Tamlin felt the precise instant someone breached the wards of Spring. But something was wrong—because it hadn’t happened at the border. It was close to the manor, as though someone had winnowed straight onto the grounds. No one should have been able to do that but him.
A growl ripped from his throat as he materialized at the edge of the forest, letting his beast form surge free to cover the last distance at a sprint.
There were people there, close—his sentries, Abella, the cook who loved wandering the woods behind Thornhall in search of mushrooms…
His heart thundered in his chest. He was so focused on the possible threat that he nearly stumbled over his own paws when he spotted the lone figure staring back at him, just as startled.
Tamlin shifted back without taking his eyes off him, utterly stunned.
“Azriel? What are you doing here?”
Then realization struck. He noticed the thousands of tiny particles floating in the air. The ones he had just inhaled, the ones clinging to his skin and to the Shadowsinger’s armor.
Hydrangea veritas.
Fuck. Of all the possible scenarios…
“I was hoping I’d run into you.”
Azriel went unnaturally still—as if he couldn’t believe he’d just said the exact opposite of what he’d intended. His carefully constructed lie died on his tongue.
“What the hell? Are you using your magic?”
His anger sparked Tamlin’s. What right did he have to accuse him, when he was the one trespassing? Showing up uninvited, unannounced, without explanation?
“No. This isn’t my magic. Did Rhysand send you to spy on me?” Tamlin asked in return holding him in place with nothing but the weight of his stare.
Again, the truth slipped free, much to Azriel’s clear frustration.
“No. He doesn’t know I’m here.”
Tamlin arched a brow. They hadn’t seen each other in years—and it had likely been even longer since they’d last spoken.
They had been friends once. A lifetime ago, before Tamlin was High Lord, when he could escape to spend time with three Illyrian boys—two of whom had welcomed him with vastly different degrees of warmth. Cassian had been easygoing and open from the start. Azriel…
Rhysand had insisted he was merely overprotective. But over time, Tamlin had learned the difference.
From that first wary, guarded glance to the rare day the Shadowsinger offered him a genuine smile, there was a world of difference. Tamlin had taught himself to read every subtle shift.
Now tension pulled at the corners of Azriel’s mouth.
“If it’s not your magic,” Azriel said quietly, “what’s going on?”
Tamlin pointed to the plant the Shadowsinger had unknowingly crushed beneath his boot.
“Veritas. Its spores force the truth.”
The bronze of Azriel’s skin went abruptly ashen. The Shadowsinger—master of secrets—laid bare, unable to lie?
But Tamlin didn’t care at all about Night Court secrets. Azriel standing here in his lands, had stirred something inside him. Something buried and old.
“I should go.”
Azriel turned, ready to vanish...yet Tamlin’s voice stopped him cold, his shadows stirring restlessly around him. He wished he could claim it was High Lord magic. But he knew better.
“Don’t.”
If he were wise, he would leave. He should leave, before he said something he couldn’t take back. He couldn’t afford that. And yet, he remained, rooted to the spot.
“Azriel…”
He exhaled and finally turned around, defying the last fragments of his better judgment. The question escaped before he could stop it.
“Why? Why do you want me to stay?”
They had been more than friends once, and Tamlin had forced himself to bury the memory. But in Spring, nothing ever truly stayed dead. Feelings weren't the exception. Even if he refused to acknowledge them—even if they weren’t the same anymore—there was something neither of them would name, lingering beneath years of distance, betrayal, and regret.
“I miss you.”
A dangerous admission.
Azriel wet his lips, weighing his options. He was here, Tamlin had already caught him. But if he was bound to the truth, then so was the High Lord. His shadows drifted across the clearing, inching closer to Tamlin, as if already knowing the decision their master would make.
“I miss you too.”
He stayed.
I wasn't sure whether to tag y'all since it's not Azris, let me know if you only want me to tag you in Azris related things.
Additional Tags: Jedi Agricultural Corps | AgriCorps (Star Wars), Plants, Appropriate Use of the Force (Star Wars), Hurt/Comfort, Memories, Resolved Romantic Tension, Love Confessions, Praise, Regret, First Kiss, truth pollen, Cuddle Pollen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Summary: A botanical excursion. When Obi-Wan heard the news from his master, the padawan was sure it was a punishment. The AgriCorps was a topic he prefered to forget, severely impacting his mood once they landed at their destination. He behaved more like a sour apple and less like the padawan Qui-Gon admired so much. When Qui-Gon tried to teach him a lesson about plants, it literally fired back and gave Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan a facefull of scientifically modified pollen nobody knew how humans reacted to.
"Are you okay?" Luna asks the moment the Extra is subdued. In the face of two Martean warriors - granted one of them was only half-Martean - the Extra didn't stand a chance of winning. He sure tried his best though. His fight is over now, but he landed good hits.
"I could be better. It hurts where he punched me in the ribs." Narda replies. She rubs at the aforementioned spot. They were watching the Extra be escorted from afar.
"Oh. I can go get ice for you." Luna offers, already moving to take off in flight.
"No need. I can do it myself, like I always do." Narda shrugs. Lune glances her way. A question sits at the tip of the Martean's tongue, but she lets it go.
"Okay. Are we going to patrol more?" Luna asks.
"No. I have to go back to my actual job or else we all lose our only source of income." Narda pats Luna on the back. She slings her bag over her shoulder and hails a pedicab driver to take her to the foundation. Luna watches her leave with a frown on her face.
Narda doesn't notice how easy words fall out of her mouth, nor the ease by which thoughts flow - uncensored and uncaring. She doesn't notice until she's talking to Andre.
"So," Andre grins, mischievous and ready to cause mayhem, "have you and Brian finally talked again?"
"No." She snaps back quietly. Her hands busy with filing the paperwork she hadn't finished yet.
"When then?" Andre insists.
"Never." She rolls her eyes. "If you haven't noticed, I don't have time between my day job as an EMT, my night job as Darna, and my everyday job of raising a teen boy."
"Come on! You've made the guy wait long enough." Andre walks closer, one hand on the table.
"So? It's not like I'm forcing him to wait. He's a free citizen of this country, so he has the choice to move on." Narda looks up with a slight glare, "I don't understand how his choices in life suddenly became my problem."
Andre leans back. Despite the lack of her armor, Narda looked just as fierce as her superhero counterpart.
"Right, sorry." He sheepishly replies. He's about to say more when he notices a certain lawyer walking their way - fierce staccato steps leading her to them. "Uh, Narda..."
Narda looks up about to snap at him for pushing the issue when she notices Regina. Instantly, her whole body loses tension. She doesn't notice Andre stepping away, focus squarely on the gentle blue of Regina's blazer.
"Narda, you're here." Regina exclaims.
Narda tilts her head, "What do you mean? I'm here every day."
Regina stops short, briefly confused, but soldiers on.
"Yeah, I guess you are. I was just wondering if you wanted to eat lunch together?" Regina says with a laugh.
"Oh. I can't." Narda eyes gain sudden clarity, "It hurts too much to move since I got punched in the ribs an hour ago."
What. The. Fuck. Did she just say that?
The gasps ripped from a delicate throat is proof she did, in fact, just say that. Regina's hand flutter over Narda's torso, closing the small distance between them.
"What?! Oh gosh. Who punched you? What happened? Narda are you okay?" Regina is understandably worried. Narda got punched by some unknown assailant. She feels the first embers of rage light up - her snakes hiss in discontent.
Narda bites her tongue but unbidden and uncontrolled the words spill out of her mouth. "Luna and I were fighting an Extra. He was more powerful than we expected so he gained the upper hand on me but look, see? I'm fine." She grins although her eyes are twitching because why can't she control her words.
"Fighting an Extra." Regina repeats slowly. "WHY are you and your cousin fighting an Extra? Narda! That's so dangerous. Please tell me Luna is okay? Oh my god, where did he punch you? We need to go to the hospital." Regina wraps a hand around Narda's biceps, gently, trying to drag her towards the exit.
"No need!" Narda says, she grits her teeth trying to stop the words but it's so hard. "I'll be healed in maybe an hour, two hour tops. Oh Luna? Well, she isn't my cousin, funny right? She's actually an alien from this planet called Marte." Tears fill her eyes because no, stop.
Regina stops, staring at her in confusion then in shock the in slowly dawning realization.
"Narda?" Regina whispers.
The words do not stop. "And why? Luna and I were hunting that Extra down. Y'know, all in a day's work when you're Darna."
Two Pollens (Alike in Indignity), by rhysiana & ritualist, 12,254 words
Meng Yao/Nie Mingjue, The Untamed, Qinghe-era AU, Truth Pollen, Sex Pollen, Explicit Consent, Desperate Avoidance of the Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known
Summary: Meng Yao gets dosed with truth pollen. The cure has some side effects.
~*~*~
Behold the triumphant final result of two focus-challenged authors collaborating across a 16-hour time difference!
With additional thanks to @annundriel for being the audience for the initial brainstorming and to @theleakypen for the beta (twice).
Vegeta sneezed as he watched Bulma type away on the screen. He was forced to “smell this special flower” and see if there any side effects in the plant. Despite his lack of allergies in his system, this particular flower caused him to have a sneezing feat that had yet to leave him. Vegeta rubbed his nose and sighed as Bulma kept typing.
The moment she stopped, she turned around in her chair with a clipboard and pencil and looked at Vegeta. The prince scoffed, data collection time. He crossed his arms and closed his eyes, and awaited the ridiculous uniform questions that always followed after he played “lab rat” for her.
“Okay so,” Bulma bit her lip nervously. “. . . do you love me?”
“Yes, as a sister.” Vegeta replied nonchalantly. He snapped his eyes open and slapped his hand over his mouth. That wasn’t what he was gonna say, nor was he expecting that odd question.
Bulma nodded at the response and wrote it down on her clipboard. “I guess that makes sense, since we’re divorced. Now,” She glanced at her ex-husband again. “Are you in a new relationship with someone?”
“Yes.” Vegeta grit his teeth. What the hell was wrong with him? He normally kept his mouth shut or ignored these questions for the sake of his pride. And yet, here he was spilling out the truth of his feelings so easily.
Bulma scribbled something on her board again. “Do I know them?”
“Yes, very well.” Oh he wanted to rip his tongue out now. No doubt the woman had figured out who he was having an affair with, and would be telling even the neighbor’s dog about this once she proves it.
More scribbles. “. . . It’s Goku, isn’t it?” Bulma lowered her clipboard and frowned at Vegeta.
“Yes.”
Bulma sighed. She was expecting him to move on after they separated, yes, but not so soon. “. . . do you love him? Truly love him?”
“I love him as much as I love you and Trunks.”
Bulma smiled softly and put the clipboard down. “Thank you,” She swiveled in her seat and looked at the door. “You can come out now!”
Vegeta’s eyes widened. Someone else was listening to them?
Goku stepped out and looked at the two, a big grin on his face. He had been hiding his ki as the two conversed and was glowing with joy when he heard Vegeta confess to him. “I love you too, ‘Geta!” He chuckled. He knew the smaller male was too prideful to say something like that in front of him, and it sometimes made Goku wonder if he was in a relationship with him out of pity or for love. Now he had nothing to worry about.
Vegeta, on the contrary, was thinking of committing murder.
How the hell did he not notice the other’s presence? Even without ki, the earth bound saiyan had a presence that was easily noticed by others. And he heard him confess his love? Oh, Goku was never gonna let him outlive that. “What the hell are you doing here?!”
“I called him here,” Bulma got up and picked up the “special” flower from before on her desk and waved it. “I created this flower with a few modifications to it’s pollen, so that when you smelled it, you’d tell the truth.” She placed the flower down and pointed at Goku. “Mr. Worrywart here thought you were dating him out of pity and wanted to be sure.”
“Wha-” Vegeta growled. He got up from his seat and walked up to Goku. He grabbed his shirt and pulled him close. “You think I’d date you out of pity?!”
“Well you always yelled at me and never cared about the nice things I did for you, so . . .” Goku looked away from his prince.
Vegeta grit his teeth. He pulled him down and kissed him roughly. Bulma giggled at the interaction and walked away.
Goku turned red at the feeling of Vegeta’s lips, not expecting the sudden connection. He returned it happily, smiling into the kiss as he wrapped his arms around the prince’s small waist. He felt the smaller saiyan pull back and grinned at him.
Vegeta looked away, his cheeks warm with embarrassment. “Don’t ever think I’d do anything out of pity, especially date you out of it.” He got out of Goku’s grip and turned around. Vegeta quickly headed in the direction where Bulma walked away. “Woman! Get back here, how long will this ‘pollen’ stay in my system?!”
“Hey, wait up!” Goku ran up behind Vegeta and looked at him, a giddy look on his face. He chuckled. “I have a question!”
Six Sentence Sunday (On Monday, because I was off today and it felt like a Sunday to me whoops)
I’m still working on some old, old WIPs, so I thought I’d share some truth pollen, chapter two words (remember that one?).
"I'm game if you are," he says evenly.
Michael nods, his bottom lip stuck out in an exaggerated look of agreement.
“Okay,” he says, leaning against the cabinets in front of Alex, hands resting on the counter on either side of his hips. “I’ll start. You love me.”
For once, it isn’t a question. Or a hypothetical. Or some convoluted play on tense and sentence structure designed to make the statement less real. It’s a simple truth. The simple truth.
