jello! this is my Gojo Satoru masterlist. it contains drabbles, oneshots and series works. word counts for longer oneshots will be stated in brackets. smut works are marked with blue stars. this has canon/college/non curse aus. I'm always happy to answer any questions and its never too late to discuss anything with me ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა
The Other series ─ .✦ In which your husband loses his memory and forgets you
The Other Man
The Other Woman
The Other Side
Star-crossed series ─ .✦ In which alien!reader crash lands in front of Gojo and your life with him begins all while, slowly but surely, learning what it takes to be human
Finders Keepers
Lights Show
Movie Night ✦
Bubble Bubble ✦
Moon's Light
Dog-Eat-Dog World ─ .✦ In which you are dating Siberian husky hybrid!Satoru (4.9k)
Pathetic piner ─ .✦ In which he is a little simp
Whisking it all ─ .✦ In which Aspiring pâtissier!Satoru is your pastry class rival
I
II ✦
Spread 'em ─ .✦ In which you peg him
Move on ─ .✦ In which neither of you will
New girl ─ .✦ In which you're the new girl at Satoru's school and he's the type to...
Surfs up ─ .✦ In which lifeguard!Satoru bothers you at the beach
Literally ─ .✦ In which he teases you in bed
Teacher!Satoru ─ .✦ In which you and satoru make use of an empty break room
Where the Hell? ─ .✦ In which he cums so hard he teleports you both
Netflix and Chill ─ .✦ In which you get distracted by the movie
Do You Still Love Me? ─ .✦ In which he's an insecure boyfriend
Bzzzz ─ .✦ In which he uses his Limitless to make his dick vibrate
Soaked! ─ .✦ In which he tries the mormon soaking with you (and Choso)
Dear Wifey... ─ .✦ In which fratboy!gojo emails his girlfriend who's blocked him on everything (also in the EdenU established relationship masterlist)
Omnes Sumus Peccatores ─ .✦ In which mormon missionary!Gojo turns up at your door (6.2k)
Slayyy ─ .✦ In which your parents think he's your gay best friend
Candy Cane ─ .✦ In which you fulfil Gojo's Christmas wish: being ass-fucked by a candy cane
Like a Fever ─ .✦ In which your bff has a sudden interest in your blood (3.7k)
Denial ─ .✦ In which popular!reader lets nerd!jo hit
Silky Smooth ─ .✦ In which Gojo is a silk worm hybrid
Double Trouble ─ .✦ In which you wake up cuffed between the gojo twins, nerdjo and fratjo (14k)
Bubblegum Bitch ─ .✦ mean girl!reader x nerdjo series
Grump ─ .✦ In which he reacts to your mood
Did You Give In? ─ .✦ In which nerdjo is manipulated by his gf and he loves it (3.9k)
Baby ─ .✦ In which he's pregnant with your *title*
Ride That Bass ─ .✦ In which speaker!Gojo rocks your world one song at a time (2.7k)
I had 3 spicy dreams about the LADS men in one week, so I took it as a sign to write again 🥴
Disclaimer: This is my first true attempt at writing adult content, so please, please, please go easy on me 🥀
It was really important to get his voice + intimacy right, and after extensive research, I noticed a lot of similarities in the intimate parts of his Tipsy Tender Moments. But inspiration was drawn from several cards!
⤠ Art credit: feyspeaker [x]
⤠ Pairing: Rafayel x fem reader
⤠ Word Count: 3.9k (mostly proofread)
⤠ CW: 18+ mndi, moderate plot, early relationship, slight nipple play, lots of teasing, use of pet names, praise k!nk, oral sex [fem receiving], p in v sex, um…reader’s cup runneth over (ifyky), fluff/aftercare, music vocab; apologies in advanced to any music nerds if I’m using it wrong!
It’s the 5th Annual Patron’s Fundraising Gala for Mo Art Studio, and as usual, you're Rafayel's plus one. Two hours have already gone by, and the excitement fades alongside the glitz and glamour of the upper echelon. Knowing how much Rafayel hated going to such haughty events, you anticipated his standard routine of engagement: Curt conversations, dodging reporters, overindulging free champagne, and closing at least one deal to make up for leaving early. But tonight, he was uncharacteristically social making his rounds to mingle with guest. He was the charming, affable, and witty version of himself that's usually reserved for you.
You overestimated the kinds of stories and gossip expected to come from Linkon's elite, and felt your facade slipping one boring conversation after another. Once you finally managed to excuse yourself from the group, you let out a large involuntary yawn.
“That’s the fourth time you’ve done that, cutie.”
A familiar voice behind you approaches.
“I told you how boring these events are.” Though his tone was soft, you could still hear the amusement in Rafayel’s voice. He removes his suit jacket and carefully places it over your shoulders. "And I know how much those shoes must hurt. You keep shifting your weight and leaning against me." He saw right through you. You hated how observant he could be.
"Because you're always coming up behind me!" you retort, "It catches me off guard..." He narrows his eyes at you, tilting his head slightly to look pensive.
"A bodyguard caught off guard, huh?" He purses his lips and places a finger on his temple deep in thought.
"Shouldn't a brave, skilled hunter like yourself always be on high alert?"
"Don't start—"
"Want me to start wearing a bell so I don't startle you?" he quips.
"Ha ha. Very funny. Take the bell out of next week's pay." Crossing your arms, you let out a sigh of resignation.
Chuckling, he loops a hand through the space between your folded arms, linking you both as he leads you to the foyer.
“It’s getting late. As much as I want you here, I can’t expect you to seriously stick around for something like this. You should get going.” he nudges.
“Hey, don’t think I haven’t forgotten about our bet!"
"Honestly, I’m the one who forgot about it till just now. I thought we were only doing it to kill time." he admits.
"And miss the chance of being serenaded at my beck and call? Nice try. Either you forfeit or I stay here till the first fight breaks out— my money's still on Tamara." you say doubling down.
“Fiiine, fine. I officially forfeit.”
Given your shared competitive nature, it was odd seeing Rafayel back out so easily.
"You’re seriously going to quit just like that?" you asked in pure perplexity.
"Puh-lease, I already knew the culprit when you pitched the bet. I’ve had to attend these kind of events for years now, cutie. It’s always been Mr. Sorenson. The only reason he isn’t blacklisted from tonight’s gala is because of his “generous” donations to the studio." he explains.
"What makes you so sure he’ll do it again this year?"
Right on cue, commotion erupts from the parlor. Shouting voices grow louder as they approach. A team of security pass by, strenuously escorting a short, belligerent man, presumably Mr. Sorenson, out of the villa.
You don't dare look over at the smug expression on Rafayel's face. "Consider yourself lucky you won, and that I’m more musically inclined." he says with one hand on his hip, chest puffed out.
That's two for two. You exhale sharply and turn your head. "Suppose you won't mind coming up with a new song every time then, since you're so 'musically included!'" you mutter.
He gently tilts your chin to face him and cups your cheeks. He uses his finger to smooth out the lines between your knitted brows.
“I know you’re tired and we always leave together, buuut I still have to make nice with a few more patrons to appease Thomas. And unfortunately, it’s a wager I can’t back out of. Head back now, and I’ll figure out a way to ditch the party and join you soon.”
He grabs ahold of your shoulders and steers you towards the exit doors. Before you could turn around to protest, you see that annoying knowing smile on his face he knew you couldn’t refuse. He’s slightly leaned forward with a hand over his heart.
“I promise.”
You finish adding the final touches of lip gloss and setting spray, admiring your work in the mirror. You start tidying the pile of makeup back into the vanity drawers, when suddenly, you feel a pair of gentle hands glide across your back, making you flinch.
"Don't move. Your hair got stuck in your zipper again." he says lowly.
You should be used to this by now. Rafayel has always been there to help when wardrobe malfunctions arise. It’s not like he hasn't seen you in more compromising positions before. But there was something about this level of intimacy that always made you nervous.
“I should really look into slip on garments, I guess." you reply sheepishly.
"Ooor, you could just ask for my help since we always end up here anyway. Just saying."
Holding the fabric taut, he firmly pulls on the tab but the zipper opens more easily than he expected. Your dress unraveled a little too far down, leaving your mid back exposed and lace bra in plain sight. He freezes for a moment. You catch a glimpse of his flushed expression in the vanity mirror. He clears his throat as he brushes your hair aside in attempt to zip you up.
"Sorry." he murmurs.
He takes his time adjusting your zipper, his gaze fixated on your back. He brushes your hair aside again and feels the lacey material graze his fingertips.
"Is this the same lingerie set you were wearing in that picture you sent me?" he asks. His voice dips into a deep, husky timbre. A perfect cross between primal and playful.
His hand unhurriedly wanders across your back stopping at the bra hook. You felt a heat rushing to your face nearly as warm as the palm of his hands. It’s now his turn to peek at your flustered state in the mirror. Mirth in his eyes, he seizes the moment to tease you further.
He takes a step closer, one hand on your shoulder while the other traces the lace pattern with his fingers.
"I'll admit, I wasn't paying close attention to the design when you sent it. The rich, velvety mix of red and purple makes this Merlot colour on you as unforgettable as the wine itself." He leans closer, placing a soft kiss behind your ear. A chill travels down your spine. He speaks above a whisper. "But seeing it in person...the floral pattern. The mesh..."
He makes eye contact with you through the mirror, his gaze dark and unmoving. He slowly slides one strap down your shoulder to get a better view of the lacework. He drags his finger down the neckline and continues.
"The way it plunges juuust above a birthmark...here, yeah?" His finger slightly trembling as he toys with the centre gore.
"I remember you telling me we have the same birthmark. I think mine is a little higher than where yours might be. But I don’t remember."
The suspense mixed with the heat prodding at your core was enough to make your breath hitch.
"The gala starts in 30 minuets." you try to deflect.
"It's a 10 minuet walk from here." he rebuts.
"You haven't seen the shoes I'm wearing..." a lull.
A phone rings, breaking the silence and tension between you.
That familiar ringtone reemerges into the night. The persistent ringing stirs you from your sleep and you wake up to your phone's alarm.
1:30 AM - [No new messages]
You sit up and look at the empty space in bed next to you. Rafayel should've been back two hours ago. You set the alarm to check on him if he hadn't come back by now. You sigh in frustration, still feeling the warmth from your reminiscence beneath the covers. Slightly embarrassed, you rush over to the dresser to grab a change of clothes and head to the bathroom.
While undressing, you can't help but replay what almost took place before the gala. There's an heir of confidence and mischief that always made foreplay with Rafayel slightly intimidating. It didn't matter who initiated, he'd always outmanoeuvre the opposition and there you were, right underneath him. You could kick yourself for chickening out yet again. What if the nerves or intimidation you feel is actually excitement?
Bending over to change, you notice another silhouette on the wall by the doorway. Startled, you turn to Rafayel—cheeks flushed, eyes carrying the same dark intensity from before. With ragged breath, he stands before you slightly off balance.
You let out a sight of relief. "You scared the shit out of me! Why didn't you text that you were heading back?"
He takes a step towards you. "I thought you'd be asleep by then." his speech is slow and raspy.
"I did fall asleep, but woke up to check on you."
Another step. "I didn't get any messages."
"Well, I was about to, but I got...distracted."
He pulls your wrist towards him, to closing the distance. Wrapped in his embrace, he rests his hands on your back finding your bra once again, softly fidgeting with the fabric.
"By planning to ambush me in lingerie?" His hand roams down the side of your arm to grab the unworn panties clenched in your fist.
"What's this?" His voice dips even lower. Placing his forehead on yours, you feel shaky breaths brush across your face.
"I—"
A scathing heat crashes onto your lips interrupting whatever lie you were about to tell him.
"Need me to make sure your hair won't get caught in this too?” he teases. Another kiss reaches your lips with more fervor, hands cradling your neck as the two of you move further into the bathroom.
Breaking free from your kiss. He nuzzles the side of your face.
"The exhibit is over. Sooo, there's no reason not to continue where we left off, yeah?" he coaxed.
"Where did we leave off?" you play along. And that was all the confirmation he needed to help free you of your inhibitions. He lifts you from your legs and sets you on the sink counter. Your noses touch, then he turns his head breathing harder down the side of your neck.
"I was admiring the lacework and we were about to compare birthmarks."
He starts to unbutton his shirt with one hand and unhooks your bra with the other. A fierce blush spreads from his ears, cheeks and neck. Eyes focused on your bare chest. His hand crawls up from your waist to caress your breast. He lowers himself to kiss the birthmark on the centre of your chest making you heave. He muffles a laugh through his nose.
"Hm. I was right. Mine is higher."
He returns to your lips as he brings both hands to knead your breats, sweeping his thumbs over its peaks. You tilt your head back head back in pleasure and he abandons your lips to leave a trail of very wet kisses down your body. From your neck, to the same spot between your breasts, to below your belly button. He loops his fingers around the waistband of your panties and pulls you closer to his face.
"I'm sorry I kept you waiting so long. How can I make it up to you, cutie?" Before you can respond, he spreads your legs apart and starts another trail of kisses from your knee to along your inner thigh. You’re reduced to a string of soft moans.
"Like this?" he coos.
More kisses travel up your inner thigh. Tongue swirling as he reaches closer and closer to the centre. You yelp in surprise and arch your back into the sink faucet.
"Right. I forgot you can't keep still. Hold on."
He carries you bridal style back into the bedroom and gently lays you on the edge of the bed. He hands you a pillow to rest your head as he kneels before you to place your legs over his shoulders.
"There. Are you comfortable?" he asks while rubbing circles on your knee. You smile softly and nod.
“Good. Now I can continue…”
Wet kisses trail even further up inner thigh, each dote travels from one leg to the other. Tongue swirling with a kiss as he reaches the inner most part where your hips and thighs meet. Sloppy kisses turn to slow deliberate licks on your outer folds. Panties already damp from the flashbacks and teasing before. He pulls the hem of your panties taut, giving your sensitive bud more sensation as it twitches against the fabric in anticipation. Another lick, then kiss is placed closer to your centre on either side of your lips. He pauses with half-lidded eyes to admire the state of you. The long wet stain of your mesh lace panties and your bud peaking through.
“You’re so needy for me” he murmurs, ghosting your entrance.
He bunches at your panties and pulls the fabric even tighter — almost fully exposing your soaked core, and with a flat tongue presses one slow, long lick up the center. You arch your back as you let out a long breathy moan.
“Mmm?” he taunts. “You sound so pretty. Speak up, cutie.”
Finally, sliding the string of fabric to the side, he collects the evidence of your arousal pooled at your entrance. He moans in satisfaction at the taste of you. Eyes closed, savouring the flavour, he laps you up again; encasing his lips on your clit with a gentle suck.
With shaky hands and trembling legs, you manage to lift yourself closer to his face to slide down your ruined panties, granting him full access to your aching core.
“So impatient. All you had to do was ask.” he teases. Long featherlight licks to your clit, change to fast, firm flickering, then back to sloppy wet kisses.
“Be honest cutie…” a kiss. “You were wet for me, before I got back, weren’t you?” Another kiss. “The other set of panties?”
“Mmh— ah! Yes!” you cry shakily.
You can feel the smirk on his lips through his ministrations. “I knew it.” he replied. “I can still taste your yearning from before. It’s not as sweet as you are now though,” he continues, dragging your body closer.
“Let me taste more of you...”
His tongue, skillful and diligent, continues to focus on your sensitive bud, lapping you up and down repeatedly. Drooling over your nectar, he gathers more of the slick from your entrance just to slurp you up over and over. Never forgetting to suck your clit before sliding back down again.
He takes notice of how you clench after each suck. Your grip tightening on his hair and shoulders. Your moans once high pitched and breathy, now erupt deep from your diaphragm. He continues sucking while firm circles roll around your clit. Your eyes begin to mist as the all the tension in your body dissipates and recenters to your stomach.
Writhing underneath him, he steadies your hips to anchor you for your release. Gasping between each word, you try to push him away before the dam breaks.
“Wait— ! Raf! I thin—“
Your hips buck forward, unleashing a stream of your essence into his mouth. A squeal gets caught in your throat as he draws out a low moan. Like a fish unfazed by rough waters, he continues swimming upstream. You squeeze your thighs around his head and dig your nails into the back of his shoulders - your back arching and rounding in the euphoria of your climax.
He continues to eat you through your orgasm with languid swirls, cleaning up the evidence between your legs. He plants a final loving kiss on your overstimulated bud before forging a new trail of kisses up your body.
“So beautiful,” he says slowly, looking up at you in admiration. He grabs your hands and interlaces your fingers.
“Watching my dear, sweet hunter succumb to her needs by letting me help her. Drinking from her fountain…” he plants a kiss on your mons.
“I was a great help, yeah?” a kiss on your abdomen. “Don’t you think…” another on your birthmark “I deserve some praise?” One kiss to your breast “for being such…” one to the other “a good boy?” ending with the same searing wet kiss that got you into this mess.
“I haven’t finished making it up to you yet. Buuuut, some encouragement might help pay my debts quicker. Why don’t we help each other?” He stands up, grabbing your legs to wrap around him.
“Alright then. Where do we start, ‘good boy?’” you reply.
“Tell me how I make you feel.” There’s a new sense of sincerity in his voice. He pulls your hand and glides it down his chest. Taken back the sudden switch in power, you hesitate before committing yourself.
“…You make me feel so good, Raf.” He softly groans in response, eyes closed with knitted brows. You continue to caress his chest while guiding his free hand to feel your remaining damp heat. You gasp at the familiar sensation “No one makes me this wet. You always know just how I like it.” you whisper.
His breath hitches. He glides his hand downward, gathering the wetness to draw circles onto your clit. Your hips jerk forward leaning into his touch. “Ah! See?” you relish.
“Yeah, and what else?” he asks, carefully prodding his middle finger to your entrance. You lean your head back, humming in satisfaction.
“I need you. Need to feel you. All of you.”you whine. He grabs your face and pulls you into a long passionate kiss. The annoying trickster did it again. Had to you pliant under his touch and begging for him, despite the new advantage. You break from his kiss and hurriedly loosen his belt to unzip his pants. He presses his forehead on your shoulder, groaning as you steadily roll the latex down his length.
Adjusting the pillow, he lays you on your side, wrapping an arm around your waist as he comes from behind and rubs his length against your wet folds. Aligning himself, he enters slowly. You share an audible sigh at the stretch. “You fit me so perfectly.” he says, kissing your temple. He keeps his pace slow, hips rolling forward in search of your rhythm. Though it doesn’t take long to find that sweet spot, as he hits it with every pump. He slightly quickens his movements, his breath growing louder in attempt to hide his moans. The way he fills you so nicely paired with the pretty sounds he makes was enough to make your toes curl.
You needed to hear more of him. His thrusts grow deeper and you squeeze around him, welcoming the sensation. His face scrunches as he lets out his first audible whimper. You lean your head back to kiss him. He rolls another deep thrust into you and moans into your mouth, the sounds making you wetter.
“More. I need more, Raf. Please.” you beg.
He rolls you onto your back and pumps into you faster, no longer holding back his moans. You grip the sheets beneath you to brace yourself for your next orgasm. You feel warm hands grabbing yours to place them to his waist.
“Hold on to me instead, cutie.”
He lifts your legs, grabbing onto the back of your thighs and positions himself further into you. The tip now grazing your cervix, your vision starts to blur. He’s talented in every sense of the word. The stroke of his hips on par with the stroke of his paintbrush. So steady, so fluid, so delicious. Every motion hitting all the right buttons. Your whines and whimpers, quickly turn into slutty moans.
“Such a beautiful symphony.” He leans down to kiss your collarbone. “Keep going.”
And he's right. Like a conductor, the sounds you make are impacted by the tempo and vigor of his ministrations. Together you arrange a beautiful sound. Feeling yourself fall, you tilt your head back and hips forward, like you’re levitating. A deep guttural sound leaves your body.
“There she is.” he coos.“My cutie coming apart for me.” He slows down to a single deep thrust, scooping one hand to support your neck. Your body quivers beneath him, your legs involuntarily sprawled out.
“Just what my princess deserves. To feel like this every time. So pretty. So soft…” his pace quickening, not too far from his own release.
Hearing your steady climax, his rhythm —once fast and legato—stutters into staccato, each movement coaxing soft whines and whimpers as his movements dampen.
For a moment, the two of you are still. You feel him twitching inside you before he lazily collapses into your embrace. A moment passes, then he rolls over onto his back -hair sticking to his forehead from the sweat. You turn to your side staring at him lovingly. You reach forward to fix his bangs, but he catches your hand and gives it a kiss. He places your hand back on his head and pulls you into his embrace.
“You really see me.” you say hoarsely while coming through his hair.
He quirks his brow and chuckles softly. “Of course I do, cutie.”
“I mean it. Since we’ve been together, but especially tonight. From my clothing mishaps, to my discomfort, my restlessness…my needs.” you reply shyly, drawing patterns on his chest.
“Am I that obvious?” you ask. A gentle kiss presses your check.
“You’re obvious to me, because you always capture my attention. You saw how dull that party was. It was hard not to notice anything or anyone else.”
“Oh.” You were expecting some sort of joke before the sincerity. You’re left speechless for a second.
“Thank you for seeing me. And you’re right, that gala was pretty boring.”
“Hmm? I didn’t quite catch that?”Now that’s three for three. Bastard.
“You were right and I underestimated you. Happy now?” you deadpan.
“Very.” he chimed.
He tightens his arms around you and nuzzles into your neck. His bangs and the breaths from his nostrils tickle your skin and you burst into giggles. “Stop nuzzling me!” you yell, squirming to break free. He loosens his grip, not quite letting you go and holds you for a moment. Eyelashes brush against your cheek for a moment longer before he sits up and puts his arm around your shoulder. You hold hands leaning back against the headboard.
“Since you forfeited, how ‘bout that song?”
“As you wish. What kind of song do you want to hear?” he asks.
“How about a love song to commemorate the night?” you request.
He clears his throat, then theatrically hums an instrumental introduction, before earnestly singing lyrics in his native tongue.
“Wait, how do I know that’s not a real Lemurian song?” you question.
“You don’t.” he says plainly. You playfully nudge your shoulder into him. “Rafayel….” you warn.
“Okaaay, okay.” he concedes.
He continues in the same tune, now in English. The lyrics are somewhat clever, but mostly silly. The blended sounds of his singing and your laughter connected like music notes, composing another beautiful symphony.
ꨄ︎ A/N: Thanks for reading! I still don't love how this is written, but I had to just accept that first attempts are always flawed. I tend to get good feedback on Rafayel posts, so I truly hope I was able to do him justice. I kept thinking of Venus as a Boy by Bjork when writing this, and I think that song suits him well despite him being more Poseidon than male Venus but whatever. THIS WAS SO HARD TO WRITE. And it took an embarrassingly long time to finish so any interaction/comments/feedback is greatly appreciated!
⤠ dividers: strangergraphics, kaitsawamura, and diviniyae
The delivery Hornet is carrying is no heavier than any of the others that she’s brought up to Songclave. It’s become a habit to bring them supplies more frequently after she had to rescue young Sherma from Whiteward in an effort to make sure no other pilgrims would go through such an undertaking for basic medicine. She watched as Tipp and Pill loaded the bundle with a small assortment of salves and balms, along with plenty of bandages and splints at her advice after she had seen the sorry state of a handful of pilgrims who had been attacked by a grand reed.
Regardless of such, she is near enough to her final destination that the annoyance of carrying it has been fully mitigated, and no damage has come to the bundle yet. She is sure the rest of the journey will be smooth enough as to cause no real issue to her.
Entering a long hallway in the Choral Chambers, she is pleased to hear the echoing voice of the Second Sentinel. She sees it soon after, fighting against a handful of haunted choristers and reeds, with an enthralled pilgrim or two already dispatched and lying limply on the marble floor, hemolymph puddled beneath them.
Typically she would aid and join the battle alongside the machine. She sees no good reason for it to fight alone, nor would she wish it too, especially after having seen the chamber in which the decommissioned corpses of its kin rest. But with fragile cargo on her person, and the high risk that an attack or two of the Sentinel’s could hit her before it acquaints itself with her presence in the fight, she chooses to linger by the sidelines, watching and waiting for the haunted bugs to fall. And they do, in quick succession, even without her interference.
When the battle is said and done, the cogwork creation turns to face her. Despite its utter lack of visible expression, it seems almost relieved to see her, its body language going beyond just the crossed blades and bowed head that she has begun to expect from it. Now, its eye lights are zeroed onto her, its focus absolute, where it would usually cast its gaze down or do some rudimentary scan of the room. “Pleased, is th-this Sentinel, to see the Hunt-Hunt-Hunter in Red well.”
“Know that I feel the same, friend, but I see more than just simple happiness in the way you carry yourself. Has something gone wrong in this place that needs my attention?” She hopes it’s nothing urgent, if there is anything at all. The ever present weight of the delivery makes her want to continue pressing towards Songclave as quickly as possible, both to aid the people huddled there and to be rid of the burden of carrying it around. She’s lost far too many similar packages during her ascent to the Citadel, much less inside it, and she wishes to not have to make the trek again wherever possible, both for the sake of the couriers and their surely meager supplies to give and for the people who need them to get them in a timely manner. There is not room for failure, and as such there is no room for waiting.
But she appreciates the Sentinel’s company, in the rare instances it will stay in one place and indulge her in conversation. The fact that it has not run off does make its intentions clear enough, though. Of course it needs her aid, and, for it, she will oblige any request it could desire.
“Protected, are the voices within-in the eternal Citadel. Safe, are this Sentin-tin-tinel’s charges.” It takes a step closer to her, only confirming her theory that it is in need of something. “A request has b-been asked of this Sentinel re-re-regarding the Hunter. To see her safely escorted t-to the First Shrine is its goal. Two figures wish to-to-to make acquaintance with her, it sur-sur-surmises. Friends, not foes. Query: Shall we p-proceed onward?”
This gives her some pause. She’s not been made aware up until now of anyone trying to get into contact with her, nor can she think of anyone who would want to, at least for friendly reasons like the Sentinel says. She’s made plenty of enemies who she can imagine would seek revenge—should that end up being the case and the machine’s presumption proves to be false, she will not be shocked— but allies? The idea is curious enough to have her wanting to investigate further. And the convenience of the matter doesn’t shock her, either. She still needs to finish this delivery of hers, and the Second Sentinel is offering to act as an escort, which will minimize the risk of the shipment being destroyed.
“Very well. Lead us forward, friend.” She gestures in the direction of Songclave with her needle, and finally it breaks its formal bow, joints clicking as it does so. Immediately it begins the trek, leaving her to pursue it. She follows diligently, running to match its marching pace.
As expected, whenever danger crosses their path it will spring into action, killing the haunted quickly before snapping back onto the route, hardly sparing a glance back to her. She expects nothing more, having seen on many occasions the same behavior, so baked into its programming that she is certain it must have done this for its entire existence. She appreciates efficiency, and the Sentinel’s behavior is no different, even if other bugs would see it as poor manners to run so far ahead without even looking back. To her it is respect. It knows she will keep herself safe, should the worst come to pass and she is attacked. All she sees is that its actions make the trip through the Choral Chambers quick. They arrive at the entrance to Songclave in no time at all.
The Sentinel stops just before entering, keeping itself far enough away from the doorway into the outside that it is bathed in shadow. She presses onward, nodding her thanks as she passes it, knowing well they prefer to skirt on the edges of the village, and takes a cursory glance out into the settlement. Nothing seems out of place initially. The pilgrims seem as they usually do, all huddled together in prayer and song, or at least conversation. But the Caretaker seems fixated on something within the First Shrine itself, and she doesn’t see little Sherma anywhere.
She approaches the Caretaker, the patter of her footsteps enough to draw his attention before she’s at his side. He meets her in the middle, eyes narrowed. “Well look here, bellringer! Your actions bring more people to the shrine day by day! And these few makin’ a spot for themselves in the shrine itself!”
“I have directed no new bugs to seek shelter here. If they have come, then it is of their accord, not mine. I came only to bring more supplies initially, and was told by the Sentinel that I was sought after. Would you know anything of this?”
They exchange the supplies as he retorts, “Bah! These two certainly do seek you, though that does bring me some surprise. You have made odd acquaintances in your time, Old One. They are made of that which is deep and old, swirling below our world. Their presence alone has made the shabby pilgrims of this place all nervous, but that’s what old powers will do, I suppose…”
Hornet stopped listening after he described their makeup, moving past him and to the shrine’s entrance, entering immediately without even a cursory glance. She knows of whom he must speak of. She knows she does.
She hurries inside the shrine, casting her glance across the room until her eyes land on three figures near the back: Sherma, playing a song on his chimes, facing away from her, and her siblings, Hollow and Ghost. Both of their heads turn to face her when she enters, likely drawn by the noise, but they still for just a moment when their eyes meet. The world seems to freeze, other than the boy’s song. Until she darts forward, breath hitching in her chest. Ghost dashes to meet her, crashing into her and nearly knocking her off her feet. They clamber for a hug, half-climbing her body to wrap their arms around her neck, tarsi kicking from pure excitement, she can tell. Hollow is slower to rise, heaving itself up off the ground, leaning against the wall to aid itself. She hardly lets it get any further, carrying Ghost in her arms to meet it where it is, and it sinks down to its knees, opening its arm to join the hug. She presses into its chest, one of her arms going to wrap around its thorax, the other holding Ghost aloft.
Sherma seems a little lost during all of this, his song petering off to an awkward stopping place as he looks at the siblings. “Ah! Hoy, Red Maiden! You know these two pilgrims?”
She hardly looks back at the boy, holding onto both of her siblings as tightly as she possibly can, heart thrumming in her chest. It’s impossible to believe her senses. She can feel and see and hear them, but it all feels so far away. It’s been so long, too long. She couldn’t put her joy into words if she tried. Shakily, she draws a breath and replies: “We do know each other, it is true.” She tilts her head just enough to look him in the eyes, “Little one, these two are my siblings, Ghost and Hollow. While I doubt they have come here on a pilgrimage, they have come from very far, traveling across the wastes to see me found,” She looks up at Hollow, a smile forming on her chelicerae, “and I am very happy to see them both again. We were separated by unforeseen circumstances, and I apologize for not having found my way home sooner. But I am glad you have come to find me.” She’s not sure when she stopped speaking to Sherma and began speaking to them. She’s not sure it matters. Both of them squeeze her tighter, and she does the same.
Still seeming no less confounded by the situation, Sherma leaves, nothing more than a polite goodbye signaling his exit. Hornet hardly notices, eyes shut contentedly. She’s fully leaning onto Hollow, shoulder sagging. Ghost squirms out of her arms, tugging at the hem of her cloak, then at one of the Feyforn’s feathers that’s been sewn in. She glances down at them, then at what they have in their hands. “You are curious about the changes to my outfit?” They nod, plucking the feather fully loose, running their hand through to soft bristles. “It is a very long story, one I will be happy to indulge the two of you in. We have found each other at an opportune time.”
Hollow loosens its hold on her, and she sits at their side, Ghost sitting before her, and she recounts her tale. The choristers who stole her away from Hallownest, the journey through the wastes, the seals breaking on that cage she was trapped in, ascending the kingdom all the way to the Citadel, the enemies she fought, all of it is recounted in as much detail as she can muster. By the end of it, the night-cycle has begun, a warm quiet falling over the township outside the shrine, the pilgrims fast asleep. Hollow hardly looks more awake itself, head leaning back only to snap upright and to attention once more. At her story's conclusion, she leans into them. “Should you need to rest, simply do so. I will keep watch to ensure our safety, and we can discuss our proceedings tomorrow.”
Ghost shakes their head, pointing to her, then putting their hand flat by one of their eyes, fingers pointing up, before closing their digits towards their outstretched thumb. “You sleep.” Hollow nods its ascent, loosely wrapping its arm around her shoulders.
“I have very little need for such an indulgence, you both are aware of this—”
They cut her off, almost pushing her so that she’s lying down, curling up by her side, then repeating their signs from before. “You sleep.”
“I—” she sighs, a fondness she had almost wrung herself clean off creeping up on her once more. “Very well, if you insist upon it. You are lucky I have deemed this place safe enough for such a thing, but any time after this we shall rest in Bellheart instead. I have a temporary residence there that will serve such ends far better in the future.” Even with her exasperation, she pulls them close to her, and they bury their head into her chest. Hollow remains sitting up, but leans back against the wall fully, its hand enough to blanket Ghost fully and to partially cover Hornet.
There is nowhere else she’d rather be than here, she determines. Nowhere else she’d call home but with them.
Bedtime Stories For a Demon, Night 2: Swan Lake (Lucanis x Rook Fanfic)
The next night, Lucanis finds himself arranging a few plates on the dining table ahead of Rook’s planned arrival. He arranges, then rearranges, doubts what he made, or if it was weird thing to do in general. But he remembers his conversation with Neve from earlier in the day, and that seems to hold his nerves steady for the time being.
He had walked into her office-room with a question. And Neve, unsurprisingly, knew exactly what that question was before he even got to her front door. She was a damn good detective, he had to give her that.
“Planning something special for Rook?” she asked coyly.
“You know her better than I do” He admitted, scratching the side of his beard. “She’s … helping me. I want to do something nice for her”
“Is that all?” Neve quirked a brow and leaned back in her chair. An errant wisp floated by her hair, which she quickly swatted away gently.
Lucanis frowned. “Yes. That is all. Just tell me what I should make for her”
Neve crossed her arms, “Information rarely comes free in Minrathous”
“We’re not in Minrathous” he pointed out.
“You can take the girl out of the city, but you can’t take the city out of the girl” she said wistfully, closing her eyes and grinning.
Lucanis groaned and ran a hand down his face. “Fine, what do you want”
“Fried fish for dinner tomorrow night”
“I was going to make Paella tomorrow night”
“Well, now you’re making fried fish” Neve quipped.
“Mierda, alright. But I’m also making vegetables” He pointed at her, “You people need to get better eating habits”
Neve grinned and steepled her fingers together, then leaned forward on her desk. “Make the churros again. You might not have noticed her sneaking an extra one or… five, during dinner, but I certainly did. She wouldn’t stop talking about them the day after you made them”
“Churros” He repeated thoughtfully, as he rubbed his beard. He could do that. He should still have some ingredients left over from the first time he made them last week.
Rook likes sweet things. Smells like sweet things. Spite echoed in his head. He ignored that.
“Thank you, Neve” He gave her a curt nod before he turned to leave. “There will be fresh coffee in the dining hall in a few minutes if you’ve a mind for a real cup of it.” He called over his shoulder.
Lucanis left to her chuckling behind him and closed the door to her office. He had spent the rest of the day gathering supplies, and later in the evening when he was certain the team was asleep, he began preparing. The routine of baking and cooking was as calming as sharpening his longsword on a whetstone. Slow, methodical, rhythmic. But unlike sharpening his swords and knives, the end product was something that could bring joy, rather than misery and death. He tries to hang on to that.
When he finishes the churros, he decides that’s not enough. He makes a chocolate sauce to go with the churros. But maybe she prefers caramel? He should have asked Neve. So, he makes a caramel sauce as well. Then, he wants to see if she’ll like cioccolata calda and starts preparing that. It’s fairly late in the evening when he finishes the croissants he wasn’t planning on baking.
No sign of Rook yet.
He’s not sure when he started pacing with his second cup of coffee in hand.
She had accompanied Bellara to Arlathan – something about Veil Jumpers going missing deep in the forest. He shouldn’t worry. He’s seen Rook fight, she’s more than capable. But she does have a certain recklessness to her way of fighting. No - he doesn’t need to worry. He isn’t worrying.
He continues pacing. Then, he’s once again finding flaws with his arrangement of the desserts on the table. Would she find this strange? Too much? Off-putting, and not in a charming way but an unsettling way? Was there even a way to be charmingly off-putting?
He's pacing again.
“Am I interrupting something?”
He stops in his tracks.
Her voice has caught him off guard two nights in a row. That is a problem.
“Rook” He says stupidly.
“Hi” She waves meekly, and limps into the dining hall with a groan. She’s dragging her left foot on the ground. “Sorry I’m late – ran into trouble in Arlathan.”
He takes a few tentative steps closer. He wants to extend his hand, but some unknown force keeps it to his side, his entire body wound tighter than Harding’s bowstring.
If his body won’t move, his mouth will have to pay the balance.
“What happened? Are you alright?”
Rook winces and draws closer to the large wooden table.
“Rage demon” she answers, pulling out a chair by the fireplace “And I’m happy to report it lived up to its name! It wasn’t very happy to see us”
He pulls out a chair beside her. She turns to him and laughs bitterly, “Have you ever been burned and stabbed on a job? Because I found out what that feels like today, and it’s kind of awful. Thankfully Bellara was able to patch me up”
Lucanis looks down at her left leg. Whatever injury she sustained is covered by her pants, but he can surmise from the way she’s shifting nearly all her weight onto the other leg it must have been bad.
“You leave your left flank wide open when you fight” he says, absent-mindedly. And immediately wishes he hadn’t.
“What?”
Mierda.
“You have a habit of leaving your left flank open.” He says quickly, then looks into the fire. Anywhere but her confused face. “Something I’ve noticed on the field.”
He feels her staring. He’s said something he shouldn’t have said. He doesn’t know how to right it other than by offering her food as a distraction. Lucanis turns to his handiwork and reaches for the bowl of churros, all but thrusting it in front of her.
“Churro?” He asks hopefully.
If Rook is taken aback by the odd exchange, she has the manners not to say anything. She blinks twice and looks down at the dessert.
“You made this for me?” She tilts her head.
Lucanis rubs the back of his neck.
“I … yes” He sets the bowl back on the table after she gingerly takes one in her hand. He wonders if they’re as soft to touch as they appear. “I thought dessert might pair well with your stories”
Rook chuckles, and leans in closer “It’s a good thought”
Smells like Blood and Ashes and Brimstone, Spite’s anger reverberates through his chest. She’s supposed to smell like sweet things.
For once he’s grateful for the demon’s interjection as it keeps him from staring at her while she eats the churro. And licks the cinnamon sugar from her lips. He shouldn’t be paying attention to this.
“Mmm” she sighs, an expression of serene delight passing over her features. His chest tightens.
Rook grins, oblivious to the effect she has on him, “These are dangerous you know- you can’t keep making them for me or it’ll be all I’ll eat”
Lucanis sighs and pushes the chocolate and caramel sauces towards her. “You and Neve are peas in a pod evidently.”
Rook squeals in delight and wastes no time dipping the dessert into the chocolate sauce.
She prefers chocolate.
“So” He starts, awkwardly shifting in his seat, “What tale will you tell tonight?”
He pretends not to notice her wiping a smear of chocolate sauce from the corner of her lip with her finger.
“Oh, right” She reaches into her side pocket and pulls out the small journal. Rook flips through its pages, humming thoughtfully. She lands on a page near the end of the journal before stopping.
“This might be a good one.” Rook snaps the journal shut and places on the table beside her. “Have you ever heard the tale of Swan Lake?”
Even if he had, he would say no. If she wants to tell him a story, he won’t sway her.
“The original story is from Nevarra, but it was adapted into an Orlesian ballet some time ago” Rook continues, not giving him a chance to answer before barreling ahead with her explanation. “Apparently it was one of Emperor Judicael’s favourites. He liked it so much he had the ballet house play it nearly every night, and producers of the other ballet’s threatened to quit en masse. It was so bad, the play was actually banned in Orlais for about fifty years because of that whole debacle. Caused quite the scandal”
“Must be a good ballet” He remarks, before getting up from his seat. “Wait here for a moment, Rook”
Rook nods and reaches for another churro, “Sure”.
Lucanis returns with two steaming cups and passes one to Rook. She takes it gratefully and lifts the warm beverage to her nose. “Mmm! What is this? Smell’s divine”
“Cioccolata Calda. An Antivan specialty”
“Is it coffee?”
“Try it”
Rook does as she’s told and takes a curious sip. Her eyes widen and her lips split into a large smile. “That is amazing. I think I have a new favourite drink”
“They make it better at Café Pietra, but this will do for tonight” Lucanis sits back down and takes a sip of his own cup. It’s a little too sweet for him, but the look on her face assures him it was a good call. “If we find ourselves in Treviso again, we can –“
“I like the way you make things” Rook says quietly, gripping her cup a bit tighter. She’s looking down at her cup, and it’s probably for the better. He is certain the tips of his ears are a furious shade of red.
“Thank you” He whispers, after a few moments of quiet pass between the two. “That’s… very kind of you to say”
“You’re welcome” She replies, crossing her legs in her seat like she did yesterday. She looks like she wants to say something else, but a quick shake of her head and a clap of her hands brings her focus back to the reason she came here.
“Okay, umm, let’s see here” Rook’s gentle features twist in concentration.
Her hands begin glowing with that familiar blue light, and as she raises her arms and gives a flourish with her left hand.
A castle once again fills the empty space between their chairs. This one has a central dome surrounded by four gilded towers with pointed roofs – different in style and architecture from the one yesterday, but no less impressive.
“Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, there lived a handsome and gentle prince by the name of Siegfried”
The castle ripples out of existence, and in its place, is the form of a young man with short, cropped hair, a broad chest, and a large bow on his back.
“Prince Siegfried was one of the most accomplished hunters in the kingdom. It was said he could hit any mark, no matter the distance. His aim would always be true. Some versions of the story mention his crossbow being enchanted, others chalk it up to pure skill. Either way, he’s a good shot” Rook grins and makes the figure of the Prince aim an arrow right at Lucanis’ chest with a crook of her finger.
Lucanis raises an eyebrow and holds his hands up in mock defense, “Tell the Prince he should stick to animals – I might be above his paygrade”
Rook bursts out into laughter and as her concentration breaks for a moment, the image of the Prince flickers in and out of existence.
“Sorry, carry on.” Lucanis smiles as she rights herself in her seat and places her hands back into position.
“Yes – where was I?” Rook flicks her wrist, and the Prince is back in view. This time, he’s joined by another figure. A tall woman, dressed in a long, flowing dress with an ornate crown on her head, comes to stand next to him.
“His mother, the Dowager Queen, comes to inform him of an upcoming ball that will be held at the royal palace. ‘At this ball, my son, you will choose a royal bride. For I am late in my years and wish to see grandchildren in these palace halls before I depart’” As before, the Queen’s mouth moves in rhythm with Rook’s words – like magical ventriloquism.
Rook waves her hand and the Queen disappears. The form of the prince cradles his head in his hands.
“The Prince is despondent at this news. He wanted to marry for love, not political power. Surely, he has a right to his own heart, at least?” The Prince sinks to his knees and stays like that for a few moments.
Another flourish from Rook, and a new figure appears. Shorter, portlier than the Prince, but with kinder features.
“His friend Benno sees how upset he is, and wonders how he can help cheer up the Prince”
Both figures disappear as Rook pauses to take a sip of her hot chocolate. He tries to ignore Spite’s impatient rippling at the edges of his consciousness.
Siegfried and Benno return soon thereafter.
“Benno looks out the window, and happens to see a flock of swans flying outside”
Rook waves the swans into existence, and they flit around Siegfried and Benno in circles before disappearing. The figure of Benno tugs on the prince’s shoulder sleeve.
“‘Your highness, a hunt!’ he exclaims, pointing out the window” The figure of the prince straightens, his interest piqued by the animals.
“Benno gathers a few other men from the castle, and along with the prince, they all ride out to the forest to hunt the swans”
The scene changes to Benno, Siegfried, and three other men riding horseback through a dense forest canopy. He will always be in awe of the imagery she’s able to bring to life with her magic. Never in a hundred years would he have thought of using magic in this way. Then again, Rook is anything but a typical mage, so he shouldn’t be surprised.
“At some point, Prince Siegfried becomes separated from the group”
One by one, Benno and the other men disappear, until only the prince remains, trotting horseback through the air on the spot.
“He comes to the lakeside clearing and finds the flock of swans.” The swans reappear, now floating on the edge of an invisible lake. The figure of the Prince draws his crossbow and pulls an arrow from the quiver. As he nocks the arrow, one of the swans transforms into a beautiful young woman. She has a long plait of hair spilling over her left shoulder. She’s wearing what Lucanis assumes, from its puffy construction, a ballet dress. The skirts are feathered, and feathers even fall from the dress, winking out of existence moments later.
He leans in closer to observe the finer details.
“You have quite the imagination, Rook” Lucanis smiles at her.
She returns it in kind and brushes a stray curl behind her ear. She looks shy, almost, and like she’s avoiding looking at him. “Some say over-active”
“I think it’s just right” He pulls back and takes a sip of his own hot chocolate.
“Thanks…” She whispers, drawing her legs closer together. When she sees her figures flickering again, Rook’s brows bunch together and the blue light in her hands grows brighter.
“The … ah … the Prince was so transfixed by her beauty and grace, he had to know more about her”
The figure of the prince begins moving closer to the woman, but the woman begins to back away.
“But she was frightened, for she did not know this man, and feared the crossbow in his hands”
“‘Wait!’ The prince calls just before she leaves his sight” The prince holds out his hand and tosses his crossbow to the ground. Well, the air. “‘Please stay, I’ve not a mind to hurt you. Won’t you tell me who you are?’”
The young woman stops and rests her hand on her chest.
“‘My name is Odette, and I cannot leave this place’”
“Why?” Lucanis is leaning forward, practically on the edge of his seat.
Rook leans in closer. Too close. Close enough to reach out and touch. Her large, doe-like green eyes, framed under long and wispy eyelashes, feel like they’re burning themselves into his soul.
Chocolate and cinnamon. Spite shrieks gleefully, and he wants to draw back. His heart throbs loudly in his ears, almost drowning out the demon. Almost.
“The prince had the same question” She winks and returns to her previous spot before he has the chance to pull away first.
“Odette explains she’s been placed under a curse by a powerful, but wicked mage. His name was Von Rothbart, and he was obsessed with Odette.”
The prince disappears and is replaced by a taller man with hair tied behind his back and sharp, hawk-like features. He was dressed in a finely tailored doublet, with a side-cape hanging by a large broach affixed to the right shoulder. A faint red light shines from the broach.
“He kidnapped her from her home and used her blood to bind her soul to the gem in his broach. ‘Marry me’, he asks her every night. Every night she refuses. Every morning thereafter, she turns into a swan. And every night, she is called back to Swan Lake and turns back into a human. Such had been her fate for the last five years. It’s a powerful spell, born of ancient magic – but not an invulnerable one.”
Rook arced her hand over Odette, who’s form morphed from human to swan to human again with every back-and-forth motion of her palm.
He doesn’t have the words, none that will meaningfully add to the conversation at least, to describe how he feels about the way she uses her magic. Amazing, incredible, inventive all seem inadequate.
“There was one way to break Rothbart’s spell. A man would need to profess his love for her and remain faithful to that vow forevermore”
The figure of the prince kneels down on one knee, evidently ready to profess that love immediately.
Lucanis is resting his elbow on his knee, and his chin rests in his hand. His cup of hot chocolate rests forgotten by his side, as do the churros and croissants. He is certain she doesn’t realize how captivating she – her stories, are.
But they are interrupted by Rothbart, suddenly appearing beside Odette. He grabs her roughly by the arm and holds her beside him.
The prince stands with righteous anger. He has an arrow pointed at the figure of Rothbart.
“‘I shall slay this wicked mage, and free you from his grasp’” Siegfried declared”.
As the prince was about to loose the arrow, Lucanis is surprised to see Odette step in front of Rothbart, her arms spread wide in defense. The prince lowers his bow hesitantly.
A low growl escapes his throat, his eyes flash an angry violet “Why would she do that?” Lucanis’ voice is drowned by the deep and unnatural timbres of the demon, echoing together in a discordant symphony.
“Spite” Rook says calmly, like one would address a misbehaving child. “May I have Lucanis back so we can finish the story? You’ll find out why in a moment”
Lucanis’ face contorts with frustration. His violet eyes burn bright with anger, “Want. To know”
“You will, soon. Now bring Lucanis back”
Lucanis – well, Spite, growls again. When the demon refuses to relent, Rook hesitantly touches his forearm and frowns. “Please?”
The violet in his eyes dims, and Lucanis shakes his head. It was rare for Spite to surge to the forefront so quickly.
He couldn’t understand why the princess would protect someone who hurt her.
Lucanis takes a deep breath, and exhales slowly.
“Are you alright?” Rook asks quietly. The figures are long gone now, dissipated by the distraction that was Spite.
He realizes she’s still touching his forearm. Warm, and calming. Gentle. They both look down and she quickly pulls away. He feels the withdrawal of her warmth like gust of cold settling on his skin.
“Yes, I’m fine – don’t worry” He gestures to her, “Please, continue with your story”
Rook still looks hesitant, like she doesn’t quite believe him. He wouldn’t either, he supposed. He needs her to continue the story. Needs to distract himself from the feeling of her soft fingers lingering on his skin, like a brand.
She relents and her hands glow blue again.
The three figures of Siegfried, Odette, and Rothbart return.
“Odette explains that her life is tied to Von Rothbart. If he dies, then the spell imprisoning her can never be broken”
The figure of Rothbart retreats into a deeper part of the forest she’s conjured.
Odette and Siegfried share an embrace.
“’Come to the royal ball in three days’ time. There, I will profess my love to you in front of the entire court’ Says the Prince, resolved to defy his mother and marry her instead of a princess.”
The figure of Odette nods and disappears soon after.
“What they don’t know is that Rothbart heard the entire exchange, and he had a plan to make sure Odette could never escape him” Rook frowned.
The prince disappears next, and they are back with Rothbart and another young woman. This one slender and petite, with the same sharp features as the man next to her.
“Rothbart had a plan. He would use magic to disguise himself” Rook waved a hand and Rothbart morphed into the dress and appearance of an unassuming peasant. “And his daughter, Odile” She waved her hand again, and the young woman became an identical copy of Odette – but her dress, was glowing with an ominous black light.
“There’s no way that’ll work” Lucanis throws his arms up and leans back in his chair. “He has to know that Rothbart won’t just let her waltz into the ball”
Rook merely shrugs, “You’ll have to wait and see”
Lucanis crosses his arms over his chest and frowns. “Continue”
Rook laughs, “Alright, alright”
Odile and Rothbart disappear. They are replaced by a grand ballroom floor, with guests dressed in all sorts of finery decorating the dance floor like little spinning jewels.
At the top of a grand staircase sees Benno, Siegfried, and the Queen gathered together.
“Siegfried anxiously awaits the arrival of Odette” Rook explains, before waving her hand and bringing to life the disguised figures of Rothbart and Odile-as-Odette.
“Overcome with joy when he sees her, he immediately asks her to dance”
The two come together, and the rest of the ballroom disappears. They twirl about the ballroom in an elegant pas-de-deux.
“At the end of the dance, Odile asks him one simple question”
The pair part, and the prince drops to one knee in front of her.
“’Do you love me, and only me?’”
Lucanis watches intently as the figure of the prince bows his head in front of the pretender.
Sadness washes over Rook’s face. “The Prince, none the wiser, proclaims his love to the entire court ‘Of course I love you’ – but it wasn’t enough. Rothbart, masquerading as the girl’s father, asks him to make a binding vow in front of the Queen. Siegfried, thinking nothing of it, does so immediately”
Rook waves her hand and the figures of Rothbart and Odile return to their original forms. Suddenly, the real Odette, in her pure white dress, is inside the ballroom. She crumples to the floor as she witnesses the Prince profess his love for Odile.
“Odette, heartbroken, flees the ball and returns to the lakeside clearing. The prince follows after her, distraught at what he’s done.”
The two figures stand in front of each other on the lake.
“Odette eventually forgives him, realizing that he was under Rothbart’s spell just as much as she was. But the damage was done. His actions consigned her to live as a swan forevermore”
Lucanis frowned, unable to see a path to a happy ending. But Rook was full of surprises, maybe her stories were as well.
“Odette and the Prince resolved to leave this world together, rather than be bound by Rothbart’s magic”
The figures of Siegfried and Odette walk towards the lake, hand in hand. They slowly sink together under the willowy depths.
Well, he wasn’t expecting that.
A moment later, they both disappear under the water.
The figure of Rothbart returns into view. The red light of the broach on his shoulder flickers in and out, before dying out completely. Rothbart collapses to the ground and remains still.
“It’s true that Odette’s life was bound to Rothbart’s – but the magic worked both ways. Rothbart’s life was also tied to hers. And when she left this world of her own will, he left it against his”
A moment later, Rothbart disappears and in his place are two ghostly swans, flying in circles together.
“The spirits of Siegfried and Odette are reunited in the Fade, until they decide to pass on together”
With a final flick of her wrist, the birds disappear, and there is nothing but empty space between him and Rook again.
“The End”
Lucanis exhaled.
“Not the most cheerful ending” He remarks, taking another sip of hot chocolate.
“What was it you said about that one brew at Café Pietra? Bitter and sweet - like a kiss goodbye?” Rook nods and absent-mindedly chews on another churro. “That’s how I think about this ending. Not every story has an overtly happy one”
He’s dumbfounded she even remembers that throwaway comment.
“I still don’t understand how the prince doesn’t question Odette appearing at the ball. With a father she hasn’t seen in five years, supposedly” He wants to change the subject. Away from kisses, goodbye or otherwise.
Rook shrugs, “That’s a question for the author- though he’s likely about four hundred year’s dead.” A light twinkles in her eyes, “Maybe we can find him here, in the Fade, and ask his spirit!”
Lucanis laughs, “Now there’s an idea”
“I’m full of them. Some better than others” Rook grins sheepishly. She begins massaging the side of her left leg.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, following her gaze down.
“Nothing – it’s just starting to ache a bit” Rook winces. “That demon got me good”
“Let me see” Lucanis drops to his knee in front of her. “If that’s alright”
Rook removes her hand and drops her gaze to look at him.
“Oh – it’s fine, Lucanis, really. I’ll bug Bellara about it in the morn- “
“It’s better if you bug me about it now. It might get worse over the course of the night”
He gestures to her pant leg, “May I?” He asks again.
Rook bites her lip, before relenting. “Sure… go ahead” she answers softly and lifts her leg so he can support it in his right hand.
He clicks his tongue when he sees the damage under her dressing. The lateral portion of her lower leg is covered with an irritated and inflamed superficial burn. Three parallel gash marks, likely closed thanks to Bellara’s healing magic, create tracts of bright crimson skin. She hisses when he gently presses on the skin of her leg.
“I have something for this. Wait here” He carefully lowers her leg and returns a moment later with a small jar from the pantry.
“Embrium and Elfroot paste, good for burns and skin irritation. It’ll also prevent infection. Apply it twice a day” He sets the jar on the table beside her. “Let me know if that gets worse”
Rook grins, “I didn’t know I was getting a doctor and an assassin in my contract”
Lucanis chuckles, “Any Crow worth their salt knows how to close a wound just as well as they can open one. Consider it on the house”
“Is the all the cooking on the house too?” Rook slowly stands up, and they’re only a few inches away from each other now.
Lucanis nervously rubs the back of his neck, “I think it has to be, with the way you people eat”
“Hey! I’m not that bad” She places her hands on her hips and frowns. “I eat vegetables … sometimes”
“I’ve seen you pick out the eggplant in every dish”
“Okay, I don’t like one vegetable”
She shakes her head and gathers a few churros and croissants onto a plate. Rook sticks a croissant in her mouth, and speaks around it, “Just for that, I’m eating nothing but these for the next two days”
“You’re going to miss Paella night” He deadpans.
Rook swallows and places another croissant defiantly on her plate.
“Three nights”
Lucanis sighs. At least she seems to like the food.
Rook’s laughter fills the dining hall. “On that note – I should get some sleep. I hope Spite doesn’t give you too much trouble for the rest of the night”
“He won’t” Lucanis doesn’t know that but says it to give her some reassurance. “Good night, Rook”
“Madeleina”
“What?”
“My name … it’s Madeleina. You can call me that if you want” She smiles widely. “Rook is fine too, though”
“Madeleina” He repeated softly. He smiled, and for the first time all night, he feels like he can keep her gaze. Their eyes meet, and it feels like an entirely new conversation is happening between them. “It suits you”
Rook toys with an errant curl and smiles. “Thank you”
“I – umm… I should get going. Goodnight, Lucanis” she adds quickly.
She quickly rights herself and for good measure, steals one more churro from the bowl. Madeleina then turns and begins hobbling out of the dining hall, leaving Lucanis and Spite to mull the feeling of her new name over in his mind.
