevented him from treating Amaia like she deserved.

With a heavy heart, he was forced to realise the only reason Count Harebourg got close to her in the first place had been because he allowed it.

“Amalia, I…” He started, swallowing hard. “I’m so sorry. I… I haven’t been fair to you. I-I got so caught up in other things, I didn’t even realise how that made you feel, and I… I’m so sorry.” Technically, that wasn’t a lie, just not the whole truth either. Regardless, he went on. “You don’t deserve the way I’ve been treating you. You’re right, I haven’t been a good friend. But I really want to make it up to you. From now on, I promise to do better, okay?”

She let him place his hands over her shawl-covered shoulders. He supposed that was a start. Tentatively, carefully, he brought his arms around her body, holding her close in an attempt to offer some comfort. His breath almost hitched when she snaked her arms around his sides, just as cautiously. Even in her current state, scared, angry, and tear-stricken, she still allowed him, one of the people responsible for everything, to hug her.

He’d really screwed up, hadn’t he?

After a few more minutes where the only sound that could be heard in the balcony were her quiet sniffles, the Divine Doll broke their hold enough for her to look up at him from under her lashes. Even with her brown eyes red and puffy, Yugo couldn’t help but admire how beautiful she was, his eyes soft.

“You really mean that?” She asked in a small voice.

“Of course!” He assured her. “I promise, I’ll do anything in my power to make it up to you. Is there anything you want to do?”

She remained quiet for a few seconds, pensive, and then… “There’s a thing or two I’d like to do.”

“Tell me, I’m all ears. Whatever it is, we’ll do it.”

“I’d really like to dance with you.” She told him, a flush dusting her cheeks. “I’ve been meaning to ask you all evening, but I didn’t think you would accept.”

He smiled at her. Sometimes she was satisfied with the simplest things. “Of course, I’ll dance with you, Amalia.”

Steadily growing in confidence, she added. “And… and you haven’t said anything about my dress. I lost count of how many times I got pricked by a needle for this, you know?”

If anything, his grin only widened. “There’s no words to describe how you look, Amalia.” He told her honestly.

Her blush deepening, the doll had to cough slightly before she finally said, glancing shyly back at him. “You… you don’t look too bad yourself.”

“Why, thank you. Anything else?”

“Yes, I’d like to do something fun while we’re here in Bonta.”

“Actually, I might just have the perfect thing.” He smirked.

“Oh?”

“That’s right. Queen Astra suggested we stay to watch the gobbowl game taking place tomorrow. Apparently, it’s a huge deal around here.”

Amalia wasn’t quite sure what to expect. “If you say so…”

...................................................................................................................

As they watched the Eliatrope King and Sadida’s eleventh doll dancing, both of them sporting blinding smiles on their faces as they swayed to the music and King Yugo twirled Amalia around, her skirt and shawl fluttering behind her with every step, Prince Armand couldn’t help but raise a curious eyebrow at the display. He turned to his father.

“Do you really believe there’s nothing going on between them—?”

“Not even for a second, son.”

.............................................................................................................

“Oh, sweet Sadida!” Amalia exclaimed, completely awestruck. “And that last transfer?!”

“I know!” Yugo agreed, beside himself with excitement. “Man, that Kriss Krass fellow sure knows how to put on a show!”

Walking a few feet ahead of them, Adamaï couldn’t help but smile to himself as his brother and his precious flower bonded over gobbowl. Looking over his shoulder, he had to admit it was quite endearing to see how they discussed the match so animatedly, their hands clasped and their eyes glimmering as they recounted the moments that stood out the most to them.

Seeing them now after weeks of tense interactions, standing so close to each other and even hugging each other tightly whenever Kriss Krass’ team scored, was all he needed to feel reassured.

No matter what came next, they would be fine. It was only a matter of time before that thing going on between them blossomed into something more.

60 notes · View notes

seneon · 11 months

Note

Orter Mádl guy x reader

“have to get this off my chest, so i’m telling you today.” kinda shit but it’s him instead of reader :P

reader is a two liner but idk ya

HAUNTING THE HEART.

featuring. orter mádl x fem! reader — imagines.

genre. romance and a little argument cuz it's orter.

etc. something like enemies to lovers trope...

notes. he just like me fr, can't see without glasses. both are blind asses except i'm not gaara.

— orter mádl has always hated your living being from the very start ever since he laid eyes on you during the entrance exam. he simply thinks of you as a nuisance. nothing else but a bug that he would defeat. so why the change of heart when you lived as a normal mage student and he kept on annoying you?

— orter mádl couldn't exactly understand what he was doing either. he does not want anything to do with you. yet he kept going to you just to see your face which would twist into disgust the moment you saw orter. it was almost hilarious how it would always play out.

— orter mádl became a divine visionary only because you let him win. shame on orter, you managed to compress your second line right in your skin to hide the immense power that you have. but he knew you were doing this because you mentioned that you didn't want to be a divine visionary even if you were forced.

— orter mádl graduated high school and set his first step as an official divine visionary of the bureau of magic. but he saw that you are going the other path than he is. what a waste, he wouldn't be able to tease and annoy you anymore. he'll be sure to miss every moment.

— but wait . . . orter mádl keeps going to the library your family owns. he has no reason to go to a place full of magic books. he already knew every single magic there was. so why exactly did he found himself starting conversations with you all the time?

— orter mádl was confronted by ryoh grantz when he noticed the younger male facing a distress. ryoh told orter that he saw him going to the magic library quite the number of times and he always came out with a smile, which orter denied, and kept his fluster to himself. still, orter continued facing distress about you.

— orter mádl has made a decision. today, he will pay the library another visit just like any other day and push you into a corner.

"i'm telling you this today because i have to get it off my chest," orter said which made you raised a brow. you were just checking some book's pages with the divine visionary seated in front of you. he held a cup of coffee in his hands and fiddled with his wand in his other hand.

"tell me what?"

"you are annoying. you have been itching at the back of my mind every single day. it doesn't get any better the more i think about it. it's annoying. all i could think of was you. it's like you're haunting me and shit. would you stop making my heart beat abnormally fast?"

a scoff escaped from your lips as he raised a brow through his glasses. "what's so funny?" he adjusted his glasses.

"what's funny is, you just confessed your love to me. indirectly." you replied, going back to checking the pages before stamping the details. "it's cute."

— orter mádl flushed red at your words. confessed? his love? indirectly? there is just no way in heavens that orter have fallen in love with an old rival that he used to bully. but then again, that would actually make so much sense now.

— "it's fine, orter. i feel the same way. that's why i let you became a divine visionary," you slid a book to him. "a guide to romance. you might need it."

— why would orter mádl need a guide about romance? oh yeah, because he experienced his first romance with you.

#🎥 senreqs #🗝️ senber #mashle #orter madl #orter mádl x reader #mashle imagines #mashle hcs #orter x reader

354 notes · View notes

luimagines · 13 days

Text

Honor Among Gods

Ok. This is another purely indulgent thing.

Those who've been here a while would remember that there was once a character named Hesper. She is a demigod, daughter of Nyx.

My good friend @thesoftieanon made her and well... We went wild.

I'm not kidding. This is over 20 pages long. And I'm posting it not only to share one of my favorite short stories I've cowritten with someone since making this blog, but this is here for me because the formatting makes it easier to reread. XD

This is a universe where Hesper got paired with The Fierce Deity. It is naturally written in his point of view. Enjoy.

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

When he was able to open his eyes again, he was undeterred by the sight of monsters and battle. He got right to work to take care of the problem, knowing that his host was desperate at best to eliminate these pests.

These monsters were stronger than he knew his host could handle. It didn’t take a genius to conclude this was why his help was required.

The boys around him were familiar forces at this point. He could feel them from a distance but now he had faces to the forces he could only remotely feel.

Except for one.

A young woman traveled with them at this point. She fought valiantly, growling back at the beast in front of her. She fought like none other he had ever seen before. She wore dark clothing and nearly rivaled his own height without the restrictions of his host. He couldn’t see her face from the cloth that covered every part of her body.

There was an energy about her. Something that called for his respect and devotion. She was nowhere near as overbearing as the Great Ones, but surely, unmistakingly one of them.

He was so distracted by the sight of someone new and different, that the monster, despite bleeding profusely from multiple gashes across its body, proceeded to knock her off her feet and drive its weapon into her shoulder.

The Fierce Deity sprang into action and body-slammed the creature without a second thought, finishing the beast with a solid swipe to the neck. He turned and pulled the weapon out of the girl. In retrospect, he should have been more gentle. He regrets his rash actions immediately.

She yells in pain but it gets stuck in her throat at the sight of him towering above her. His own breath gets stuck in her throat. She surely belongs among the Great Ones. Her eyes are filled with innumerable stars. There’s a depth and alluring presence to them. He’d dare to stare for longer had another cry of anguish not catch his attention.

The battle continues to rage on around him and his work is still needed.

The Fierce Deity continues to fight, leaving the young goddess behind. As the fight comes to a close, his host removes him once more and he has returned to the world of darkness around him. As darkness falls on the outside world, his host rests for the day. It is here that the old god decides to ask about the maiden from before.

“Hero.” He calls into the mind of his chosen.

He feels the body wither and groan in response. Exhaustion plagues his mind and body heavily, but his curiosity runs deeper than the needs of mortals. “Yes?”

“Tell me about the Great One’s kin.” He says, because he’s not entirely sure if she herself is one of the Great Ones or merely a Lesser One. He is sure, however, about her status among mortals is not one and the same.

“The what?” The once boy replies.

“The young woman.” He feels himself growing impatient. Who else could he be possibly talking about other than one of the most breathtaking individuals he has ever seen among the sixteen realms?

His host groans once more. Vaguely, the cursed one can feel the sluggish mind of his host put the dots together to whom he may be talking about. “Woman…. Hesper? Are you talking about Hesper?”

A soothing balm covers his irritation in an instant. He hums and echoes the name pleasantly. “Hesper. So that is her name… Divine, indeed. Tell me more.”

“No.”

“Boy-”

“No. It’s three in the morning. I am trying to sleep.”

That does not dissuade the old god.

It takes the course of multiple days, but the Fierce Deity eventually gleans information about the girl and her kin. She is from a distant realm beyond their borders of reality. She is in fact a daughter of the Great Ones- but of her own realm. There appear to be many Great Ones where she is from. She is a daughter of a goddess named Nyx- a goddess and personification of night, and mother to many monsters and other Great Ones.

However, Hesper herself is not a Great One, much to his disappointment and displeasure. She is half-mortal. There are many like her in her realm. Such one travels with the group as well. A young boy no older than seven. The Deity is told that the boy cannot speak with his tongue and rather uses his hands much like another boy he used to know. He is the opposite of his half-sister. She is dark and of the night. The boy is bright and of the day. To his knowledge, the boy was abandoned by his mother for not sticking to the code of her other children.

The Fierce Deity feels an indignant twitch in his eye once he is told but he cannot speak against such ones for his own sake. Hesper, however, does not seem to mind. The boy, named Sol, is very much her kin and responsibility.

When asked about her attire, the Deity was told that Hesper was born with a curse and natural susceptibility to sunlight. She cannot be touched by it or she will suffer.

Knowing all of this only causes the old god to want to know more about her.

Those eyes that he stared into haunt with every waking second. And for an immortal being without any need for rest, he has a lot of time on his hands to think of her. Should it come to it, he would fight by her side. He would devote himself to her. He would be her sword and her shield so she wouldn’t ever have to come near danger ever again. He cannot bear the thought of such a wondrous creature falling in the path of another blade. He still remembers her scream of pain. It is maddening.

Curiously, one day, the young boy Sol finds him among the hidden weapons and masks belonging to his host. The Fierce Deity is vaguely aware of the boy’s spirit. He is energetic and flighty- prone to joking with seemingly never-ending mischievous intentions.

He picks up the mask and studies him. The god doesn’t know of the boy’s intentions with his prison but he wonders how he passes the guard of his host. This is not a normal occurrence.

The boy drops the mask and something falls on top of it- cracking the visage.

The chains rattle around him and the Fierce Deity can feel the power of the prison slipping away as the seconds pass. It takes only a moment for him to find the weakest link and strike through it.

He is free.

His body forms from under the rubble and the boy stares up at him with what can only describe as shock and awe. It appears that while he dropped the mask, many things fell over as well, falling on top of the mask to strike just where it needed to. A lucky strike, so to speak.

His old host stands next to the boy, equally shocked and on edge. Any words he may have intended to say to the youngest die on his tongue once his eyes land on his imposing figure. His old host is no longer the boy he once knew. Pride swells up in him to see the man he has grown into. But neither of them are the one he wishes to see the most right now.

As if summoned by the commotion, Hesper herself comes from the woodwork, instantly b-lining for her young brother.

As soon as she nears, the deity drops to his knee, bowing toward the daughter of night.

She freezes at the sight of him, looking between him and his former host. She takes a step back. Hesper clears her throat and looks away from him. “... Is this normal?”

The Fierce Deity is unfamiliar with the emotions causing his heart to race but he knows that she is worthy of the honor and respect he gives her. “All others shield themselves from the morning sun- yet it is the starlight’s beauty that gains the admiration of mere men. I finally understand where they meet their folly."

Her jaw falls softly. Although it is covered by the cloth to shield her from the afternoon rays, he can see the shock drape over her face. She spins around, trying to find some sort of response to his words but no one is able to help her. She gulps. “I… thank you?”

His former host gains his sense of self first. He walks toward the two of them, putting himself in between. “Hesper, I’d like to apologize on his behalf-”

“Do not apologize for me.” The Deity growls. “I’ve waited for millennia. I refuse to wait any longer.”

"Millennia for what?? You- who are you?" Hesper blinks, completely perplexed. She then squints, recalling a time she'd gotten messed up on the battlefield no less than a week ago. "Wait... it's you. The deit- why are you bowing to me?"

Her recognition of him is exciting. The Fierce Deity straightens in his pose, keeping his knee firmly on the first floor. "Because you are the most exquisite jewel among mortal men."

Hesper gulps again, taking another step back. A hand raises, and a finger points towards her as if to question if he’s truly talking about her. As if he’d say that about anyone else. It’s a soft look. Her eyes widen, and a blush peeks out from under her mask. "W... what?"

"You are a daughter of the night." He says easily. "The jewels of the heavens are your birthright. And I am forever at your beck and call, my queen."

The Fierce Deity is too taken by the young woman in front of him to notice that the camp has gone silent. They are watching the interaction with intense interest. Sol looks around the group, not quite understanding what is transpiring.

Time’s jaw has dropped as well. Something compels him to attempt to regain control over the situation. Before he can act, however, Sol tugs on his sleeve. He signs. ‘Is he bad? Like the gods at home?’

Time sighs and shakes his head. "Yes and no. But I think you and your sister are safe."

‘Okay... why is he saying all that stuff about Hesper?’ Sol lights up suddenly. ‘Does he like her?? Is that what he meant by jewel?’

Time is fighting back the second-hand embarrassment as much as he can. "It appears soooo… He's always been more on the poetic side of prose."

He is not going to tell Sol that FD tried to farm him for information about his sister.

‘Oh, I see! Well, hopefully he doesn't just like her for her power, she hates that.’ Sol turns just in time to make eye contact with FD and waves with a grin.

The Fierce Deity smiles back in kind, making even Time take a step back. He waves and beckons the small child closer.

Sol runs up, no hesitation, and Hesper tenses. ‘Hi, I'm Sol! You like my big sister, huh?’

The old god’s face softens at the sign. The boy looks a lot like Link did when he was little. He reaches out to ruffle the hair of the younger one. "I've been bewitched by her splendor, little one. There is little who can compare. Are you the protector of this maiden?"

‘Yeah! If you wanna date my sister, you can't just use fancy words! You gotta pass my test!’

"Ah, Sol-" Hesper starts, alarmed.

The Fierce Deity grins. "Of course! A maiden of her caliber cannot be won alone by fanciful speech."

He reaches over, picking him up effortlessly and puts him on his shoulders. "Tell me, child, what quest is in need of pursuing?"

Sol grins back. ‘Well, to start, what do you like about her? Is she just a jewel to you?’

Hesper keeps her hand against her heart, watching the interaction with bated breath and a hand on a blade. Her heart is pounding in her chest.

"A jewel is more than its shine and splendor." He says easily, holding his hand out for her to take as he makes his way into the middle of the camp. It wouldn't look well on his part to leave her behind, now would it.

"I was enamored by her wit." He admits. "And her fortitude."

Hesper takes it after he says that, keeping the other readily on her blade.

‘Fortitude? What's that mean? Sounds cool!’ Sol, however, is unbothered by this hulking man, singing the praises of his older sister. He is very quickly gaining his approval.

"It means to take courage despite the pain." The old god whispers, looking at her reaction. There's no mistaking that he's smitten with her. Something that the rest of the group are quick to clue in on.

As well as the young woman. Despite her unwillingness to instantly trust this man, his face speaks of nothing but genuine emotion and intention. Does… he truly mean what he says?

The grip on her blade loosens.

Sol keeps signing. ‘Wow, you know her really well! How long have you been in love with her?’

"Sol!" Time cuts him off, mortified on Hesper's behalf. "I think that's a conversation for them to have."

"No way, this is getting good!" Legend waves him off.

Time pinches the bridge of his nose. "You're all horrible."

Sol tilts his head. ‘I'm just saying! He's obviously known her for a while, but she doesn't know him at all!’

"That's... why it should be a conversation between us." Hesper says quietly.

‘Oh? So you're okay with him?’

"... For now." She decides, releasing her blade entirely.

‘Okay! Good job, you passed for now!’

Even more pride swells within the chest of the deity. He finds himself standing straighter and smiles at the young boy on his shoulders. He feels as if he is beaming. “My many thanks.”

Sol clambers off him to go play with Wind, leaving his sister behind and thoroughly embarrassed. The deity watches his interest. He’s admittedly always had a soft spot for little ones.

Hesper on the other hand has succumbed to her embarrassment, covering her face with one of her hands. Her voice is quiet and strained. A mere squeak of its usual glory. “Oh my gods…”

The Fierce Deity sees no problem with this. He turns to her once again, bending at his knee with his head down. "My queen."

He awaits her direction.

"Ah- you don't have to bow, standing or sitting or- whatever you want to do is fine!" Hesper puts her hands out in an attempt to stop him from showing the proper respect she deserves. He does not understand why she attempts this. He can only assume that she's not used to this kind of treatment. Although he cannot imagine why.

Something about that level of innocence ignites his wicked streak. He smirks a bit. "And if I want to do this?"

"For crying out loud, don't make it harder on the poor girl." Time groans.

"... That's fine." Hesper barely manages to squeak out. She can't look at him. The deity hadn’t even thought it was possible for her to appear bashful. It’s an endearing look on her.

The Fierce Deity reaches out, brushing a bit of hair out of her face. "Beautiful... What a lovely shade you don, dearest.”

"I-I'm going to patrol-!" Hesper yells, taking a step back into the shadows and disappearing in a blink of an eye.

He blinks as he stares into the space where she once had been. Shadow travel? Exquisite. Is there anything she isn’t capable of? Curse aside, of course.

"Awwww..." Sky pouts. "She left before it got good."

Time is internally screaming. This has already gotten out of hand. He can't do anything to reel him in and he knows it.

Hesper is on her own, he decides. Which is unfortunate for her, but entertaining for everyone else.

Sol somehow has the sense to sign 'Hey mister, I think you overdid it.'

Wind nods along with him. "She's not used to compliments, take it from me. I called her pretty once and she hid her face again!"

The Fierce Deity frowns. "Is there such a thing? How could she not get compliments? She's one of a kind. A daughter of the Great One.... does she not have suitors?"

Sol shakes his head. 'Everyone back home thinks she's scary... at least that's what she said.’

Wind slowly nods along, wincing.

The old god glares in the space beyond the group. "Unacceptable.”

'I mean they're scared of Momma too, but I dunno why.' Sol shrugs. 'They're not scared of me.'

Sol does not understand that many fear such creatures of the night no matter what their size or shape. Their intentions and actions do not matter to the creatures of the day. However, that is of little excuse. The Fierce Deity doesn’t understand it either.

"Cowards."

The old god takes a deep breath.

Sol shrugs and goes back to playing with Wind.

It isn’t long until Sol returns and all but tackles the deity. ‘I have a question.’

“And what is it you intend to ask, little one?” The Deity turns to look at the young boy. He allows him to crawl over him, digging into his sides and his armor to perch himself over his shoulder.

‘Are you going to marry my sister?’

“If she’ll have me.”

Sol nods sagely. ’You’ll need an apple.’

“An apple?” Another thing the deity does not understand. “Is such a thing required for the hand of maidens where you’re from?”

Sol nods once again, more enthusiastically. ‘You have to throw it to her. If she catches it, she’ll marry you.’

The Fierce Deity remembers this and allows the child to get off of him as he returns to playing around with the other boys. He knows he must win over the young woman first but such knowledge is useful for the future.

Hesper doesn’t return until the break of twilight. The Fierce Deity had been attending and entertaining the younger ones when Sol had all but collapsed against him. Hesper collects the child without missing a beat and prepares his bedroll in a moment.

The old god is panicking on the inside but he's outwardly looking confused. "...I wasn't aware he was that thoroughly exhausted."

"He's not. It's his curse." Hesper picks up her brother's body, which appears limp and lifeless. "He can only be active in the light of day. No light; it's like he's dead. But he's just sleeping."

The Fierce Deity shudders at the thought, but it's quickly replaced by thinly veiled rage. "Who would dare put a curse on a child?"

"The gods of our world." Hesper says it so calmly... and then she looks at him. "They're afraid of what we'd do without them there."

"Well as I recall, they're not here." He growls. "Can this be undone?"

"It took a god to do it, so I'd imagine it'd take a god to undo it." Hesper goes through the routine of putting Sol to bed; arms over his blanket so he'll wake sooner in the morning. "Nothing else I've tried has worked, anyways."

The old god stares after the sleeping child.

"...A god you say..." He whispers, running his hands over Sol's bangs. He takes a knee once more and bows his head toward the young woman. "Is that all there is to it?”

"... It was the king of the gods who did it." The word 'king' is bitter on her tongue. "His word overpowers all others in our world. I know most of you are god slayers, so that might not even matter, but... be careful."

The Fierce Deity hums; already aware such things would come with a price and gently puts the back of his finger on Sol's cheek. The child is cold.

Something is stirred within him. Ancient. Primal.

"I'll find a way."

"I know. I could see you thinking about it as soon as I mentioned gods." Hesper sighs, already cluing in to the fact she can't sway him. Still, she makes him look at her. "I mean it, though. Find your way if you want, but don't be reckless. Please."

The Fierce Deity stills- the storm in his mind clearing as she pulls him from his thoughts. Her hands. They're on him. She's touching him. Willingly.

He backs down to step to her level.

"Yes... As you wish, Jewel." He whispers, unable to deny the look in her eye. His heart is pounding in his chest. What is this feeling?

"Thank you." She nods, checks on Sol one last time, then makes her way around the camp, checking in on the boys and seeing them off to bed.

... She can't believe she did that.

He can't believe she just did that.

He could have touched her back. He could have held her. He could have held her hand. He could have felt her skin and its warmth, its tone, its smooth silk-like quality.

A rare creature- both alluring and captivating. To humble him. To excite him.

He's never felt like a man until this point.

His eyes follow her as she moves through the camp.

This child means the world to her.

He'll protect them for the night.

Hesper looks back at him after a moment- Time does as well.

"Will you be sleeping?" She asks their shared question. She isn't sure if he needs sleep, but it never hurts to ask.

It takes a moment for the deity to register that she was speaking to him. When it hits he looks ashamed of not answering her sooner.

"No." He says. "You may rest for tonight. I have no plans for slumber."

She nods, then says goodnight to Time, returning to her brother's side. Instead of lying on a bedroll, she leans against the tree by his head, just shy of the deity's reach. If she’s sleeping, she’s in no hurry to do so.

The temptation the deity didn't know he'd have to restrain. He steadies himself to look away from her and the child, looking instead to the rest of the group and beyond.

He could do it. He could give in to everything he desires.

But she ran from mere words.

He would never live down pushing her away. So he sits still. Like a statue.

And behaves himself.

Even if he allows himself to fantasize in the meantime.

Hesper, for her part, glances at him, out of the corner of her eye.

He's really not that bad, she's decided. He's just... not used to people, she thinks. Yeah... not used to people. That made two of them, really.

She looks back into the forest, letting out a quiet sigh. Part of her is nervous. The last time someone took an interest in her, it was… It went bad, to say the least. She doesn't want that again.

But so far he seemed good. ...Overwhelming on the compliments, but good.

Oh gosh, the compliments. How could someone find that much to compliment her on? And not one thing about her power.

Courage.

Of course that's what he liked.

... It was cute, in a way. He's... he's pretty cute.

She'll admit that to herself. She can allow that.

She’s smiling a little when she nods off.

Seeing the faint smile on her face puts the deity a little more at ease. Time explains to the others (as they all tuck themselves in for the night) that they have nothing to fear from the old god and with time, they all turn in for the night as well and sleep peacefully.

Time gives one last glance at the large male before he also puts his head against his bed roll. The deity has seen him grow from boy to man- his old host has done much for him. The main one being his restraint- or rather- his desire to not abuse his power while he was imprisoned.

He will look after all of them. All of them. These young heroes of courage deserve to worry less about their journeys.

But as for Hesper...

He looks back to the child beside her.

The Fierce Deity vows that he will take care of that one, especially.

Hours pass and Hesper wakes with a start, as usual.

Dawn is coming. She checks to ensure she's properly covered, then gets up to check around the camp. She's so into her usual routine she forgets there's now a deity for a moment until she sees him.

"... Oh. Morning."

The Fierce Deity has already checked the perimeter and has returned from his second round. He bows to her. "Good dawn, Jewel."

She huffs in amusement. "You know, I’m not sure how I'm supposed to address you. Do you have a name or title you want us to use?"

Here, his cool confidence falters.

"I am known as the Fierce Deity. A war god. Protector of Termina......Cursed by the goddess to the form of a mask....and.... I have no other name."

"No other... ?" Hesper's eyes show she's frowning. "That's... horrible. I'm sorry to hear that."

The Deity flushes. "Gods of no honor receive none."

Demise is a name the Hylians gave him but he is known as The Demise. Or The Void. Titles are given when they have either fulfilled or gained their intended purpose. In which they are shortly after disposed of in one way or another.

Demise didn't approve of that and sought vengeance.

The deity himself fought back and was cursed.

But he was never meant to be loved. So he has no name. He knows this.

"I have accepted this."

"You have more honor than any god I know." She blurts. She's... surprised by how quickly it comes out. But she keeps going. "You... you deserve a name.”

His head snaps up to meet her head-on. "... I wouldn't dare… presume...."

"What name would you want? If... if you had one." It's not fair, Hesper laments in her heart. He should have one. Screw the regulations. He's done so much, for so long. She can see it on his face. He's earned a name. She'll name him herself if no one else will.

The deity looks to the ground. No one had ever asked him that before. He didn't think it would have been worth considering.

He looks at the boys. They all share the same name. It would be strange to take it for himself.

He frowns, feeling frustrated for not being able to give his queen an adequate answer. "I never gave it much thought. It was never of importance. I don't... I don't know..."

"That's okay." She assures him. "I... you don't have to take it if you don't like it, but... what about Thárros? It's... it's in my mother tongue, but... it means Courage."

"Thárros..." The name rolls off his tongue smoothly.

"Hesper..." He says her name for comparison. Frankly, he finds that her name is much sweeter on his tongue. But the note that the first name was chosen by his queen, in her maiden tongue no less, fills him with an indecipherable warmth. He's never been exposed to this sort of warmth before. He takes ahold of it.

"Thárros." He echoes himself. "You may call me that. If you desire, Jewel."

Her eyes crinkle, glimmering a little, and she nods. "I will. It's a pleasure to meet you, Thárros. And... you can call me Hesper, if you want. But Jewel's fine, too."

Dawn peeks over the horizon, and Hesper steps into the shade. The light makes contact with Sol's arm and a moment later he opens his eyes, once again full of life as he sits up and yawns. 'Morning...'

Wild sits up in another part of camp, going to make breakfast.

Thárros lets it rumble around his brain. It's a nice name. He smiles, smiling wider when Sol awakens. "Good morning, little one."

Time and Warrior both wake up soon after, getting ready for the day as well. They both send him nods of acknowledgement. He returns them with ease.

'Morning, Mister. How'd you sleep?' He yawns again, still not enough sunlight in his system yet. 'Oh! Did Hesper miss the sun today?'

"Yes, Sol, I'm over here." Hesper answers the last part for him.

"Miss the sun?" The Fierce Deity, now known as Thárros, looks over and tilts his head. Strange. But she is of the night.

"I didn't sleep." He responds to the child's earlier question. "I have no need for it."

'Oh, that’s cool. Yeah, Hesper wears so much clothes because she's allergic to the sun. It'll hurt her really bad if it touches her skin, so I always check.' Sol signs his understanding, but it doesn't take too much to decipher Sol processes Hesper's curse as an allergy. 'She’s only not missed it once, though, she's really good about it.'

Something in the old god’s heart breaks. That’s right, they’re both cursed. Forever shunned from either side of the day. How can they remain a family this way?

He nods in understanding, ruffling Sol’s hair in the process. "She must cherish you greatly. It's good that you look after her the way you do."

He'll break her curse too. He swears by this as well.

'Uh huh, we're really close! Even if she can't run around and play tag with Wind and I around camp, she's really good at hide and seek in the forest! She'll find me, sneak under my feet and toss me in the air! It's super fun! ' As the sun keeps rising, he gains more energy and signs faster. 'And we'll sit close during meals and after dinner we'll make up stories if I'm not playing with Wind and she taught me how to use a dagger and sneak and-!'

"Breakfast is ready!"

'Oo, breakfast! I'll be back with a plate for you, sis!' And off he runs.

Hesper laughs. "Ever the energetic one~"

Thárros shakes his head. "Most are at his age."

He then points to his old host, who's too busy trying to give out the food in an organized manner. "He was just as bad, if not worse."

Hesper chuckles. "I believe it. Though I'm willing to bet Sol can be energetic much longer than he ever was."

He hums. "....No. Not quite. The boy would stay awake for days on end. Never ceasing his quest for justice… I'm afraid Sol could not have done the same. Not with the curse upon him."

"Oh, I almost forgot he was a child hero." Hesper sighs. "I can't stand those... why must they fight so young?"

"Why indeed?" Thárros’ hand flexes over his knee. "I suppose the heroes all have their own curses to bear... It is the same with your Great Ones."

Well, I wouldn’t call them all great. Not when they treat the world as some toy they can toss away when it bores them." The glint in her eyes darkens briefly, then she looks up as her brother starts running back. "... Don’t tell Sol I said that."

The deity nods, even further fascinated by the woman next to him.

"I am not allowed to call The Great Ones anything but." He murmurs. "But it appears we aren't as different as I originally thought."

"Is that so? I suppose I should be nicer to them, but... well, I'm only nice to the gods I respect. Outside my family, that's just you." Hesper smiles as Sol reaches them, offering food. "Oh, I see you have three plates. You got one for Thárros too?"

Sol makes the connection quickly and nods, offering the deity a plate. He does not question the name.

Thárros subtly smiles and eases the weight off of the little one. "Thank you."

The deity begins to eat the strange meal. He's never had someone cook for him before either. He wasn't entirely sure he needed to eat. But the smell was kind and the other took no heed in questioning the methods behind it.

He takes a bite.

'You're welcome!' Sol plops down, separating the best slice of meat from the rest of his meal and eating the rest. Notably, Hesper does the same.

Naturally, the deity notices this, but he doesn't understand. There's many customs he hasn't needed to learn and so he has no reason to believe that it's anything strange to do. Not to mention they grew up with separate Great Ones to dictate the manner of conduct.

He makes no comment on it and simply eats like he's seen his old host do.

They both finish except for that one piece, and Sol turns to get Hesper's plate, sliding her remaining portion onto his. He walks over to the fire and scrapes them both in, signing 'For Mama.'

"... Nyx and Thárros." Hesper murmurs quietly.

Sol goes about collecting plates and helping them get clean while Hesper starts packing up.

That takes him by surprise.

An offering?

For him, no less.

If it was for their mother, he would understand more but for him? He's a lesser god. An ant of a divine being. He's no better than they are. Why would they offer something to him?

They pack up relatively quickly and make their way through the forest once more. He stays close to the back of the group, keeping quiet to not disturb the others as much as he can avoid. It appears Hesper is of the same train of thought, although she still isn’t quite sure what to make of him.

Hours turn to days turn to weeks turn to months. They are no better off finding the cure to their problem than he is finding the cure to the curses of the divine ones within the group.

The lack of progress is maddening. Thárros, as he is slowly beginning to grow accustomed to being called, has always considered himself a man of action and of results. To have nowhere to begin and no direction to follow is not in his nature.

However, that does not stop him from doting on Hesper whenever he has the time. And should the boys permit it, Sol takes it upon himself to use his body as his personal climbing gym. It warms Thárros’ heart that the boy is so welcoming of his presence. Link as a child was curious and desperate at best, but still wary.

It is a moment where he finds himself alone on patrol that he feels something shift in the air. He instantly puts his hand on the hilt of his blade. It is the middle of the day and he is in a clearing. Only someone foolish enough to not know who he is would threaten him here.

"... You're Thárros, yes? My sister speaks fondly of you."

The man spins on his heel, coming face to face with a woman he has never seen before but his confidence is shaken. A Great One. Her power is beyond his own. She stands as the dawning sun. Warm and giving, hopeful to a fault but dim. She does not stand in the direct light but she glows in the way a divine being can. He knows not who she is but respect has always been given until taken away.

His battle mask comes on.

He nods to her, bowing for good measure. "I am quite fond of her as well. May I ask of your name, Great One?"

"Yes, I can see it." Her smile is warm towards him, much like Hesper's. “I am called Hemera, goddess of the dawn and giver of days. Your loyalty to my sister is clear... You even wish to break the curse on her, from what I hear. I believe I can help with that."

Thárros' attention snaps to her. He takes a step closer despite his better judgment. "How?"

"I have crafted a bracelet for her... with it, she can walk in whichever light she wishes." She produces the item, offering it to him. "All it needs now is the touch of a deity from this world to be finished. I trust you wouldn't mind?"

He drops to take a knee. "It would be my greatest honor.”

Hemera is pleased. "Yes... you two are indeed a good match, just as I thought. May you live long lives together."

He nods, tenderly biting his lip from the inside. He cannot show weakness. He cannot fail.

It's never been this easy before. Truly there isn't any other catch to this.

Hemera presses the bracelet into his hand with a nod and a smile. It gains a shimmer to it; so quick it almost didn't seem real.

"I'll leave you to it, then." She stands and turns to leave. "... Thank you, Thárros. To you and your boys; for taking care of them when we can't."

He looks down into his palm and tucks the bracelet into his chest. Should he push his luck?

"And the boy?" He asks tentatively. "The child is cursed as well… Is that your domain? Can you help?"

Hemera looks sad at that. "I would help Sol if I could, but... we are both at the mercy of night. I'm afraid I can't help him."

Thárros stands. "...Is there a Great One who could?"

He refuses to only have one solution. He had promised Hesper to help her little brother. He has to push a bit further to make headway on his vows.

Hemera thinks about it. "... My father might. Erebus, the darkness itself. But... he has no love for either of them. He will not give you a solution as freely."

He nods; body rigid with pure determination. "I am willing to pay any price for either of them."

"Careful what you vow, Thárros." Hemera warns. "I have no doubt he'll use it against you if he can. ... Good luck on your quest. I hope you can free him."

His grip on the bracelet tightens. "I'm well aware."

He sees her off and looks back to the token in his hands.

He knows the Great One would rather have him sacrifice himself. But he was already imprisoned once. Worse case scenario he must cease to exist.

For Hesper?

He'd take that plunge.

His world has long grown out of a use for him and the Great Ones above him care not for his fate.

He'd do anything.

Thárros returns to camp quickly. He finds Hesper relatively quickly. She had fallen asleep in the shade of a great oak, a rare break she has given herself. He kneels beside her and regrettably shakes her shoulder gently. She rests so few and far between… but this, he feels, is beyond a moment of reprieve.

Hesper's eyes open and she stretches, grunting.

Not her most comfortable sleep, but better than none at all.

"Good dawn, Thárros." She’s started keying in when he's around, but she still blinks twice when she realizes he's closer than she thought. "... Did something happen?"

He bows toward her again. "I've had a visitor, Jewel."

He keeps his head low, waiting for her reaction. "A Great One by the name of Hemera."

"Hemera was here?" There’s a lightness to her tone; delight at hearing about her sister. "I didn't think she could get here. How is she? Just checking in?"

He smiles at her tone. There's trust there. He visibly relaxes. "Yes. She brought a gift."

"A gift?" Hesper chuckles. "For you or Sol?"

"For you." He whispers, bringing the bracelet into the light.

She pauses, not expecting that.

"... For me?" She reaches out, fingers just grazing the bracelet before she draws them back with a gasp. "What- what kind of magic is that? It's so warm."

"A protection." He urges her to take it. "From the light, Jewel."

He gulps, beginning to second-guess himself. The feelings he's never experienced until he met this woman scare him. "It cures your curse."

She looks at him. In disbelief. In shock. But then the stars in her eyes start to shimmer with hope.

Carefully, she takes the bracelet and puts it on. As it clicks around her wrist, it shimmers again, and she can feel the warmth spread through her whole body.

"... I can't believe it." She says softly. "After all this time... I can really..." She looks up from the bracelet, pulling down her mask just as the tears fall. "Thank you."

He panics and reaches to wipe her tears as gently as he can. "Why? Why thank me so? I have yet to help the little one."

Not to mention he can't really take credit for this. If anything, it means they would have gotten help sooner but no one cared enough to offer it. Even those that could.

But she seems overjoyed, so he won't ruin it for her.

"Yes, but you brought my hope back. I was certain-" She decides not to finish that, reaching forward and hugging him tight without a care in the world. "Thank you, Thárros. For caring."

Thárros shivers when she says his name. It's a power she has over him. It's exciting yet humbling.

He gulps, wrapping his arms around her as well. "I will help the child. Thank me not, yet. My work isn't finished."

But he tucks his nose into her hair. "However, I'm glad that you are taken care of."

"One thing down." Hesper exhales in agreement, relaxing against him. He's so warm... She feels safe like this.

Wild coughs, and it gets Hesper's attention. "Uh... good morning? Have a nice nap?"

Hesper goes pink and attempts to slowly pull out of the hug, despite a part of her screaming to just shadow away. "... Good afternoon, Wild."

Thárros doesn't let her go. If anything, he holds on tighter. He calls the young hero his affection-given name. "Good afternoon, Cub."

He turns his head to look at the young man. "Has the meal been prepared?"

"Working on it." The young man replies.

... Hesper is fine. This is comfortable. She's not-

Oh, who is she kidding, her growing appreciation and attraction are so obvious right now! Still, she doesn't move. In fact, she indulges herself and tucks her head in the crook of his neck. If he insists on keeping her here, she'll just get more comfortable.

Thárros nods towards Wild, turning his attention back to the woman in his arms. He holds her close, tucking her against him. He dare not ask for more from her.

He tenderly trails his fingers through her hair. But words fail him.

She tilts her head into his touch, trying to encourage him to continue.

This is nice. She likes this, earlier embarrassment aside. Sol sits up now that the rain clouds have passed, yawning with eyes half open. 'No... wanna go back to sleep...'

Hesper chuckles. "Afternoon, Sol. Did you enjoy your nap as well?"

'Hello. Sleep was ok...' He turns, blinking blearily. '... Your hood is off... Hair pretty. You like it short?'

"Easy to manage, I suppose."

Sol nods slowly, the gears in his brain turning slowly. '... Wait... hood off... no sunburn?'

Hesper shows him her bracelet. "Magic sunblock."

'Magic... sunblock? So you can...' It hits and he perks up. 'You can play tag?'

"Yes." Hesper snorts as Sol stumbles out of bed, running to tackle Wind and get a game started.

The deity chuckles, brushing Hesper's hair away from her face. "How do you feel, Jewel?"

"... Warm." She smiles. "The kind of warmth night can't replicate... it's nice."

"Ack- Sol, what- ... WHAT?!" Wind's shout catches the attention of several other Links, most of them confused and unimpressed. "Guys, Hesper can be in the sun!"

Wild looks up from his pot, blinking, then it clicks that Hesper and Thárros are in the sun and he mouths 'oh'.

The fierce deity smiles, grinning even. But instead of letting the others see it, he hides his face in the crook of her neck. "I'm glad."

He pulls away, teasing a kiss to her cheek. "You shouldn't need to hide from now on."

She giggles, even as her cheeks turn pink. "Aw, but sneaking around is fun!"

The rest of the camp is thrown for a loop; especially Time.

"It's only fun when it's voluntary." He whispers. "I feel as if I'm finally seeing you for the first time."

He pulls back, looking her over now that she can have her face out without any concern. He hums quietly, ignoring the other boys. "Typically the sun would overpower the light of the stars… but dare I say you appear even more bedazzled than usual, Darling."

She flusters more, attempting to pull her mask up. "How? I haven't done anything-"

He stops her, poking her nose with his. "Don't. I'm not done admiring you yet, Jewel."

"F... fine." She accepts her fate, embarrassing as it is. "If you insist..."

Warrior coughs from the sidelines. "I didn't think he had moves."

Time pales. "Honestly.... neither did I."

'Her stars are pretty, so it makes sense he wants to watch them.' Sol grins.

"Stars?" Wind blinks.

'Yeah, Hesper has stars in her eyes!'

"Oh, like how you have the sun-shaped birthmark."

'I think so? Yeah!'

Thárros takes the moment to study her. He finds it fascinating. Her eyes are full and deep and beautiful. His are flat, plain, off-putting.

He kisses her again, on her forehead, unable to hold himself back. Then he moves to her other cheek and her temple. Then onto the other side.

He kisses the tip of her nose and seemingly moves to her lips but pauses.

"Dearest... I would travel through hells for you..." He whispers. "I merely wish for you to be honored as you deserve. Whether it be with me... or another..."

But he's not too fond of the latter idea.

"... You act as if I'd choose someone else." The idea that he even considers that... annoys her. "I've let you this close, haven't I? Isn't it obvious by now, Thárros?"

His grip on her tightens as he goes completely rigid. His jaw clenches and he gulps. "...I'm afraid I am unworthy. For you... your name... your legacy...your family..."

He closes his eyes, brushing his nose against hers, taking her presence in. "I... am a selfish man. But I cannot fault you, should you choose another."

Hesper huffs, warm breath fanning over his face. "Seriously?"

She kisses him, right there, in front of the whole camp.

A choked noise comes out of him, clearly taken off guard.

His hands fly upwards, caging her in and holding her closer. One hand on her cheek, the other entangled in her hair.

He gives in to his desires at last.

Hesper makes a point to kiss him for a long moment, both to prove something and because it felt good to kiss him. When she finally draws back, however, it's softly, and she's cradling his face like he's as precious as he likes to say she is. "... I... choose you. Understand? No one else, Thárros. I love you."

He keeps her close though- not allowing her to be too far away from possibly being kissed again. Thárros gulps and nods. "I have already chosen you… My Love."

The frustration mixed with her look of adoration slips away, and she huffs in amusement. "Good. Glad we're on the same page."

"... Lunch is ready." Wild hesitantly breaks the moment, the first to find his voice in the shocked silence of... everyone.

The one… previously known as The Fierce Deity was overjoyed for the longest time. He was no longer bothered by their lack of progress. To see the Jewel of the Sixteen Realms laugh and play in the sun as she’s always yearned warmed his heart. It seemed as if there was a hole that was filled from that point on, both in Hesper and in Sol.

And to finally kiss her.

It only solidified his determination to help where he was needed. Surely, there would still be battles to fight and a war to win, but this purpose had a higher meaning now.

If he had to lay his existence on the line for the sake of one little boy, he would do so without a second thought. While he would miss his Jewel, and he knew now, that it would pain her for him to leave. If it was called for, he would give. And give and give. She deserved to live happily. She was robbed of the light and of the pleasures of day. And as a consequence, she was robbed of her brother and his childhood.

And her brother deserved to have his big sister by his side to protect him- not to watch him from a distance where she cannot go. Sol should know the wonders of the night and beauty of the stars. It is the realm of his mother and his sister. The darkened skies are a peace to mankind. He should know those as well.

A family must be whole.

He says none of this to Hesper, for fear she should convince him otherwise. But he has never broken a vow before, nor does he plan to begin to do so.

It is once again, when he is alone on patrol that another Great One from the other realm visits him. This time, however, the world shifts around him and Thárros is enveloped in darkness. He sees no body either in front of him or around him.

He need not introduce himself. The darkness speaks to cut to the chase. "Hemera says you wish to break a curse. That requires a test, does it not? Sure you can wield the sword and ‘protect’... but I know your kind. Savage. Rough. Beastly. Prove yourself capable of restraint and maybe I'll help the child."

“Erebus.” The Fierce Deity bows in the darkness. A Great One of the highest regard should be treated as such, no matter how savage he considers them to be. The Great One gives him no such respect in return.

"Do not move from where you stand, boy. What you are going to see has already transpired. Try to help her-" The omnipresent form before Thárros grins wickedly, a smile that promises pain. "And I will send you back to where you came from in failure."

Thárros growls, hate and wrath already burning in his stomach.

The Great One laughs. "This would be interesting to watch. Begin."

The darkness shifts, forming a room. A man stands before him, holding a wailing baby. It's- her arm has been touched by sunlight, smoke curling into the air from the contact. Hesper turns into the man's shadow, melting away and into a darkened corner of the house, still crying. The man gasps.

"What the- what kind of demon are you?!" The man grabs a knife, face twisted in disgust as he starts towards her. "Nevermind that! Go back to wherever you came from, you little devil!"

The man swings towards Hesper and-

The scene changes.

The once Fierce Deity tenses considerably, but makes no move.

She's older now. A man sits with her, a weaker demigod, holding the arm burnt in her childhood and examining the scars it left behind.

"It never healed?"

"Not really." She says softly, pulling her arm back. "That's why I wear the cloak... to protect me from the sun. Until I find something else, at least."

The man nods, something glinting in his eyes. Something dark. "So... it really can kill you."

She doesn't see it, standing from the table. "Yes. That's why I visit at night... I really should go, Lityerses. Hemera is coming soon."

Something crashes to the floor. A mirror, sending shards everywhere.

"Lit?! Are you alri-"

"Hemera." 'Lit' grasps the edge of a curtain. "Is already here."

He rips the curtain down, sunlight flooding the room and reflecting off of all the shards. Hesper screams in pain, retreating to a corner and hiding behind her cloak. "Lit, what are you doing?!"

"I'm sick of you leaving." He pulls down another curtain and another, ignoring her cries for him to stop. "I'm starting to wonder if you even love me."

"I do! Lit, please-!"

"That's not good enough." He pulls down the last curtain, looking at the cloak wrapped so tight he can only see the shape of her. "I don't want you to leave ever again. You're mine, Hesper. Only mine."

Then he took the curtains and left.

Leaving her to sob.

Thárros can feel the need to conjure his sword bubble under the surface of his skin. He studies the face of the man intently, but makes no move from his spot.

The memories with Lit continue. There’s days worth. Months worth. Years worth. Every time he appears through the door, Thárros has to remind himself there's an end to this. Somewhere, eventually, this ends. He stops screaming at her. He stops abusing her. He stops demanding things he has no right to demand. She stops crying.

It takes another year’s worth of memories before he hears a second man. Not Lit. The small form in the corner shifts.

"... Don't." She hisses to the second man. "Don't eat, don't drink. It's a trick."

She flinches as Lit kicks the door, but she keeps going. "He intends to slow you so you can't beat him."

"Beat him in what?" The man replies.

"A harvesting contest!"

"SHUT UP!" A harsher kick, and she goes quiet again. But the man stands.

"Who is she?"

"A foolish woman who can't keep her mouth shut!" Lit throws open the door, intent on getting her, but the second man pulls him back outside.

"You can deal with her after you beat me."

Lit laughs. "Alright, fine! I've never been beat before, I won't start now!"

Thárros felt great satisfaction when Hercules took his head off.

He watched on as the scenes went by faster; near hits, near kills, threats, all while she gained more scars and better equipment to deal with the sun.

Then she was at a camp. A camp full of demigods. She watched them at night, through the shadows of the woods. She protected them, kept the monsters in line.

And she was utterly alone.

They were frightened of her, of her power. They didn't even know her name. They gave her no thanks. No offering.

Did they even know what she did for them?

Even the children of her brother, Hypnos, avoided her.

... And she protected them anyway.

Tharros was glad that he had picked up from the mortals on how to control their emotions. Something he didn't think he had the discipline to learn.

He had gleaned bits and pieces of her past from their conversations, and from what the others would say and from what Sol would say but he never imagined it so vividly.

It was maddening. Blood boiling.

The only thing he could focus on was how he would have changed it all. How he would have made them worship her, how he would have protected her- treated her like the goddess she is. She would have never wanted for anything or would have worked a day in her life.

FD bit his tongue on multiple occasions. The slight metallic tang in his mouth wasn't enough to deter him from calming down. But it did keep him in place. It kept him from moving. It kept him from going to and destroying them all.

He had clenched his fists so hard that he was sure that his nails had pierced his skin.

Hesper would no doubt question him about it later.

But this is for her brother. Her kin. The one she loved so dearly.

The only other to love her as completely as he did.

It was due.

He would not compromise himself or the child.

He would. Not. Move.

"... Hmph." The Great One huffed, breath ruffling his hair. "I commend you, boy. All that pain to your beloved, and still you refuse to move."

Erebus pauses, watching as a black blood throws Hesper to the ground, driving its weapon through her shoulder. The day Thárros first saw her.

Erebus laughs.

"I fail to see what you do in that pitiful wretch, but I will admit, your loyalty is quite amusing."

Instead of feeling more rage at the scene before him, he calms. He is reminded of what he saw in her, why he fell so hard for her.

He’s reminded why he's here.

He ignores the Great One's sting to her. He takes a breath. "It is I who sees it. You need not concern yourself with it. All I endure is so that you keep your end of the bargain."

"... Enough." Erebus scoffs, and it all ends. "You know the rest of it, so I won't bother making you relive it. Your point is made, and your trial passed. As agreed, I will undo what has been done to the boy."

The Fierce Deity only tenses up more, afraid of ruining this. He nods and bows once more (despite his distaste for the Great One in front of him) for good measure. "My thanks."

"Yes yes, be on your way." Erebus grunts, waving him off into the familiar shadows of Hylian forest. It appears that hours have passed since he has left the group. Night has recently fallen. The last simmers of the sunlight are barely holding onto the horizon. As Thárros walks, the Great One speaks one last time. "... I'm impressed, boy. No god here would do as you have this day. Tell me, who is it that has passed my trial?"

... He's asking for his name?

"I am the Protector of Termina." He settles for a neutral title. "But I am called... Thárros by the daughter night."

"Thárros..." A laugh bubbles out of the primordial being. "Yes, courage indeed... So you will be known by me, Thárros the Protector."

Something alights within him with that. A new purpose. A god with a name.

A god worth honoring.

He bows once more in respect.

Then he turns to leave.

Erebus' presence leaves him and back towards camp Hesper releases a startled yelp.

"Ah! Oh my gods- Sol, you're awake! I- I'm sorry, I'm sorry, yes I know it's late-"

Thárros starts running to the camp.

He stops by the edge, watching Sol sign as quickly as he can, both in confusion and fascination. The young child keeps poking and checking his skin- as if he's expecting to start burning like his sister does.

Relief? Love? Acceptance? He doesn’t know what emotion explodes within him. Whatever it is causes tears to roll down his cheeks and he drops to his knees.

He did it.

He actually did it.

Both siblings turn to him at the sound of his collapse and run to him.

"Thárros? What happened? Are you alright?" Hesper asks as Sol reaches up and wipes his tears away with warm, tiny hands.

Words fail him.

He leans down for Sol to reach better and kisses the boy on the forehead. "Enjoy your blessings, child."

He runs his hand over his hair before turning and picks Hesper up, spinning her around in circles. He peppers her face in all the kisses he can before he dips her, kissing her soundly.

When he pulls back, leaving her dizzy and breathless, he finally finds it in himself to speak coherently. "I told you I'd do it."

"... Oh my gods." Her eyes widen, sparkling as she looks from Sol to him again. "You- oh my gods!"

She laughs and pulls him in for another kiss. Sol has no idea what's happening but he runs around grinning.

He kisses her back happily.

No one else knows what's happening. They're still wondering why Sol hasn't fallen asleep yet, or rather, why he woke up.

Thárros pulls away first, hooking Hesper's legs around his waist. "Be my woman… Please..."

Hesper laughs again as she holds his shoulders to steady herself. "I thought I already was."

"Officially..." He whispers. "I believe Sol mentioned an apple is typically involved."

Hesper went pink, words lost as her lips parted. Slowly though, she smiles, stars warm with light. "... Yes. I'd love to, Thárros."

He smiles back and rests his forehead against hers. "Then it's decided then."

He steals a kiss, running his hands through her hair. "You will want for nothing, I swear by it."

Hesper giggles, brushing white locks from his face. "Of course not. I already have all I could need."

"I would believe a roof is in order, first." Thárros teases, feeling overjoyed and boyish and whole.

"Stay with me." He whispers. "You and the boy."

They could all be together. He would protect them all. His woman, the child-....

Could they start a family? He doesn't want to get his hopes up. But the thought of little ones running around, excites him now that there's little for him to fear.

'Yeah!' Sol somehow wiggles his way between them both. 'I wanna stay with Thárros!'

"Well, if we're all in agreement." Hesper laughs, ruffling Sol's hair along with Thárros'.

Sol chuckles, letting her do as she pleases.

This is it. He's going to do everything in his power. If anything would touch a single hair on their heads... He would have to be personally brought into hell itself for him to cease the rains of fire.

The name placed upon him is Thárros. His old title means nothing now. He is no longer the honorless Fierce Deity but rather Thárros the Protector. He is alight with a new purpose and will remain with his name until his purpose is completed.

He will always have his purpose, for now and forever.

"No one is going anywhere then. You're safe."

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #Fierce Deity #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #i guess?#they're not fully mentioned but Hesper is from that universe #legend of zelda #the fierce deity #FD #Fierce Deity x OC #fierce deity x oc #goodness is that everything?#i doubt it

52 notes · View notes