#Rug cleaning Silver Spring

[cleaningsilverspring]

Why Diy Doesn't Always Cut It: The Importance Of Professional Stain Removal Services In Silver Spring

The art of stain removal can be a tricky one; for those who don't know what they are doing, it can often feel like an insurmountable task.

Much like the saying 'if it's not broken, don't fix it,' DIY stain removal isn't always the right solution - and Silver Spring residents should be aware that professional services are essential in removing some stains.

Like a butterfly breaking free of its chrysalis, professional stain removal services offer solutions to problems where DIY methods have failed.

It is time to explore why these services are so important and how they can benefit homeowners in Silver Spring.

The Limitations of DIY Stain Removal: Understanding Why Some Stains Need Professional Treatment

When attempting to remove a stain, it is vital to consider the type of stain and its age, as DIY approaches may not effectively handle deeper or more complex stains.

This is especially true in Silver Spring, where difficult-to-remove stains can be found on many different surfaces and materials.

Even with the best intentions and diligent effort, some stains simply require the expertise of a professional.

Prolific Steamers are experienced professionals in this field and can provide reliable services for any type of stain removal Silver Spring.

They have specialized equipment that allows them to tackle even the toughest of stains while preserving the integrity of the material underneath.

Their knowledge also ensures that they use safe cleaning products that won’t damage the surface or leave behind any residues.

With their help, you can rest easy knowing your home will look like new without any risk or hassle on your part.

The Science Behind Stain Removal: Why Professional Services in Silver Spring Outperform Over-the-Counter Solutions

A comparison of at-home and professional stain removal techniques reveals that the latter often proves more effective in achieving desired results. This is largely due to the fact that professional services have access to specialized cleaning products:

Industrial-grade solvents powerful enough to break down stubborn stains and oils;

Specialized enzymes that can attack organic materials like food and blood;

Surfactants, which help lift away greases without damaging delicate fabrics.

When it comes to tackling tough stains, these products are far superior to the over-the-counter solutions available at local stores in Silver Spring.

In addition, professionals have an intimate knowledge of how different fabrics react with various cleaners, allowing them to tailor their approach for each job and ensure better outcomes than DIY efforts could achieve.

Protecting Your Investment: How Professional Stain Removal Can Extend the Life of Your Carpets and Upholstery

By utilizing specialized cleaning products and tailoring their approach to the specific fabric, professional stain removal experts are able to offer a deeper level of protection for valuable carpets and upholstery, extending their life far beyond that achievable through DIY efforts.

Professional services are designed to remove not just the surface stain but also the underlying substances causing it, preventing damage caused by leaving them untreated. This can be especially beneficial for items with complex fibers such as silk or velvet, where solutions used in over-the-counter cleaning products may cause more harm than good.

Regular professional cleaning is an essential part of protecting these items from wear and tear and preserving their condition for longer periods of time. Not only does this provide peace of mind that your investments will remain in pristine condition, but it can also save money in the long run since you won't have to replace them prematurely due to damage caused by staining.

For those living in Silver Spring, there are numerous reputable companies offering reliable services at competitive rates - making it easy to keep your carpets and upholstery looking great year after year.

Spotlight on Safety: The Health Risks of DIY Stain Removal and Why Professional Services are a Safer Option

Given the potential health hazards associated with DIY stain removal, it is essential to determine the safety benefits of utilizing professional services.

Professional stain removal companies are trained in safe cleaning practices and use products that are effective yet safe for household use. This can be beneficial for households with young children, elderly people, or those with allergies or sensitivities.

Harsh chemicals used in DIY stain removal can cause skin irritation and respiratory problems if not handled properly. Additionally, inadequate removal of allergens or pathogens can lead to an increased risk of illness.

Professional stain removal services have access to a wide range of products specifically designed to remove stains safely and effectively while minimizing any potential risks. These products are also more likely to be successful at removing difficult stains that may require special attention.

Finally, professional services often come with warranties or guarantees so consumers have peace of mind knowing their carpets and upholstery will be restored correctly the first time around.

All in all, investing in professional stain removal services is a safer option than attempting DIY solutions which carry inherent risks due to lack of knowledge and experience.

Conclusion

The importance of professional stain removal services in Silver Spring is clear. With the right combination of expertise, cleaning products and equipment, these services can effectively and safely tackle a wide range of stains. Not only do they save time and energy, but they also protect carpets and upholstery from further damage.

Imagine a clean, fresh-smelling home where all traces of dirt and discoloration have been removed—a home that looks spotless for years to come. Professional stain removal services in Silver Spring make this dream a reality.

Investing in these services ensures that carpets and upholstery remain beautiful for years to come while avoiding potentially dangerous DIY solutions.

Prolific Steamers

Williamsburg Dr, Silver Spring, MD 20901

Phone: (410) 253-9940

[sublieu]

❧− It's a surprise to find out that you're all bark and no bite~ It's ok though, I don't mind a little shit talker~ <3

𝐏𝐥𝐮𝐦 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐢𝐩𝐬

cw.− squirting, dubcon, cunnilingus, [dominant reader] unconfirmed gender/non binary leading reader.

wc. − 746 words

ref. − ⚉ ⚆ ⚇

music. − Needed me / Rihanna

copyright. − "writing and quotes all belong to me, do not repost my content without permission." 𝐒𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐮 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐; 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

S.Q groaned as she entered her quarters, taking off her crown and putting it on the table; Hearing your footsteps come downstairs and stopping right in front of her.

She smiles as you rush over to her for a hug, the dimly lit lanterns leaving a luminescent glow around you both whilst sharing a kiss, both your hands not wanting to let go of the other's body.

"Hey sugarplum~ Missed me~?" She coos as she placed a clawed nail under your chin, Her half-lidded eyes would stare down at your chest with need as the silver spider pendant would lay snuggly between your chest.

You nod and hug her gently, Basking yourself into her scent, her santal blush mixing oh so well with the iron smell of blood. It was strong but very comforting, her hands ruffling your hair with mere ignorance to what you wanted from her.

You went lower and lower until you were on your knees in front of her, S.Q was curious as to what you were doing until you hiked up her dress to her tummy and gently took off her panties; Looking at you with wide eyes, the green glow of her eyes would flicker as you kissed her clit before sucking on it, leaving her dazed and flustered from your ministrations.

Her legs were on either side of the couch's arms, A choked moan left her lips when your fingers would push themselves inside her; The pads rubbing on that gummy spot and making her shiver in ecstasy, her nails deep in your hair as she threw her head back. Even one of her slippers were daring to fall off her foot from the overstim you gave her.

Her moans were coarse and rugged from the excess screaming, only suppressed into grunt and groans to which you soaked up to even more whilst your nails dug into her supple thighs. Your fingers coercing her to whimper and whine for you to stop and give her a break, and yet you refused; As if punishing her for something she most likely didn't know about.

A coil in her abdomen was slowly starting to spring, yet she couldn't beg you to stop even if she wanted to; Her face darkened with her dark purple blush alongside her once neatly straightened hair a mess the more intense your tongue would press at her nub.

Vision slowly growing blurry the rougher your fingers pressed at her gummy walls, To anyone who hadn't heard her before will do now as your hands were forcing her to cum on your fingers. The once slowly sprung coil now growing harder and harder to bear whilst tears were dropping to her chin.

"Did my fingers cause this much distress my queen~? It's ok tell me~"

You purr against her ear, your chest colliding with each other in the process as she tries to speak. Only for her words to come out as simple babbling and utter nonsense her hands holding onto yours to get you to slow down, but if anything it only caused you to go rougher on her whilst kissing away her tears and ushering her to cum. Till she did just that, causing her vision to switch to black as she squirted all over your abdomen and legs; Cooing and praising her throughout the whole bit as you slowly rub her clit. Kissing her a final time and lifting her from the couch and into your bathroom to clean her up and put her to bed.

"Goodnight dear, do try not to go to work tomorrow alright?"

You whisper to her, she only nods and hides her face in your chest before slowly falling to sleep, with you right after.

𝐒𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐮 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐; 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[doumekiss]

Also if you have a suggestion of ship for the music you vote for feel free to send it ☺️💙

[pixels--galore]

Second Hand Cars Sydney

You can save money by purchasing a second-hand vehicle. This is because of the massive depreciation cars experience, especially in the initial years. Many good-quality, Second hand cars in sydney are available for purchase, even if you don’t have any specific needs.

There are risks involved in buying a second-hand car, no matter how big or small. The good news is that second-hand cars are affordable, have a warranty from the dealer, and have lower interest rates than those of newer models. This allows car buyers to reduce many of the potential risks associated with buying them. Buyers also get a lot of incentives, such as certified car programs, detailed vehicle history reports, attractive financing and insurance rates, and so on.

After you decide to buy a used car, the next step will be to find a vehicle that meets your needs.

To help you find your perfect car quickly, we have collected 5 of the top second-hand cars below $15,000 from the leading car manufacturers.

2016 Holden Cruze JH Series

You won’t be surprised if you have ever driven a Holden. This Series II Holden Cruze Equipe, a 1.8L 4cyl petrol engine with a 6-speed auto transmission has covered 52,731km. It comes with full dealership service records and 2 keys.

The car’s shock absorbers and tires, as well as its springs, provide excellent riding comfort. The car is quick to respond to your enthusiasm and can glide over potholes and patchwork roads with ease.

These features include:

A safety rating of 5 stars

You get a great deal with a stylish interior, 104 kW power, and a clean car history.

2012 Mazda3

This car is a great choice for city driving. It has a 4cyl engine and sharp steering. This Mazda 3 second-hand car is agile and stable, with excellent handling.

Skyactiv’s engine makes it a great choice for both eco-conscious drivers and enthusiasts. It produces a respectable horsepower of 155 horsepower. Its refined, responsive engine is a class leader in driving pleasure and fuel efficiency.

These features include:

Electronic throttle control by wire

Multifunction steering wheel

Auto wipers with rain sensor

Satellite navigation by GPS

Dual-zone automatic climate control

This 2012 Mazda 3 is a great choice for a second-hand vehicle. It has attractive interiors, great handling, and great fuel economy.

2007 Toyota Aurion

Here’s an Australian! Aurion was built in Australia and features an Aussie design. It is more rugged than its twin brother Camry.

Toyota Aurion’s 3.5L twin-cam V6 engine is responsive, smooth, and strong. This Toyota transmission is also very reliable, with very few gear changes and the perfect ratio. Aurion is a spacious family car that can be used as a second vehicle.

These features include:

Electronic brake force distribution

Multi-functional control screen

Solar/sun air con sensor

Electronic stability control

With proximity function, keyless start

This Toyota second-hand car is taken seriously by Australian family-car buyers. It responds well to road conditions and allows for a very smooth driving experience.

2010 Mercedes C200

The Mercedes C200 is the standard for high-quality, contemporary compact sedans all around the globe. The turbocharged direct-injection four-cylinder engine is equipped with the CGI tag, which means it has more torque, better economy, and lower emissions.

This model is a marvel of engineering. It handles rough roads and sharp corners like a pro. The steering is smooth and the suspension doesn’t transmit any harshness to the cabin. A 5-speed gear is used to match the smooth-revving engine.

These features include:

Multi-function leather steering wheels

Frontal electric seat

Avantgarde-style grill

Alloys up to 17 inches

6-speaker stereo

Only 92,000 kilometers have been covered by this 2010 Merc C200 Classic. It comes with silver-grey leather seats and a gloss finish insert.

2011 Mitsubishi Outlander

This 4-wheel drive 4-cylinder engine with the 4-cylinder engine is a top-of-the-line vehicle in its class. This model is rated 5 stars for safety because it has standard stability control. The Mitsubishi Outlander 2011 is a sportier entry in the wagon/SUV category and is a good choice for a family car.

The 6-gear CVT and sporty handling make it a fuel-efficient vehicle that averages 9.3L per 100km. You can move on any terrain with authority, power and speed thanks to the all-wheel drive.

These features include:

ABS Antilock Brakes

Electronic brake force distribution

Tailgate with an opening window

Ambient interior lighting

Climate control and air con

This 6-speed automatic has covered 130,000km and is finished with cool silver and grey cloth seats. This family SUV is a smooth and refined choice for car buyers of all kinds.

Buying the best-used car

You can find the top second-hand cars at My Car Choice. With just one click, you can choose what you like. Buying a used car can often save significant money on car prices, depreciation, and insurance.

You might need help negotiating a fair price for your purchase. While we encourage you to arrange a fair purchase price, My Car Choice offers a reasonable price process that ensures you get the best deal for your money. You can rest assured that your car has been well taken care of.

There are some downsides to buying a used car, but you can also save on vehicle protection and dealer fees. You can find the best trade-in vehicle online by visiting My Car Choice, a local authorized used car dealer in Sydney. Call us at 02 9762 6255 to discuss your needs. To find the car you want, visit our showroom.

[westusaofprescott-blog]

50 Shades of Marketing For SEO

As we shiver our way through Winter and start looking forward to spring, we start to think about Spring Cleaning and sprucing up the joint. Often times that includes a fresh coat of paint and maybe some new furniture to freshen things up a bit.

Before you go running off to the store to let your inner Martha Stewart run free, take a few minutes to consider if your design plan is going to continue to look fresh and new for years to come, even for the possibility of a future sale. For instance...

Like all home decor trends, paint colors come and go. Gray, beige, black, and white has all had their moments. For the last ten years or so, gray has been the ‘in’ neutral.

Now here we are in 2023 and certain shades of gray paint are going out of style, as are certain shades of gray upholstery, as well as some general gray room design ideas.

Gray is a neutral color, and there are way more than 50 shades of it, so it’s hard to say that overall, a single color is out of style. However, it’s definitely not going to be as popular as it was a few years ago when every new construction home in America was sold with pale, cool-toned gray walls to make it look ‘modern’. But overall, home decor trends are moving in a warmer direction again. Colors like rust, brown, amber, and ivory are taking over, as well as burgundy and some olive colors.

If you’re in love with gray, or you’re looking for a neutral color that isn’t white or tan, choose a warm-toned gray. Warm grays, which are more of greige, are still considered in style, and they complement the warmed-up, more saturated interior design trends we’re seeing right now.

If you’re planning to paint a room gray or buy gray furniture this year, there are a few ways to do it in a way that looks fresh, and not dated.

The first is: Don’t go gray-on-gray. The look that’s most out of style right now is that all-gray everything room design that was a big trend five years ago or so. You know the room: It has silver-gray walls, a silver-gray sofa, a gray-toned rug, mirrored furniture, silver-toned metallics, etc. It’s all very monotone and just a bit, well, sad.

The second is: Choose warm tones. Warm-toned neutrals are the “it” neutral right now and designers are favoring beige, ivory, and taupe over the cool gray and stark white. White paint with depth (ivories, creams, and bone colors) is the new bright white, so a shade of super pale warm gray will look subtle but stylish.

Pairing any of these warm color options with warm wood-toned floors or trim will be sure to make for a stunning transformation that will stand the test of time.

Once you’ve pondered your color choices and have decided on your final answer, head out to your favorite Home Improvement Store and let your inner Interior Decorator shine!

Happy Decorating!

Christine Sirochman at 928-848-8830 or Christine@RockmanHomes.com

To learn more about the Prescott, Arizona real estate market contact Michael Eastwood CEO of West USA Realty of Prescott at 928-636-1500 or visit us at www.westusaofprescott.com  Michael Eastwood will introduce you to one of his professional real estate agents or stop by and visit us at West USA Realty of Prescott 231 N Marina St Prescott. AZ 86301. (Each office is Independently owned and operated) #Prescottrealestate #Prescotthomes #Prescottland #Prescottvalleyrealestate #Prescottvalleyhomes #Prescottvalleyland #Chinovalleyrealestate #Chinovalleyhomes #Chinovalleyland #Arizonarealestate #Arizonahomes #realestate #homes #prescott #chinovalley #Prescottvalley #buyers

[annalily]

f you are in Vienna VA and looking for solutions for hometown heat and air, contact us now and we will provide the best Commercial Installation services in Vienna VA. We also offer rug cleaning, painting services, flooring services, kitchen and bathroom remodeling services, and many more services. Visit our website for more details.

[scaredpigeons]

Le Petite Amour Qui Nous Trouvé

Levi x Fem!Reader. 

Warnings: none for this chapter. 

Summary: you move to the French countryside to escape your life, and find yourself in awe of your mysterious neighbour.

Word Count. 1.5K

Chapter 1: The colours of new love  

I first saw him in a sea of colours.

The sun beat down on the sea of greens and golds rolling over the hills, and on the porch roof, which shaded my sensitive eyes and the peeling baby blue paint on the front door.

Pale dirt made up the road that separated my new property from his, cutting through his lush green to be met with my yard, which desperately needed some love.

His farmhouse stood across from mine, two lonely buildings in these endless fields of colour. But where my single storey, single bedroom, run down cottage sat, his property held a two storey home.

Obviously work had been done, his door was sanded and polished, no peeling paint; just warm browns and silver hardware. New siding had been added, fresh clean white which paired beautifully with the new addition, cool grey stone bricking which I would learn took several years to complete.

To the right of his home, the largest Cherry tree I’d ever seen, pink buds not yet blooming, despite the sun's warm promise of spring's arrival.

Further back, a glimpse of a maroon coloured coop, brown and white and black chickens running about the property as if they were its master.

To the left, a garden more obscene than I previously thought possible, but then again, he continued to prove that my thoughts of what could be were far too linear.

Through the green of winding tomato plants, he slipped out of his home grown fortress, unaware that this first look was the moment I was torn from my previous life of monotonous gray, that this sea of colours was quite literally saving my life.

The sun reached down and glistened off his raven hair, as if it too wanted to slip it's fingers through it to determine the softness. She was cruel to him, sweat shone on his brow, and when he raised an arm to wipe it away, it was making a little patch on the underarm of the crisp white T-shirt that left less to the imagination than I might've been able to handle.

I felt as though the sun had fallen in love with him too, for even through the sweat she caused, his pale skin was perfect, not a tan nor spot to be seen from afar— hers was a gentle and cautious love, then.

It was as if he could feel my jealousy as he wiped his hands clean with a cloth, as the veins and tendons and muscles moved in his arms, as I gawked most unbecomingly, because his eyes shot to me as if I’d fired a gun.

Even from the distance I stood, I could see the pale blue of his eyes, framed by thick dark lashes, and a furrowed brow. Like the sea before a storm, those eyes swirled and churned with violent emotion, and then like the tide, they were gone.

My timid wave hello was ignored, and this strange and beautiful man hung his gardening tools on little hooks adorning the outside partition wall of his garden, winded up the neon green hose coming from the side of the house, and marched to its front door, almost as stiff and abrupt as the slam of it as it closed.

I saw him in a sea of colour, and I smiled at the thought that if this was where I was to drown, then I would go willingly.

~

The house had been abandoned for two years, once belonging to an elderly woman who lived there alone after her husband passed away.

Her family wished to move her closer to the city, where they could more easily take care of her, and apparently she had put up quite the fight about finally putting the old cottage up for sale.

It was far cheaper than I had hoped, and upon meeting me to go over the paperwork, the old woman muttered something cryptic and very French, before turning to the real estate agent and saying something about the price. I couldn’t make out all of the words, but the exasperated look on the agent's face told me more than words ever could.

Frankly, the property was a steal. Even with the rugged nature of its current state, I felt more at home here than I ever had anywhere else before.

The first few days were spent unpacking my small truck full of belongings, in which the movers piled into the kitchen/living room area.

I was grateful that the house was small, I didn’t have many belongings to fill a space. My kitchenware and the little groceries I bought before arriving were put away within the first hour, and I felt rather satisfied with myself as I spread out the tablecloth on the two person table that had been left for me.

I had a small lunch that first day of iced sweet tea and a sliced chicken sandwich with cream cheese and red pepper jelly.

For the first time in such a long time, I wasn't worried about something. I traced the yellow lemon pattern on my cheap tablecloth with my finger, and chewed slowly, looking out the window and planning my next moves.

The old woman, Frances, had left most of her furniture for me, saying with a very heavy accent “my children will just throw it all out for new things. Keep. Use them. Will make me very happy.”

And hey, I couldn't exactly say no to that. My limited bank balance and cash flow was reserved for essentials, like food and emergency needs, the less money I had to spend on everything else, the better.

I had been left with the table, two dining chairs, a large and rather worn armchair, a small loveseat and the bedroom set, complete with matching dresser and nightstand.

In fact, all the furniture seemed to have been made to look the same, all strong wood stained dark which contrasted beautifully with the cracked and peeling wallpaper— off white with little violet designs scattered across.

It would all need a good peel and re-paint, but I had no intentions of starting any hard work any time soon.

It all felt like a dream, those first few days. I bathed in the sunshine and re-read the novels I’d brought with me, eating little meals and treats throughout the day. I dusted, swept and rearranged my few belongings to feel like I was doing something—anything to pass the time.

It wasn’t until the fourth day, when the Power and Water company sent over a representative to go over the paperwork with me, that I realized I should probably get moving along with my life.

The bills would be small, but they were still bills nonetheless, and my money wouldn’t last forever.

I signed the contracts, thanked the man for his patience with my terrible speaking skills in his native tongue.

“D’accord, Okay,” he said, smiling. “n'y pense pas.”

As the man left, his little red Fiat kicking up the dirt, leaving twirling trails to dance behind his tires, I realized that I craved movement.

The trapped feeling that had led me here in the first place was attempting to crawl its way back up my spine, and to rebel against it, I needed to be doing something.

Tools and cleaning supplies (which needed cleaning themselves) were found in a small closet in the kitchen area, and I promptly put myself to work.

Scraping off the old wallpaper was rather fun. Some of it would peel down in large, satisfying chunks, while others clung and stuck—needing a bit more effort.

When all of the main room had been done, a dusty pile of the old paper sat on the dark floor. I bagged it up, swept, and moved on.

The little bathroom needed serious work. I nearly gagged at the state of the little tub, but I rolled up the sleeves of my green linen blouse and started scrubbing. The shower head was much easier to clean, and the taps twirled off easily enough, leaving them to soak in a fizzy bucket of water and cleaner.

Between the dusting and sanding of window sills, mopping and washing of walls, I barely noticed the sun sinking over the hills, warm orange kissing over my hard work.

I kept going until I realized I couldn't see which tools sat where in my little bucket.

I put away my things and stepped outside onto the porch, walking onto the rough stone of the walkway in bare feet.

The sky was so bright, brighter than usual, (yet, still so startlingly dark) and I looked up into the night sky for the first time since the plane landed in the city, since the taxi I had taken from the airport through the hour long drive had drove away, kicking up more dust than it should have, it was the first time I really took a moment to look at the stars above my new home.

The pollution of heavy population hid the beauty of the night from me for so long, I nearly teared up at the sheer amount of stars that twinkled down at me.

I smiled at the endless sea of the unknown. I breathed in the crisp evening air, letting my shoulders relax.

Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw movement across the road, but as I turned to look, only a whisper of movement from my neighbours window—a curtain falling into place.

On a windless evening, I stared back into the sky and welcomed the unknown

[starfleet-jelly]

Some Vulcan Headcanons

They have like no base in canon just things I thought about Vulcans most of them don’t have evidence either. Most of my Vulcan fanfics will probably be based off these headcanons, I’ll be adding and editing this post whenever I feel differently or think of new things~ 💕

* Vulcans can outrun humans with speed, however humans can outrun Vulcans by distance.

* Vulcans are better climbers

* Vulcans have death grips. Once they have you, it’s gonna be difficult to get away.

* They have slightly longer fingers, better for climbing!

* Vulcans can’t jump as high as a human can, however, it isn’t by much, a couple inches at most.

* Vulcans eat a lot more than they are shown. Even though they have slow metabolisms they have dense muscles that need lots of protein, luckily there are lots of high protein grains and vegetables on Vulcan.

* Ancient Vulcans were cave dwellers. The caves provided protections of predators and kept them cooler in the extreme heat of Vulcan.

* Due to the fact that the seas are small and in few numbers on Vulcan, most Vulcans cannot swim, however, in coastal towns, more of them have the knowledge on how to swim, but it seems most Vulcans still prefer to not to go for a dip. There is always the odd duck who loves to swim though.

* Before sonic showers, Vulcan use small bucks of water with a rag, or more commonly sand to bathe with

* Because of their muscles and flexibility, Vulcans don’t take a lot of fall damage, even a Vulcan child could fall from the a height that would easily kill a human and walk away with minor injuries

* Vulcan have very strong leg bones and muscles because of the slightly higher gravity than Earth

* Vulcans in the north prefer spicier food while people in the south prefer food with little, if any, spice. Humans to try the food are often stuck with something that seems boring to them, or just downright painful from the spice

* Because of their telepathic abilities, Vulcan babies need a lot of skin contact in their first few months after birth. It is not uncommon for a Vulcan mother or father to carry their infant child to their bare chest, even in public, usually tucked into their robes

* Because Vulcans are touch telepaths children get a sense of calm from their parents when they are in contact but also form familiar bonds, lack of touch can lead to malformation and damage to new neural networks in the infants brain

* Vulcan toddlers are volatile, they have yet to master their emotions and tend to throw fits over many things. Skin contact, such as hugging, holding and cuddling, from their parents usually calms them down. It’s common for children from ages 0-5 to sleep in their parent’s bed as they need near constant contact. During this time Vulcan parents begin to tech meditative practices such as hymns and monturas. As Vulcan children grow older, parents will begin to slowly step away from skin contact in exchange for led meditations

* On Vulcan, it is common practice for one of the parents to stay home and raise the child or children, however, if one of the parent die, close family such as grandparents or aunts and uncles will also help take care of the child or children.

* Young Vulcan children (5-12) do not completely suppress their emotions, they do however learn not to express them. Bullying, fighting, and rebellious behavior is not uncommon for this age group.

* For older Vulcan children (between 13-25) who have difficulty controlling their emotions, even with led meditations, the child is usually sent to a monastery for education.

* Vulcans aren’t fully mature until after the age of 30.

* Vulcans usually don’t experience Pon Farr until after the age of 30, usually between 30-35, but there has been some outliers. Some Vulcans can go through Pon Farr as early as 26 and as old as 40, but this is uncommon and usually means there is a health problem.

* Both male and female Vulcans go through Pon Farr.

* I don’t care what anyone tells me, Vulcans do and will have sex outside of Pon Farr.

* Vulcan ear shape is hereditary. The more curved ears you see on Spock, Sarek, Taurik are less common than the flat ears you see on T’Pol and Tuvok

* Vulcans with light colored eyes tend to have bad vision and worsens with age. They tend to spend more time inside because the sun can be unbearable at times. But Vulcans with light colored eyes can see in the dark better than Vulcans with dark colored eyes. Light colored eyes was a mutation that only accrued after urbanization of Vulcan.

* Vulcans are cold to the touch, like someone who has been outside without a coat in winter. Because they’re naturally cooler Vulcans don’t need to sweat to keep cool. If ancient Vulcans got too hot they could move into caves to cool down.

* Young Vulcans (under the age of 10) and old Vulcans (over the age of 130) have a difficult time keeping warm. On modern Vulcan it is fixed with indoor heating and cooling.

* Vulcan has many hot springs, most of which are underground, and are popular. However most tourists, such a humans, cannot use them as most are too hot.

* Vulcans have two different types of robes. Robes they wear during the day that keep them cool, and robes for night to keep them warm.

* The silk that Vulcans robes are made of are actually from a plant. The plant produces a silk like substance that is sticky to prevent animals from eating it. It’s very strong and ancient Vulcans scrapped the silk from the plants and ate them. Modern day Vulcans grow these plants near the seas in the north and far south near the pole.

* Other Vulcan clothing is made from wool from an animal that is similar to sheep and alpaca. Their wool is usually use to make evening wear. The wool also used in the making of blankets, pillows, and rugs

* The soles of Vulcans shoes are usually made from a hard woody root, which were better for walking on rock. Vulcan shoes can also be made from a type grass that is common on Vulcan, which are better for walking in sand. Shoes for military are made from rubber.

* The reason why Vulcans in tos have all kind of different hair styles is because at that time period Vulcan youth wanted to rebel against common standers, it’s also why T’Pring did not wear a traditional Vulcan wedding dress.

* It’s common for Vulcan women to cover their hair, whether it be long or short. Not only does it keep their hair clean from sand but it also protects their head from the sun.

* There is actually a wide variety of fashion on Vulcan, differing types of robes, dresses, and suits. Most common colors are usually neutrals but silvers, blues, purples, and greens are common in the south while golds, reds, oranges, and yellows are more common in the north.

* The common Vulcan bowlcut, humans call it, is more common in the government and military of Vulcan. The short hair is easy to maintain and keep care of. Many Vulcan citizens has varying hairstyles and most depend on what region they live in. It is not uncommon for Vulcan men and women to have long hair, especially if they do not work in manual labor.

* Most Vulcan men shave their faces. There are many reasons for it, such as, it’s cleaner, easier to maintain, keeps them cooler, and it looks more professional.

* When it comes to body hair, it is 50/50 on who shaves. The area around the reproductive organs are usually maintained but not shaved, as for legs, arms, and under arms, some areas it is more common to save than others. Young Vulcan men usually shave their chest, but as they get older is more uncommon.

* Vulcan women have on occasion worn makeup. Buying makeup on Vulcan is uncommon, many women on Vulcan grow plants that can be use for make up such as flowers that can be ground for lipstick or a crushed leaf for rouge. These plants usually have other uses such as medical or as food.

* Sehlats are not the only pets Vulcans keep. They also keep small rodents and occasionally a ferret like animal too.

* Vulcan pet names are usually old Vulcan names no one uses anymore or names of monsters or animals from ancient Vulcan literature.

* Sehlats aren’t fed meat, but instead high protein grain and vegetables and eggs. Sehlats are naturally omnivores but the need for meat was bred out of thousands of years.

[ratsoh-writes]

What do their bedrooms/living areas look like? I'm going to use all 3 of my asks to request this for all of the boys if that's ok! ❤

Man, I’ve had this one in my secret notes for a good while now!

Undertale:

Both the tale brothers live in a nice little gated community. Their house is one of the smaller ones and has the same layout as the one in Snowdin. The house is pretty basic with some cozy throws and wall tapestries to spruce it up

Sans: his room actually has a proper bed and frame this time. The sheets and blankets are still bundled up in a pile on the floor though. Sans also has his homemade trashnado in the corner. There’s a desk on the wall adjacent to the door which has his laptop. And several folders stacked next to it. Other than a dresser, there’s literally nothing else in there. Sans doesn’t care much about stuff

Papyrus: his room has bright orange walls. He left the race car bed behind underground but has a race car blanket to make up for it. His walls are covered in superhero and comic posters. He also has a display case for some old figurines and his comic collection. Papyrus’ desk is one of those nice fancy drafting ones where he can adjust it to tilt upwards. He has a ship wheel attached to his door for some reason.

Underswap

The swap bros home is only a few blocks from the classic brothers neighborhood. The only thing basic about it is the cream walls. All the furniture and decorations are bright colors. The kitchen especially is real nice. The oven and stove are top notch, and the counters are filled with mason jars full of goodies.

Star: his room can blind a lesser man when you walk in. The walls are bright yellow, the bed (which is a bunk bed by the way) is neon orange. Galaxy posters decorate the wall. Besides the clashing colors, the furniture is pretty basic. Only the top bunk actually has a mattress. The bottom bunk is used as a storage shelf. He also has a shoe rack by his door

Honey: you can practically feel the nerdy aura as you enter his room. The first thing you see is a display case housing some neat figurines of characters from his favorite shows. He’s also got a pretty nice bookshelf on the opposite wall that’s nearly full. Honeys bed has a curtain around it for extra privacy with a nice little wall lamp above the pillows

Underfell

They have a home a little closer to the city center but still far enough to be considered suburbs. It’s a very sleek and modern house with white walls, tile floors and sleek black and metal furniture. The only thing that doesn’t fit the rest of the theme is this nasty old patched up sofa in the living room. The thing is absolutely hideous but is sooo comfy.

Red: his room has soft grey walls and smells like miter oil. Makes sense since one wall is just a long basic table covered in machine parts that red tinkers with in his down time. He actually doesn’t have a bed. Instead he sleeps on this giant leather bean bag. He likes it that way. There’s a few car posters decorating the walls

Edge: he obviously put a lot of thought into his rooms decorations. Everything is pretty black marble or a sleek white wood. His bed covers are blood red with a nice geometric designs on top in silver. He has a beautiful black desk with some pretty jars filled to the brim with nothing but novelty pens. If you looked in his desk drawers you would find notebooks and even more pens

Swapfell

They don’t own a house and instead live in a two bedroom one bath apartment on the third floor of one of lords complexes. The furniture is pretty minimalistic but very nice quality. Most decorations are metal

Mal: the first thing you’ll see in his room is a large wooden drawing desk where pencils and watercolors are neatly arranged on the side. There’s also a vanity with a light up mirror and a nice collection of makeup. Also a huge slanted hunters knife. He uses it to make sure his eyeliner is extra sharp.

Cash: his bedroom is the perfect definition of organized chaos. It looks messy but for cash, he knows exactly where every thing is. There’s a small tv in there with some old game consoles hooked up to it. The bed is never made.

Horrortale

Their home rests in a neighborhood bordering the forest of ebott. The houses there all have a lot more yard space than most houses in the city. The horrortale home is super cozy with lots of knit throws and pillows scattered around. The back patio has a little dog door and there’s a 50% chance of seeing a chicken walk through lol

Oak: his room is also pretty basic. The bed however has so many blankets. Like way more than any person should need. Oak is a blanket hoarder. There’s a lot of notebooks stacked on his wooden desk along with a file of patterned paper for scrapbooking.

Willow: his room has a raised bed with a cute little ladder on the side so that his dog can jump up. You can tell a lot of the furniture has been homemade or refurbished. The room is larger and in the middle is a circular stone table that’s stained with paint. It’s usually housing his latest craft

Underlust

They used to live in the same neighborhood as the classic brothers but have recently moved closer to the inner city because of work. Their home is still in the process of being unpacked mostly, but their rooms are done! The house is actually pretty conservative looking with grey walls, white wooden furniture and soft pastel decor. They do have a stripper pole in the living room though lol

Charm: his room looks exactly how you expect from him. Dark walls with lots of bright rave type decorations. On his dresser is a large pretty cake display that stands out from the rest of the rooms theme lol. His room is always on a state of organized chaos with his desk and bed covered in nick knacks but the floors staying oddly clean

Sugar: his room has light lavender walls and black furniture. It’s a big difference from the soft feminine style people expect from him. Instead sugar has a more sleek modern style to his room. He also has a standard mannequin in the middle that always has a new dresses pinned to it.

Fellswap (red)

They own a pretty two story house only a block away from the two apartment complexes that lord owns. The front lawn/garden is in top shape with lots of those metal flower decorations stuck in the ground along the dirt outline. Inside the house is most worn but comfy looking furniture. Nothing special

Lord: his room is pretty basic with mostly brown and grey accents. He does have a large mostly filled bookcase. There’s also two white bean bags and a deep red rug that covers nearly the whole floor of the room.

Mutt: he actually has two rooms. The first is pretty simple with just his bed, a writing desk and a rack for some shoes. Also his bird cage for KFC (pet pigeon). The second room has a sink, and several cages and boxes for the injured animals that he rehabilitates. The second room is slightly larger than his actual room.

Fellswap gold

They actually live in a studio apartment above wines antique shop. The apartment used to be an unused storage static until wine bought the building and repurposed it. The living space itself is a little small, but they also have access to the roof which the gold bros use as a potted garden and dining area.

Wine: his room is very classy with silk curtains on the window and a silky cream canopy above his head. All the furniture is a dark grey wood with pretty carvings and designs. The walls are decorated with beautiful floral paintings from his brother. It’s a pretty well planned out room. Very cosy and luxurious

Coffee: he has two rooms as well. The smaller of the two is just his bed, dresser, closet and a tv with some consoles hooked up to it. The second room has shelves lining nearly every wall except for one which is just a big collab mural. On the shelves is various art supplies and projects. There’s one large sketch desk on one wall. And finally in the middle of the room is a tarp attached to the floor housing whatever piece of furniture coffee is restoring at the moment .

Dancetale

They also own an apartment, one of the flats in lords buildings on the ground floor. It’s the other building from the swapfell brothers. The walls are painted a cheery yellow and the house is mostly decorated with spring colors. There’s always a huge bowl of fresh fruit in the kitchen.

Pop: his room is mix and match of completely different furniture and gadgets. Pop isn’t someone who cares about themes so he will keep whatever catches his fancy. Instead of a bed, he has a hammock attacked to the ceiling with a pillow and some throw blankets casually tossed on top lol.

Rhythm: his room is pretty sparse with just his bed, a shoe rack, and a dresser. On the dresser are pictures of each of his face classes right before they graduate. Rhythm doesn’t really care all that much about decor so the walls are pretty bare too

Outertale

They live in the same gated community as the classic brothers! The outertale home has high ceilings and lots of windows. The living room is the real centerpiece of the home. It has several large antique bookcases and display cases. Inside the displays are various rocks and crystals and the occasional fossil. It’s really neat.

Pluto: his room is comprised of mostly blues grays and greens. He has a small bookcase on the side of his bed where he keeps the things he’s currently reading. There’s also a large fish-tank with an assortment of saltwater fish inside. Pluto’s room also has a large circular fluffy rug in the middle of the floor. The floor itself is hardwood

Jupiter: his room has a similar color scheme except instead of greens, Jupiter has gold instead. He has some exercise equipment stacked nicely on the side of his bed including weights. There’s a wall tapestry with a printed picture of the asteroid belt the outertale monsters used to live in.

Gastertale

The gaster brothers also live in the same neighborhood as the classic and outertale bros. They’re at the very end in the little cul-de-sac. The interior of the house is almost all white with cream carpet, metro grey walls, and white furniture. A few of the small decorations add a bit of color. There’s a lot of potted succulents.

G: his room is probably the only dark room of the house. His walls are a charcoal grey and the furniture is mostly jet black with a few mustard colored decorations. There’s a metal wire bookcase hanging on the wall. G also has a plastic anatomy dummy that he dresses up in his motorcycle gear when he’s not using it. G thinks he’s funny

Green: like the rest of the home, his room is also mostly white. He has a pretty pale green rack for all of his glasses on his dresser. Green also has his several degrees framed in silver on the walls. his room is always spotless

Farmtale:

The farm bros have an old Victorian home that they fixed up themselves. They’re home borders the acres of farmland they own and is about a 45 minute drive from ebott city. The inside is decorated with mostly wooden furniture. There’s like four rocking chairs on the porch lol

Peaches: his room fits the theme of the house with mostly wooden furniture and a lot of quilts and rugs to add color and soften it up. Peaches always has a vase of fresh wildflowers on his dresser. The walls have photographs of plants and animals taped to them that peaches took himself.

Rancher: this mad lad has a large moose skull hanging above his four poster log cabin bed. He also hangs his favorite hunting rifles just below the moose lol. His bedroom is mostly wooden of course but is also decorated with lots of red and orange plaids.

Horrorfell

They live in the same neighborhood as the horrortale and horrorswap brothers. Their home is literally right in between the two. Inside it’s decorated in a mix between sleek modern metals and frumpy cozy style. Somehow the horrorfell bros still have their original sofa from the underground. There’s a lot of little homemade staircases for their cat doomfanger who’s too old to claim on top of things herself now

Rust: his walls are painted a soft heather grey and have some basic wooden decorations that noir painted for fun. The furniture is pretty normal with the exception of a large treasure style chest next to his bed. Open it up and you’ll find a collection of drawings and gifts from the kids he’s watched over the years. Rust didn’t have the heart to throw them away.

Noir: unsurprisingly, his room is littered in canvases and paintings on the walls. It’s divided into two sides: the messy paint side and his nice neat living side. He even has a line of tape going down the middle to complete the divide. On his living side is his bed, closet, and a low bookcase that he uses as a second dresser. The actual bookcase is in the living room

Horrorswap

As y’all all know, their house is right next to the horrorfells and one house away from the horrortales. They like bright colors and have a sort of summery themed house. The best part is the back garden which is filled with garden boxes of veggies, fruit bushes, and fruit trees.

Lilac: his rooms main color is a pretty powder blue along with canary yellow and some bright green. He has a yoga mat on the floor in place of a rug. The walls have some neat sunrise posters

Basil: his room is pretty cosy with lots of knit blankets and fluffy pillows. He has a massive poster of Pixar’s ratatouille that rust got him as a joke. Basil has like five coconut planters, each housing a different herb plant making his room smell like an Italian restaurant

The Mafias (tale, fell, swap)

The mafia brothers live in an apartment complex masquerading as a warehouse. The ground and top two floors are working area while there were three secret basement levels. The mafia bros home consists of the whole bottom level with all their rooms connected to a hallway. At the end of the hallway is a living space and the kitchen.

Snipe: his room is the one closest to the living area. Inside is sage walls with a few house plants that can survive in low light. His bed is almost never made lol. If one was to tear the room apart, they would find at least six different guns stashed in hidden compartments

Bruiser: his room is the closest to the staircase. Inside the room somehow looks super messy but is actually spotless. Bruiser decorates the walls with all kinds of gifts people randomly give him during his vigilante escapes. Stuff from pocket mirrors, to foreign currency to even a small collection of sea shells. He drilled holes into them and hung them up on strings. Other than his walls, the furniture is pretty plain

Butch: his room is a mix of greys, blacks an silvers with the basics of furniture and a small black leather sofa. On the walls are some pretty hand melded metal decorations that butch made himself. He smokes in his room so it reeks of cigars

Boss: his room fits him perfectly with clean white plaster walls, sleek metal furniture and black and gold marble decor. Everything in that room has a specific place. If anyone moved his stuff, he’d know. It’s the only mafia bro room that doesn’t caught smell like smoke somehow. There’s a male model mannequin that he uses to practice designing clothes on

Ace: the most eye catching part of his room is a large vanity with several lamps attached and a very extensive makeup kit. I’m talking professional grade. Ace isn’t the spy for nothing. He also has an open closet so all his clothing is out on display. The main color of his room is mauve funny enough

Slim: his room is a drab grey and has a large desk taking up a whole wall. It’s filled with screens and monitors. He also has a few tv screens hooked up to the wall. It almost looks like a security room. On the other side is his bed with a canopy curtain for privacy. There’s a few anime posters on the wall as well

[loousir]

[Orc] Saviour

Orc Male x Male Reader

Borhul

Warnings: Slight Orc to Human racisim, no violence other than what you see before the cut (3rd paragraph), injured reader, reader is written to be muscular

Masterlist

----------------------------------------------------------------

You were currently leaning against a tree trying to catch your breath as you were holding your wounded side tightly. Three heavy and thundering sets of footsteps got closer and closer until they stopped. You did your best to hold your breath steady and quiet but it failed you.

"Ah, there ya are, ya littl' pest." A large grey-ish green hand stole you away from your hiding spot. "Why cant you just leave me the fuck alone?" You croaked out as he gripped your shirt tighter. "Cause littl' runts like you, dont belong in an Orc settl'm'nt. All we're doin' is disposin' of the rat in the kitch'n." He snarled out, his nose crinkling up as he spoke. His buddies cut your legs more then they already had been to make sure you didnt run off but in such a way so that you didnt bleed out too quickly.

Your groaning voice of pain was ignored as the main Orc tossed you onto the wet mossy dirt right up against an old tree stump. You looked up to the Orc with a harsh glare before speaking for the final time that night. "You have absolutely no dignity and no right to call yourself an Orc." Your vision went blurry and your eyes closed, breathing heavily as everything faded out.

You sat up with a start as the sun had heat up your wounded cheek, causing it to hurt. Your breath was unsteady, uneven, and incredibly heavy. A strong pounding sensation coarsed through your head as you hunched over and grabbed your chest, trying to calm your breathing. "Shit..."

After a fre minutes, you finally calmed down enough to take in your surroundings. The room was only lit by the light that shone through the large window next to the large plush bed you were currently sitting on. There was minimal decoration in the room but it was garnishing a large war hammer resting on the mantle of the fireplace. You carefully turned your legs out from under the covers to have them hang off the side of the bed.

Only your boxers/briefs were on and you took note how most of your body was bandaged, including the whole of your left cheek. You carefully shuffled off the bed, still using it heavily for support as your feet touched the bear skin rug. You realized it was an Onikuma.

I know who's house this is...

The house belonged to your closest friend, Borhul. He's one of the clan chiefs off-spring and next in line to be chief. His father, Orogakh, had taken a particular shine to you after he had rescued you from a group of "bandits" that had you bound and ready to sell off to some vampire as a blood slave.

Orogakh had been watching them before he noticed your child frame. He said his original intent was to just see if they were going to harm the settlement but just had an urge to rescue you. Once he did, he would return you to a human village but when you said you had no family he decided to take you in.

His teachings formed you into the tall, muscular man that you are today. You decided to stop reminiscing for a moment to continue your shaky trek out to the livingroom.

"He's not here..."

You looked around his lightly decorated cabin before hobbling over to the large couch and sitting down. Your eyes closed momentarily before opening again when the heavy front door creaked open. His lime green eyes instantly locked with yours and he rushed over to you. "You're awake." He seemed shaken, as if he didnt think you'd wake up.

"Uh, yeah." You looked to his eyes again to see them watering as he pulled you gently into a hug. "Gods I was so worried." You hugged back and gently reassured him by rubbing your rather soft hand against his exposed spine. Most Orc's in the settlement walked around wearing only bottoms so him being shirtless was a common sight.

He pulled away and looked to your eyes. "Do you think... I could get the rundown of what happened? I passed out and I really only know up until that point." Borhul pulled away and looked at you, your eyes looking down to his silver rings that fit perfectly over his long, slim tusks.

"After I change your dressings and get you a bath I will." You nodded and mumbled out an 'ok' before he suddenly picked you up bridal style. He was about a foot and a half taller than you, standing at 7'7" but he was still so extremely gentle with you, as if he were to accidentally squeeze too hard he would break a bone.

"I know I'm wounded but I'm not a porcelain doll." You said quietly as he sat you down on his bathrooms toilet. He grunts and kneels down in front of you. "Please no snarky remarks right now." He started to gently unwrap your left calf, slowly traveling up to your thigh. You watched carefully as he revealed still healing, yet well cared for wounds.

"Have you been the one looking after me?" You asked looking to his face. He had started on unwrapping your right leg but paused to look up to you and nod. Your eyes softened as you looked to his again. Without thinking, your hand reached out to his face, gently cupping his cheek. His eyes closed and he leaned slightly into your touch. "Sorry for making you worry so much Bora."

He shook his head before continuing to unwrap your wounds. "No, it's not your fault. I just wished I had realized something was up sooner." You smiled as he moved up to your arms, beginning to unwrap those as well. "Its good to know at least one other person cares about me." He looked to your eyes for the third time and gently held your hand in his.

"My family cares about you (Y/n). And so does the settlement. They know how important you are to me and they respect that. I mean we grew up together for gods sake." You gently squeezed his hand but didnt say anything. "I dont think I could lose you that easily." He spoke softly before continuing to unwrap you.

Neither of you spoke as he finished unwrapping you and turning on the water, waiting for it to be warm. Not hot but warm. He looked back over to you and reached up to your face, carefully peeling away the bandage. His calloused thumb softly traced around the cut that would more than likely form into a scar. Your eyes closed and you leaned softly into his hand before he pulled it away.

"Father will be happy to know that you're ok." He spoke as he helped you up. Without thinking, you started to gently shimmy out of your underwear, trying your best to not scrape any wounds with the fabric. Borhul held a blush on his cheeks as he helped you into the tub.

"Here," He hands you a bottle of medicinal soap that he's been using to clean your wounds. "Use this then once done dont stay in too long after. It's not good if they get too much water." You nodded and looked up to him to see he was looking away. "Borhul." He glances over to you and keeps his eyes locked with yours.

"Thank you."

He nods and turned his head away again. "I'm going to let father know that you're awake." You mumbled another small 'ok' as he left you to your own. A moment or two had passed when the bathroom door creaked open and Borhuls hand set something down on the counter before closing again.

Some minutes had passed as you cleaned yourself and the pretty well healed wounds. While you bathed, many questions ran through your head.

How long has it been?

What happened after you passed out?

How were you found, saved even?

You were lost in thought but the sound of the door opening make you look up. "You should hop out and dry off. Father would like to see you." He said quickly before closing the door again. You simply did as told and dried off, slipping on the pair of boxers he had brought you.

"Bora?" You called for him as you carefully hobbled out of the bathroom. Two heads turned to look at your wounded form and the called for orc made his way over to you. "Hold on, lemme..." He gently picks you up again and sets you on his kitchen counter before going to get what you assumed was bandages.

You looked over to see Orogakh staring at you. "Hey pops." He stood up and walked over to you, examining how your wounds have healed. He didnt say anything and simply pulled you into a hug. You hugged him back and looked over his shoulder to see Borhul holding bandages and some clothes that looked like his from when he was younger.

Orogakh stepped away and let his son help you. Neither of you spoke buy just looking at his face you knew exactly what he was thinking, making you smile sweetly at him. Borhul carefully bandaged some wounds that still needed to heal a bit more and slipped a pair of loose pants and a button up shirt. The shirt was a ivory white and the pants were brown. "I mostly covered the deepest wounds but the others are fine to breathe. Just try not to get them dirty." You smiled up to him and nodded. "I dont plan on making them any worse."

You said, looking up to him, still holding that smile on your face. He gently smiled as well before leaning in and hugging you again. "I'm glad you're ok..." He pulled away and turned to his father. "Should we..?" Orogakh nodded and Borhul gently took you off the counter. "Will you be ok with me giving you a ride?" He bent his knees slightly and motioned for you to hop on his back.

"I suppose. You probably wouldn't let me walk anyway." You said with a small laugh before carefully climbing onto his bare back. He adjusted so the both of you were comfortable before following his father out of the house. The instant that the three of you had left, all eyes had looked to not only you, but to Borhul carrying you.

The looks were mixed amongst the Orc camp as the camps' leader was walking along side his son carrying another, who wasn't even an Orc. Even though few looked on with an odd feeling, they were glad that you were ok. Borhul carried you all the way to town square where your three assailants were locked in pillorys. There was a small group of youngn's throwing stones at them and laughing.

"We waited till you woke up so that you could choose their punishment." Borhul gently set you on the pavement and Orogakh shooed the kids away. The three of you stood in front of the three of them, looking down on their pitiful states. The breeze blew gently, ruffling your hair. "I don't want anything bad to happen to them." Borhul scoffed and looked down to you. "Are you serious? They almost killed you (Y/n)."

You sighed and looked up to them. "All I wish is they're branded with both the murders and banishment marks and removed far away from here." He turned you to look at him. "(Y/n) they almost killed you. That's all you want to do?" You nodded. "If I wish death upon them like they did me, then I'm no better than they are. Just because I have all the power doesn't mean I will abuse it." You mumbled the last part as Borhul takes a moment to think before removing his hands from your shoulders and looking to his father.

He nodded and said, "I'll take care of them. Take (Y/n) back and relax." Borhul nodded and gently grabbed your hand. You looked up to him surprised. "What?" You shook your head. "You're just... Holding my hand." He grunts. "So what about it?" You shook your head again and the two of you slowly walked along the cobbled road back to his home.

Once the two of you arrived he pulled you close and sat the both of you on the couch. You ended up sitting super close, like thighs touching close. "Could you tell me what happened?" You asked, looking up to his eyes again. He sighs, some relief evident. "Not much had happened. I'm pretty sure we got there just as you passed out." You nod and rest your head on his shoulder, making his face light up with a blush. "You were out for three days though. The doctor said you should have woken the day after the attack so I was afraid."

There was a moment of comfortable silence before he spoke again. "So um... I... I know this is probably a bad time but... I..." Borhul hesitates heavily on what he's about to say. You look up to his eyes again and he was intensely staring at your face. "It's ok. Take your-mmhp!" He cut you off by smashing his lips into yours. You responded after your short shock had passed. A moment passed before the both of you pulled away for air.

"I think I love you." He mumbled out before going in for another kiss which you reciprocated. By the time the two of you pulled away, you found yourself straddling Borhuls thighs and his hands rested on your hips. "Hi." You said with a smile. "Hey." He said with a exceptionally pleased smile. "I just might feel the same way Bora." He smiles and kisses you again. Your hand rested on his chest as you leaned into him.

"Bora?" You said after you both pulled away. He looks up to you with a cute smile on his face. With a smile of your own, you run your fingers through his hair, combing it slightly in the process. He closes his eyes and let's out a small content hum. "Your hair is so wavy. But I guess that's what happens when it's braided all the time." You said as you played with it more. He rests his face on the spot between your neck and your shoulder and slightly pulls you closer.

"I wish we could stay like this forever."

----- 2465 (not proof read) Considering a part 2

[samstree]

and the wolf was nowhere to be found (1/3)

In which Jaskier chooses to lie, until he can no longer tell the truth.

(lying spell/potion, cursed jaskier, geralt apologizes, post mountain, miscommunication, rated teen, read on AO3)

A big thanks to @wanderlust-t and @a-kind-of-merry-war for the prompt! <3

The reverse trope series: [1] [2] [3] [4]

“You are gonna run after him again, just like that? Don’t you remember what he did to you? What you went through?”

Essi leans against the doorframe, her arms crossed in front of her chest, watching as Jaskier packs a second bag.

“Come one, poppet. Geralt was having a hard time back then, and now he’s come all the way to Oxenfurt to apologize.

“So what?”

“So I’m forgiving him.”

She grumbles a few rude words regarding the witcher’s lineage.

“Hey! That’s not nice.”

“And this is way too easy! Why can’t you see a disaster waiting to happen until it hits you in the face?” Essi exclaims. “Do you know what I would have done? I would make him grovel! Give him the cold shoulder. Or…or at least play it cool for a while longer so he knows not to take you for granted again! Sorry, but I’m…not like you.”

“Um…excuse you. I am plenty cool!”

“There’s nothing cool about being utterly in love and then getting cast aside over and over again, Jaskier. You know that.”

Jaskier sighs, walks to Essi and pulls her into a tight hug, all his scattered doublets ignored.

“I’m going to be okay,” he tries to tuck her curls away from her eyes but fails.

“Are you?” When she pulls back, there’s something inscrutable in those blue eyes, the curtain of blonde hair obscuring her emotions. “When you came down from the mountain, the way you couldn’t even … I don’t know. I just need to make sure it won’t happen again.”

“It—” Jaskier opens his mouth to make an easy promise, but finds the words choking in his throat. “I, um—”

Essi squeezes him on the shoulder. “He’s apologized, profusely from what you told me, and he’s being nice now. He will certainly be nice for a while, but what happens after he wins you back? What’s preventing him from hurting you again?”

Jaskier has no answers for her, so he resorts to giving her another hug.

“At least, think about my cold shoulder tactic. Sometimes people need the reminder, just so they know what they can easily lose.”

“Essi—”

“Think about it.”

She presses a small kiss on Jaskier’s cheek and leaves him to his packing. Outside the window comes the familiar sound of Roache’s hooves, clicking against the cobblestone.

Jaskier straightens his tunic and lets out a heave. He can see Geralt is being good now, friendly even, after all these years of denying their friendship. Now, the witcher is even waiting downstairs to begin their next journey.

Essi is just being overly protective, Jaskier decides.

He winds down the stairs and finds Geralt cooing at Roach. The urge to melt in those golden amber eyes is overwhelming.

“We good?” Geralt takes Jaskier’s bags and secures them on Roach, side by side with his saddlebags.

“Good,” Jaskier lies.

 ---

The truth is, Jaskier has heard of this so-called “cold shoulder” tactic. He’s even contemplated it for longer than he’s willing to admit. Every time Geralt dismissed him as a friend, brushed him off, Jaskier couldn’t help but want to retaliate with equal measure.

What if he’s the one to give Geralt a time-out? What if when Geralt tells him to fuck off, he just…leaves? The same idea churned in Jaskier’s stomach for two decades, but in the end, he knows the answer—he can never bring himself to go through it. His feet would carry him back to Geralt before even taking a step away.

He was left anyway.

But now…

Jaskier can’t afford to be left again. Essi was right. He isn’t sure if he can pick himself up again. He barely managed it the first time.

Jaskier lets out an audible scoff as he comes to the realization. He’s going to do it. The cold shoulder tactic. It’s so cheesy that it feels like something only school girls would use to get attention from a crush. Keep your distance, string him along a little. That’s how you get him to notice you exist—

“Something funny?” Geralt turns on horseback, sunlight peaking through his silver hair, a curious frown between his brows. He’s towering, beautiful. He has always been the most beautiful person Jaskier knows, even if he doesn’t know it.

Jaskier strums an absent chord on his lute. “Just something Essi said.”

“Hmm.” Geralt nudges Roach forward. “I was thinking… You’ve never seen a basilisk, have you?”

“No?”

“There are rumors about a nest in the next town. Want to see it?”

A hint of smile hints at Geralt’s lips, and Jaskier’s heart almost leaps out of his throat. A basilisk hunt is one he’s been dying to watch for years, if not decades. He’s drooling with excitement just thinking about the ballad that will certainly sweep the continent off its feet.

“Of course I want—" The sentence stops in its tracks. Jaskier bites his tongue to hide the slip. “You know what, I think I’ll stay in town. This new song needs some polishing before its debut. I’m sure a big witcher such as yourself doesn’t need a bard’s moral support for a meager basilisk, right?”

Jaskier adds a wink for good measure, but Geralt is not amused. He’s staring from his vantage point, his expression inexplicable. Is it really so shocking that Jaskier will turn Geralt down this once, after all this time?

“I understand.” Geralt pauses before continuing, almost too carefully. “Perhaps I can help? Sing it for me tonight?”

“Sing it…for you?” Jaskier asks, dumbfounded. The lute in his hands suddenly feels a lot weightier than it is.

“You wanted my review for so long, Jaskier. I’m giving it to you now. I’m sure your playing will be…nice.”

Geralt looks at him with hope in his eyes, and Jaskier can’t help but let his ego grow a little. It’s unbelievable that a simple refusal is what got Geralt to finally say anything positive about his music. The tiny triumph fills his chest with unexpected giddiness.

“Maybe I will. We shall see,” he replies. His fingers strike another chord.

Jaskier feels a spring in his steps, urging him forward to the mare’s steady gait. Golden amber eyes are burning a hole into his back, but he doesn’t dare to look back lest the tiny bubble of this perfect moment break.

 ---

Night falls, and Jaskier scribbles down another line. The door opens and Geralt drags his feet into their shared room.

Jaskier makes no effort to get up.

Once upon a time, he would have raced across the room to greet Geralt, checked for injuries and fussed over any scrapes and cuts, all the while getting dismissed with the witcher’s grumbled words. He’d help remove those heavy armors when Geralt’s muscles ache from exhaustion and get ichor all over himself.

He will not do that tonight.

Play it cool, Essi’s words echo in his memory. Right, he’s doing things differently now.

Jaskier fixes his gaze on the notebook in his lap and listens as Geralt shuffles around the room, putting everything back in place. One by one, his armor pieces drop in the corner of the room.

“How was it?” he asks with the most nonchalant tone as if he’s just noticed the other man’s existence.

“Fine. The basilisk’s dead.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier chooses the single hum uncharacteristically as Geralt puts his swords against the doorframe and sits down on the single chair.

He’s so still, hovering even.

“What?” Jaskier finally looks at him. Geralt, as he claimed, looks fine, with only a smudge of a black ichor sticking to his hair. A frown appears between his brows.

Adorable.

Jaskier shakes the thought quickly.

“Your new song?” Geralt prompts.

“Oh yeah. Never mind. I don’t feel like singing.”

It’s another lie. A necessary one, Jaskier tells himself.

“You,” Geralt says, raising an eyebrow, “don’t feel like singing?”

Jaskier clutches the notebook to his chest almost defensively, not sure what to do with the accusation. Is it a tragedy that Geralt knows him like the back of his hand? Or is it a shame that Jaskier is indeed buzzing with excitement to test out this song, with the most important person in his life?

“Well, I don’t.”

Jaskier keeps his chin up and scrambles off the bed to put away his books and pens. Geralt’s intent gaze is on his back again.

“Twenty years, and I’ve never known you to turn down an opportunity to sing.”

“I guess you don’t know me that well,” Jaskier bites back with a force that seems to come out of nowhere. “The bard may not want to entertain all the time, darling.”

The endearment sounds false, more like a jab. He lets out a dry chuckle and hopes to ease the tension but to no avail. Geralt’s eyes are wide with surprise. So Jaskier reaches for his bedroll as a distraction, but only serves to make the confusion deepen on Geralt’s face.

“What are you doing?”

Jaskier lays it by the fire, on the soft rug that magically seems clean enough. It should be self-explanatory, but apparently not because Geralt is still staring quizzically.

“Sleeping.”

Geralt looks at the double bed and then back at Jaskier. “On the floor?”

“Thought I’d give you the space. I know how keyed up you are after the potions.”

Jaskier can feel his heart pounding in his chest, the nervous energy buzzing as more words he doesn’t mean comes out of his mouth. He crosses his legs on the bedroll and pulls the blanket onto his lap to hide from Geralt’s scrutiny. But then, something dawns on Geralt’s face.

“Jaskier…” Geralt rubs his forehead, his face pinched. “What I said in Oxenfurt, I meant it.”

“You do?”

“You can count on me now. It won’t be like…before.”

Their gazes meet, and Jaskier bears the intensity of it with everything he has. He feels bare, seen through by the amber gold he’s missed and cursed and loved so much.

“I’m here, and I’m all here, Jaskier. Please believe in me.”

“I do.”

It’s not the truth despite how much he wants to believe it. Jaskier wonders if lying to Geralt ever becomes easier.

He doesn’t know what is not convincing him. Geralt looks so genuine, and Jaskier wants more than anything to trust him again, but the smile on his face feels too stiff.

The plan is going as Jaskier wanted. He’s showing Geralt that his friendship doesn’t come freely anymore, and the witcher needs to make more effort, meet him halfway, somehow. Then how come as the quiet night creeps in, Jaskier only finds a hollow space in his chest?

The roaring fire in the hearth warms his back, but Jaskier clutches his blanket tighter. It can’t stave off the coldness left by the lack of a witcher’s body by his side.

 ---

Jaskier continues with the same scheme the next day.

Ignoring Geralt is not a difficult task in the beginning. The barmaid is a beautiful thing, doe-eyed and curious, has too many questions for her own good. She keeps asking about Jaskier’s ballads, and wouldn’t quite believe any crazy stories in them.

“Is it true that the White Wolf fought a sea serpent on the Skellige Isles? Surely, those creatures only exist in legends!”

She’s getting familiar, pressed up against Jaskier on the bench, almost pushing him back into Geralt’s side—the real subject of the topic, but it’s obvious her fascination lies only in Jaskier. Her brown eyes stay on the bard alone.

“Why don’t we find somewhere more private and I’ll tell you all about it?”

“Is it a good one? It must be a heroic tale, isn’t it?”

“Heroic, of course. There’s also a twist. I won’t spoil it for you, but—” Jaskier winks, his fingers brushing past her wrist. “—it’s a love story that holds more heartbreak than you can bear.”

Her giggles are like soft wind chimes, and Jaskier guides her away from their table. He takes two steps and turns back, smacking himself on the head as if he’s only just thought of it.

“Oh, shoot! I know I promised to go the market with you, Geralt, but you see…” He gestures to the girl waiting expectantly in the near distance. There’s nothing I can do about it, he says with a shrug. “Have a good time, will you?”

Geralt is holding his tankard, his knuckles white and his face ice-cold. It’s like Jaskier is looking at one of those ice sculptures made by Oxenfurt’s art students every winter.

“You said you’d come.”

Geralt’s voice is so gentle, so full of dejection that Jaskier’s resolve almost breaks. He clears his throat and darts his eyes elsewhere. Those acting coaches back in school would have been disappointed in him for letting his emotions peak through, but Geralt doesn’t seem to notice what’s underneath this front.

“Surely you can find a new bridle for Roach by yourself,” Jaskier waves his hand in dismissal. “You are a big witcher.”

Geralt opens his mouth and closes it, before speaking again. “And the pastry shop you wanted to visit?”

Jaskier thinks of the lemon cakes he’s been itching to try and swallows the yearning in his throat. Gods, being with Geralt all day with not a care in the world, and with the best sweets on the continent. What is he doing turning all this down?

“Well,” he insists, “Better company comes before cake, my dear.”

With that, Geralt lets go of the topic. His amber eyes drop back to the half-finished ale. “Better company. I see…”

“Surely you understand, Geralt.”

“Just—” Geralt purses his lips in an attempt at a smile. “Don’t exaggerate too much.”

Jaskier should feel bad as he walks out the tavern door with a beauty on his arm, he should, but instead, a pang of anger rises in his throat. How many times did Geralt abandon him at the sight of Yennefer in the past few years? How long did he brood on top of that mountain, recounting every bad choice he’d made in his life and decided that it was all Jaskier’s doing?

For once, Jaskier doesn’t want to put Geralt first in everything, waiting for a bone thrown in his direction, and the witcher—this infuriating man—is going to act like a kicked puppy.

Horrified at this burning rage, Jaskier turns only to watch helplessly as Geralt walks down the street in the opposite direction. He’s planted to the spot, unable to chase Geralt down, and clueless as to whether this plan is doing him any favors other than the fleeting satisfaction of getting back at his friend who was at fault.

Was.

Geralt was at fault. Jaskier has forgiven him, or at least, that’s what he said at first sight of his witcher’s travel-weary face back in Oxenfurt.

And yet, he’s punishing him still.

The barmaid is still waiting for Jaskier’s stories, her cheeks still round with a timid blush and her eyes gleaming with expectations.

The colorful adventures taste stale on his tongue and she loses interest too quickly before returning to her post. His mood sours further as the day stretches on.

Jaskier ends up wandering around town without an aim in mind. The only place he’s carefully avoiding is the market, and the stable, and the smith’s shop. Anywhere he might bump into Geralt. When night draws in, a sudden downpour catches him off guard and drenches him from inside out.

Great. Just the perfect ending to the worst—well, the second worst day of Jaskier’s life.

Candles are still lit as Jaskier enters the room. He finds Geralt fast asleep already, and on the table, right next to his writing supplies, is a lemon cake.

It’s drizzled in honey and looks just as enticing as he imagined.

Jaskier picks it up and finds a lump forming in his throat, choking him with guilt. He wants to scream, to let out the frustration at all the mistakes made in the past and haunting him still. He wants to cry. It’s just…

Now, he doesn’t know if he still deserves to.

---

Okay, I know I'm being mean to Geralt here, but don't worry, I’ gonna be mean to Jaskier in the next one ;) 

Also, whatever Jaskier is doing here is very unhealthy. Don't try this at home.

Tagging: @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard​ @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

[cleaningsilverspring]

Preserving Your Precious Pieces: The Importance Of Professional Rug Cleaning In Silver Spring

Rugs are often an important part of our homes and can be a valuable addition to any room. However, their condition and longevity depend on regular maintenance and proper cleaning.

Professional rug cleaning Silver Spring is essential for preserving these precious pieces from wear, dust, and stains that can accumulate over time.

This article will take a closer look at:

- Understanding rug materials

- Identifying common threats to their condition

- The professional difference in the rug cleaning process

- Scheduling your next cleaning appointment in Silver Spring.

Understanding Rug Materials: Why Professional Cleaning is Crucial for Longevity

Examining various materials used in rug construction, such as wool, silk, and synthetics, elucidates the importance of professional cleaning to ensure longevity and maintain the integrity of these materials.

A rug's material can respond differently to different cleaning methods, making it necessary to have a professional clean your precious pieces.

Professional cleaners like Prolific Steamers know how to properly care for each type of material, avoiding any damage that could be caused by home remedies or DIY cleaning attempts.

These experts understand the unique needs of each rug and are up-to-date on the latest techniques in safe and effective cleaning.

Utilizing their services provides peace of mind that your rugs will remain in top condition for years to come.

Rug cleaning Silver Spring is an investment worth making; with proper care and maintenance from professionals like Prolific Steamers, you can rest assured that your cherished pieces are being treated with respect and attention they deserve.

Identifying Common Threats to Your Rug's Condition: Stains, Dust, and Wear

Adverse conditions such as stains, dust and wear can be likened to a ticking time bomb, threatening the longevity of any rug; however, professional cleaning can help to neutralize these threats.

Stains caused by spills or pet accidents are a common factor in rug degradation. Left untreated, they can leave behind unsightly discoloration and odors that will make your rug look less attractive and inviting.

Dust accumulation is another threat to the quality of your rug; if left unchecked it can cause abrasions to the fibers that will eventually lead to premature wear.

Lastly, normal foot traffic with its dirt and debris can cause discoloration over time as well as matting of the fibers if left unchecked.

Fortunately, professional cleaners understand how to best address each of these issues using specialized techniques and equipment designed for each type of material. Depending on the specific needs of your rug, they may opt for steam cleaning or dry cleaning methods in order to restore it back to its original state without damaging the delicate fibers or ruining its colors.

Professional cleaning is an important step in keeping your precious pieces looking their best for years to come — so don’t hesitate when it comes time for some TLC!

The Professional Difference: An In-Depth Look at the Rug Cleaning Process in Silver Spring

For optimal longevity and aesthetic appeal, a comprehensive rug cleaning process should be employed to combat the damaging effects of stains, dust accumulation, and wear. Professional rug cleaners in Silver Spring use specialized techniques to ensure that your rugs look their best for years to come.

First, they’ll conduct an inspection of the piece to determine what sort of cleaning will be necessary before beginning the job. This may involve vacuuming or brushing off any surface dust particles that have accumulated over time and lightly spot-treating any areas with visible soiling.

Next, a professional deep-cleaning method is used on your rug depending on its material type and condition—this could be steam cleaning, immersion washing, dry cleaning, or shampooing. During this step, dirt and allergens trapped in the fibers are removed for a thorough clean.

Following this stage is an additional rinse which removes any remaining residue left behind from the cleanser used earlier in the process. Finally, once drying is complete—which can take anywhere from several hours to days depending on humidity levels—your freshly cleaned rug is ready for display!

Scheduling Your Rug Cleaning: How Often Should You Call in the Professionals in Silver Spring?

Maintaining a regular cleaning routine is essential for ensuring that rugs remain in optimal condition over time, and with the right approach, homeowners can maximize longevity and appearance.

In Silver Spring, professional rug cleaning services offer an invaluable resource for those wishing to preserve their precious pieces. The frequency of these cleanings depends on a variety of factors, including location, use, and material type.

For example, high-traffic areas will require more frequent attention than out-of-the-way locations. Additionally, if the rug is used frequently or exposed to dirt or spills it may need to be professionally cleaned more often than one that receives minimal contact or use.

Finally, different materials require varying levels of maintenance; wool rugs generally require steam cleaning every 12 months while synthetic fibers may only need to be serviced every 18 months. By taking into account these elements when scheduling professional rug cleanings in Silver Spring, homeowners can ensure that their carpets maintain their beauty and luster for years to come.

Conclusion

The importance of professional rug cleaning in Silver Spring cannot be overstated.

Studies have shown that regular rug cleaning can extend the life of a rug by up to five times, saving homeowners thousands of dollars on potential replacements.

Additionally, professional cleaning services remove allergens and pollutants from the home environment, making it a healthier place for families to live and thrive.

It is clear that investing in quality rug cleaning is an essential part of preserving your precious pieces and ensuring their longevity.

With the right care, rugs can be maintained for years to come, providing comfort and beauty to any space.

Prolific Steamers

Williamsburg Dr, Silver Spring, MD 20901

Phone: (410) 253-9940

[mostlydeadallday]

Lost Kin | Chapter IX | One More Disappointment

Fandom: Hollow Knight Rating: Mature Characters: Hornet, Pure Vessel/Hollow Knight Category: Gen Content Warnings: flashbacks, referenced torture, amputation, body horror, dehumanization, mild self-harm AO3: Lost Kin Chapter IX | One More Disappointment First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter Notes: Hornet cleans the knight up and plans her next move. Hollow panics when their sister asks the impossible. This update was originally supposed to only be the bit from Hornet's POV, but I felt bad about posting something so short, plus I couldn't resist the opportunity to finally upload a landmark moment for Hollow. They speak! But only when ordered to! (It's a start.)

○

It took Hornet the span of the entire afternoon to restore the knight to cleanliness, starting with the dried void that proved surprisingly difficult to scrub from their shell, then moving carefully on to the mess of tacky orange stains near their shoulder. The soap stolen from the long-abandoned cabinets was light pink, floral-scented, provoking odd memories of her suites in the White Palace: the heated tubs filled with water from the city’s hot springs, the files and brushes the servants had used to smooth any chips or catches in her shell, the perfumed oil they had rubbed in afterward, the garlands of silver chains and pale flowers that had been draped over her horns. Feral child that she had been, she had no more belonged in the Pale Court than a dirtcarver, but she had needed to look the part, to fill the role of the king’s daughter, and so she had walked into her first appearance in clothes that fit too tightly and a shell so polished that it no longer seemed like her own.

She hadn’t needed another reason to envy the Pure Vessel, but she had seen their self-possession, their reserve, the way they seemed to inhabit their armor like a second shell, and wanted it, longed for their quiet and their stillness and the way the world seemed to flow like water around them.

Do they remember? she wondered as she wrung out the rag and went back to scrubbing at their shoulder blade. Had the sight of her stirred as many specters of the past in them as they had in her? Or were vessels incapable of memory, besides what was necessary to follow their orders? Did they muse? Did they dream?

She supposed not. But the knight had known her, countless years and uncountable horrors after they had last seen her. No matter the ruin of her kingdom, no matter what rags she was clad in, a knight recognized their princess.

The pieces of armor that still clung to their shoulders had to be pried off, coming away in plates of rust that barely held together. The shell beneath was warped and twisted, growth ridges smashed into ugly shapes by the confinement. She ran a thumb over it, wondering if anything could be done about it, if the plates would re-form at their next molt—if they molted. Perhaps the mangled chest- and shoulder-plates would as well, given enough time.

They raised their head when instructed to, allowing her to unwind the shabby cloak from their neck. Besides that, they lay as still as the dead, even when she lifted their hand from the rug to scrub the last of her blood from their claws. The experience was more like preparing a corpse for funeral rites than tending to an injury, and Hornet found herself wishing for something to break the silence. Despite her usual solitary tendencies, the knight’s silence had an unsettling quality, like a body laid out on a bier—any moment, you expected them to sit up, to move, to speak, but they did not.

She blinked away a vision of her mother’s body on her bed, resting in state, surrounded by the corpses of the weavers who had been tasked with tending her—they had succumbed to infection, and Hornet had put them out of their misery one by one, until the chamber felt more like a battlefield than a bedroom.

Then she knelt next to the bed, reaching out to take her mother’s cold, lifeless hand, and stayed there in the silence until hunger drove her away.

She had returned only once since. And that was to find the bed empty, the dream-seals hanging slack and dark, her mother’s memory torn away by an unknown hand.

Something had nagged at her, then, something that had only returned to her that moment in Greenpath, when the world turned upside down: the knowledge that something in the kingdom had changed, despite all her efforts to the contrary.

She had not been there when they prepared Herrah for her final sleep. She had not been there when the seals were cast, when the dream descended. She had not been there when her old nestmates and nursemaids went mad, when the Den sank into silence. And she had not been there when the magic fell away, when the last Dreamer was struck down.

What use was she, if she was never there when it mattered?

Hornet shook the buzzing thoughts away. Herrah had been gone for a long time. She had gone to sleep, slipped into the dream, and Hornet had kept on living, the distance between them growing ever more final.

Hallownest needed her more than her mother had.

But the kingdom, too, was falling into slumber—a slumber she knew it would never wake from. Soon her home would be a ruin, a wasteland where only shadows and echoes lived, ghosts dwelling in the shell of a civilization that had long since gone cold.

One desperate creature could not prevent that. One desperate creature could only ease the pain of its passing.

Absently, she helped the knight onto their back, starting over with a clean rag and a new kettle of water, ignoring the burn of exertion in her arms. The work was welcome, if tedious—a bit like sharpening her needle or winding bobbins of silk. She rarely had the chance to restore something, to see it emerge fresh and new from disorder. A fairly large portion of her life consisted of standing by and watching things descend into chaos. She could not rebuild the fallen spires or repair the broken tramways, but she could do this, and for now, it was enough.

At last, exhausted and hungry, she dropped the rag and sat back on her heels, staring down at the once-filthy shell that had become her whole world for a few hours. It shone damply, smooth and clean, returned to the glossy black that she remembered. But now nail-scars cut across the knight’s chest in shades of cloudy gray, and the infection almost seemed brighter, harsher, in contrast.

Hornet’s gaze flicked to their face, only to find their eyes shut, the milky overlay of their outer eyelids concealing the void beneath. She hadn’t marked a change in them, but she saw it now, the subtle difference between their stillnesses. They had fallen asleep while she worked, lulled perhaps by the warm water or the repetitive motion, and she moved carefully when she stood, loathe to wake them.

The incident this morning had derailed her plans somewhat, and she turned the thought over while she chewed on some jerky fetched from the makeshift pantry. She still needed to know what had happened at the temple, if they were able to tell her, but her urgency had dimmed; whatever catastrophe had occurred, the mansion didn’t seem in danger of falling down around her horns. And her ability to care for them would improve with communication, not to mention that she would feel more comfortable if she knew they could understand her orders.

She returned to the doorway, caught between a question and an answer, not even sure where her indecision had come from. Two days ago she would not have hesitated; they were a vessel, after all, and it was her birthright to command them.

That claim suddenly seemed shakier, faced with the gravity of the command she was about to give them. They had followed her orders so far without fail, but what she was about to ask went against their very nature.

The Pure Vessel did not speak.

The time she had spent in their presence before the Sealing had been minimal, but she had noted it even then. Aside from a soft chink of their armor or a stray snap of their cloak in the breeze, they were so quiet that she occasionally forgot they were there—not an easy thing for her to do, and unnerving when it happened. She had thought herself slipping, lulled into complacency by the influence of the White Palace.

She had been told that vessels were voiceless. But were they voiceless from birth? Were they born able to speak and then ordered not to? It seemed like something her father might do: why bother changing their anatomy when a simple command would suffice?

Before yesterday, she hadn’t even been sure that they possessed a throat or lungs or any of the normal anatomy for breathing and speech. But she had heard them inhale, exhale, struggle for air, heard their breath flutter like a broken wing, and she knew now that they were like her, at least in that regard.

Beyond that, she could only guess.

Perhaps they would be able to tell her.

After they woke. She hadn’t the heart to ask now, when they looked so peaceful, when they had endured her attentions so patiently, when their shoulders had finally relaxed onto the moldering carpet. Even a vessel required rest, it seemed.

She would wait.

They would need whatever strength they could gather.

○ 

It had not meant to fall asleep.

This thought sparked reflexively as it woke, as if the speed of the penance could atone for the crime. And for a moment, when its eyes flared open, it thought the punishment would be finding itself alone once more. But its sister had not left; she had merely settled near the fireplace, the folds of her cloak tented over her knees, her horns resting against the slate as she watched over it.

How long had she been waiting? And why? If she had need of it, all she had to do was issue a command. She did not need to sit and wait for it to rouse. She need only tell it to wake.

And she had not needed to kneel on the floor like a servant, dirtying her hands with the filth and void on its shell, but she had done it anyway. It had seemed unlikely, fanciful, even as it happened: the princess of Hallownest, elbow-deep in soapsuds, tearing her cloak to shreds to clean the wounds of a dishonored knight.

It was not its place to question her. Its place was to obey.

“I know it’s comfortable, but the floor’s mine.”

Even if she did make no sense sometimes.

She reached forward, rising to her knees, to put her hand under its shoulder. “Up with you. Back into bed.”

Her assistance was barely noticeable, the thin thread of her strength vanishing in the tangled knot of effort it required to move from the floor to the mattresses. Yet it had to resist the unseemly urge to lean into her, had to push back the longing for her to lay her hand on its cheek again the way she had the night before.

It did not know why it wanted this. Only that it was forbidden.

This was another weakness. It must be. A Pure Vessel would not want to be touched. A Pure Vessel would not want anything.

It crawled, slowly, back onto the mattresses, moving with its sister’s efforts as best it could. The fluid in its shoulder shifted as it sat up, sparking starbursts of pain across its vision like swarms of charged lumaflies. It could not help a shaky sigh as it sank its weight into the linens, and its sister’s fingers tapped lightly where she held its good arm, a reflexive attempt at comfort that it should not need.

She climbed over the bed and rearranged the cushions, pushing them into place along its spine to keep the infected shoulder from touching the mattress. As it relaxed, the throbbing eased, ebbing back to low tide, waves of pain lapping steadily at its consciousness.

The room was quiet while it caught its breath, but it could nearly hear its sister thinking, her jaw working under her mask, one fang catching the low light with a pale glint like a pearl.

She did not look away this time as it stared at her, and it nearly flinched, driven toward weakness by the gleam of purpose in her eye.

It had so little left: no nail, no honor, no purity, not even both hands. What could she possibly want that it could grant her? What use could she find for a shattered bowl or a broken window? Even at its strongest, it had never been enough, and now it was little more than a whisper of what it had once been.

She didn’t know, yet. She hadn’t guessed. Somehow it had fooled her, the way it fooled its father, fooled an entire kingdom, and the roiling shame of that lie was outstripped only by the fear of what would happen once she learned the truth.

It had pretended as long as it could. She would see, soon, what it was really made of.

She sat straight now, cool and intense as soul-fire, more intimidating than a creature of her size should be capable of. “Hollow Knight,” she said, and it nearly flinched again at her use of a title that no longer belonged to it. “I revoke all prior commands you have been given regarding this matter. If you are able to speak, speak to me.”

What?

What?

The bed beneath it suddenly seemed very cold. It lay there, capable of nothing more than shocked stillness, and stared back at her, even the ever-present pain fading to a dull murmur beneath the building roar in its head.

Speak?

Was this a trap? Was this some kind of trick, some test of loyalty? After everything it had done, everything it had failed to do, every oath broken, every expectation fallen short of—after all of that, this was what she asked?

It had been ordered not to think. Not to hope. Not to break.

It had failed.

But this, at least, was one promise kept, one order obeyed. One thing it could hold to. One single scrap of purity.

It did not speak.

It could not speak.

Of that much, it was certain. It had never had a voice, never shaped a sound, never held a word or song or whisper in its throat. It had never moaned or cried or screamed, not with the burning weight of magic in its body, not with the slow poison sizzling through its veins, not even with the final tearing horror of plates cracking void hissing skin splitting gone, its arm was gone, gone, gone—

The dizzy flashes of terror and memory tangled, twisting in its vision, and it clenched its hands—hand—at its side, palm slippery with void once more. That—that was over. That was done, finished, and this was now, and its sister was asking the impossible.

She was still watching, mask tilted forward expectantly, unaware of the clamor ringing through its head, and it almost wished it could speak, if only so it did not disappoint her. It could wish that—it had no way to act upon it, no means to fulfill the temptation, and the desire was only one more rebellious thought among thousands. But after all its worry, all its dread, what she wanted from it was something it had truly never been capable of.

Yet in obeying the long-ago orders from the king, it was defying what she asked of it now, disappointing her by being what Father had always wanted—a voiceless knight, a hollow vessel, a perfect child.

It could not answer.

And yet, for her, it tried.

For other beings, sound came effortlessly, air given tune and timbre by some trick of anatomy, some mysterious magic it had never learned the shape of. It drew breath and then exhaled, pushing at the confines of its throat, at the limits of its form, searching for some way to give her what she wanted.

What emerged was a rough-edged sigh, hoarse and meaningless, trailing off into a sickly rattle as the effort scraped past the infection in its chest.

Its sister looked surprised, head held straight and still, fingers clenched, her whole body quelled to quietness in case she might startle it. She was waiting, it seemed, for more, for something else, for a miracle it could not grant her.

It had nothing more to give.

Its silence had never seemed more achingly futile. Now, when everything else had left it, when it had given up on all it had been, when it had failed at what it was created to do. What did it matter if it spoke now, or cried, or pled, or sang? But this had not changed: it had no voice.

It had never needed one.

What would it say to her now, given the chance?

I’m sorry I was never what you thought I was.

I’m sorry that I failed you.

I’m sorry for everything.

But wishing didn’t change what Father had made it.

And Father had made it to be silent.

She gave up listening, finally, sitting back, glancing out the window at the eternal rain. “I suppose that’s a no, then.”

A gentle mockery threaded her tone—not for it, but for herself. Not suited for a princess, perhaps, but fitting for the creature she had grown into: the lone warrior, the watchful sentinel. She would have been wasted in the Pale Court, among the woven plans and tangled schemes of the nobles, sharp-toothed traps camouflaged by ritual and courtesy. It was in the sunset of this kingdom that she truly shone, an evening star in the dimming sky, defying the darkness as the light slowly sank away.

A new pain burned in its barren throat, not like the other sensations it had names for, not like dread or shame or fear. It was hot and tense and heavy, but with a strange lucent sweetness that cut like a scalpel.

It should not be thinking of this. It should be trying not to think at all.

It had been better than this, once. Perhaps its body was not the only thing that had broken under the strain. Every instant of suppression was a fight now, every moment of stillness hard-won. Something vital had collapsed, some keystone of its control had crumbled, and it had lost the absence that once defined it.

It could no longer trust itself. Perhaps… it had lost its mind.

It should not have had a mind to lose.

“Very well.” Its sister spoke suddenly, and this time it did jump, but she was still looking out the window, frowning at the rain, until her shoulders straightened and she rounded on it again with a new spark in her eye. “Give me your hand.”

It obeyed almost instantly, but the gods-damned thoughts were faster, curiosity and confusion arcing through its mind like lightning. It pushed them back, focusing only on her, on the warmth of her shell, her light touch under its palm, her little curved claws a third the size of its own.

She adjusted its fingers into a cupped shape, palm turned up toward its face. With her free hand, she copied the gesture, then lifted them both, their hands rising in unison as she guided its arm upward.

“This is ‘yes,’” she said, repeating the motion once more, then removing her hand and nodding at it. “Your turn.”

It froze, fingers hanging motionless.

This is ‘yes.’

She stared expectantly, waiting for it to repeat the sign, for that simple motion that was not simple at all. It knew what she wanted. Knew it could do it.

And yet it couldn’t.

Do not speak.

She had not ordered it. She had not commanded it to obedience. Not yet. It could still shy away, retreat into the comforting constrictions of its training, wait for an explicit command that would mean it had no choice any longer.

Hadn’t it just been longing for release? For a way to make her happy? For a way to break its own silence?

This was different than wishing for something it knew it couldn’t have. This—this was disobedience.

It had already broken its oaths. It was already a traitor.

But abandoning its nail had been a single, reckless act, a slip of rationality, an instant of feverish weakness. This simple sign—this one gesture, this few inches of motion—was a doorway, a threshold, crossing into a place it knew it should not enter.

And it did not feel reckless now, or feverish, or irrational. It could not blame this on its shade. It could not pretend this was anything but open rebellion.

It was a failure. It was nothing like what it had been created to be. It had lost the Radiance, thrown away its oaths and its title, given itself over to impurity.

Father would have no more use for it.

What was one more disappointment?

This is ‘yes.’

Slowly, shakily, it moved. Its hand rose, cupping the chilly air. The end of all its silences, the beginning of everything it would ever say. Its fingers shook so badly that anything else they held would have spilled over, but they could hold a word. An answer.

Yes.

An intake of breath at its side made it stop, but its sister showed no sign of disapproval, either at its use of the sign or at the sloppiness of it. When she spoke, her voice held excitement carefully in thrall. “Good.” She raised her own hand again and reversed the sign, moving it downward toward her waist. “This is ‘no.’”

She did not prompt it this time, and that made it harder, even knowing the expectation was there. Void swirled deep inside it, the act of responding unasked pushing shame like acid through its gut.

She had revoked its former orders. It had given itself over to her, forsaking its prior purpose, knowing it had nothing else left to it. And still, its hand quavered as it followed her lead, damnation screaming in its head like the voice of the Radiance herself.

The tumult could not, however, drown out its sister’s praise—not completely. “Very good.” She looked pleased with herself, fingers clasped tight on her knees, body pitched forward as if to launch into flight. The bitter scorch of shame and the sweet high of her approval were a nauseating combination, and it might have been sick had it eaten anything in recent memory.

Wouldn’t that have confused her. And put her effort to waste, after she spent all afternoon cleaning it up. It could only be glad she had not thought of feeding it.

[minuyu]

undying love [yandere! prince! x female! reader!]

Warning: This story may contain dark and unsettling themes. Proceed at your own risk.

01: The Three of Swords.

               “The prince may be the finest man I have ever laid my eyes upon. He is so light-hearted and sparkles like the most expensive jewel in the spotlight. He truly is perfect. I mean, have you seen his countenance ¹? His face has been sculpted by the very gods themselves. Not to mention, he excels in everything that he does. If he so much as looked me in the eyes, I would reach enlightenment. I do not have a doubt in my very words. Oh, he has lips that were made for kissing a maiden’s rosy cheeks. He has eyes that hold me hostage with their beauty, by much greater than the night sky ever could. His accent and words roll off his tongue like silk rubbing against bare skin, so soothing. I tell you, he is the love that all women want but no woman can receive.” The young, golden-haired maiden spoke in a hushed whisper on the streets to a small group of friends who huddled around her. With every dreamy sigh she took between her description of him, white puffed from her lips due to the cold weather. Despite this, the miniature crowd of women were warm in their hearts and cheeks, just at the very thought of the young prince.

               “Can you believe that he has never looked at a woman with desire? Despite of this, I can’t blame him. Somebody who deserves their body to be placed in the stars as a constellation is much too good for me. Nonetheless, I still dream every night of him. His love must be the greatest treasure a woman can get.” One of the women among the crowd continue on. The women continue to swoon, packed on the side of the cobblestone street.

               The kingdom of they called ‘home sweet home’ was one of cold weather throughout most of the year. Resting on the top of the tallest mountain that was surrounded by a ring of smaller mountains, it granted extra protection from possible enemies. At the foot of the mountains, about a two day walk from the kingdom, laid a deep and dark forest around this ring of mountains that gave them a great advantage over invaders. Tales about the forest had spread around the kingdom like wildfire due to it being so mysterious, but longer than any of the kingdom’s inhabitants. Perhaps, one of the reasons that the people were hesitant to leave the kingdom by foot, was the dark forest. Despite this, Spring still managed to peak out and greet the people with warmth and gracious nature every year. The kingdom was freezing, but with technologies advancing everyday, such as better ways of insulation and heating of homes with radiators throughout the floors and much more, they only got better at surviving the extreme temperatures. One must grow accustomed to the cold before they even think of treading in the King’s territory.

               One may be surprised, however their King was one of the very best in centuries. He was one of great kindness and care for the people, a true father of the nation. In that respect, his son made the future of the kingdom seem brighter. Excelling in just about every field, prince Bastiaan, the only son and child of the King and the late Queen, seemed to be a promising leader. One subject of the kingdom could not even batter an eyelash at the royal family. Instead, she preferred to focus on those who were near to her, like other lower-class people who lived among compact housing.

               Across the street from where the women had been gossiping, there laid a place where one could get their fortune told to them at a low price. Despite not giving a care in the world for the dearest prince and his father, women often came to her for tarot card readings that would hopefully predict that they would become the prince’s future queen. The shop, rugged in appearance yet strikingly colourful was her home. A big, wooden door with prune paint chipping off due to being worn out by harsh breezes during the dead of winter. On the door was a wooden sign hanging by a thick thread on a nail messily put into the door, that read ‘ Fortune Teller’.

               Inside of this shop, their was a small table and multiple beanbags and cushions spread around the floor. Shelves were fulled to the brim of tattered books about astronomy, myths, tarots, readings and so much more. A small chandelier hung from a cracked ceiling, painted with a beautiful mural of golden and purple-toned flowers seeming to rain from the night sky. The chandelier had a purplish hue that made the shop seem all the more magical. In the back, through an empty threshold with a curtain of silver star-shaped beads, was a table higher off of the ground with symbolic carvings of gods and holy symbols in the purple paint of the table. Freshly lit incense stands in a painted ceramic bowl filled with rice, imported from the warmer climates down South, at the center table surrounded by the cloths design.

               At the moment, two chairs were occupied. One, was taken up by a frequent client. Her name was Abella, who had also been entranced by the prince but not as much as other women. She came every week to the fortune teller, as she was always paranoid about the future. The tarot card readings gave her a sense of control, or at least helped her to prepare for any events that would take place. Abella had wavy white strands of hair that looked like the snow that fell outdoors much too often. Despite her young age, the white strands of hair were natural. Her face was long and clean, with little makeup placed upon to hide things that she called ‘flaws’. She wore a large, red trench coat that complimented her ruby crimson eyes beautifully. Only her grey, wide-ankle pants were able to be seen under the large coat she wore. She leaned in over the wooden table with the purple carvings with anticipation.

               On the other chair opposite from her, sat a young woman with [hair colour] strands of hair. She wore a large and over-sized coat as well, except hers was made out of a porcelain white faux fur. Her [eye colour] eyes seemed like a maze easy to get lost in, and her black eclipse-like pupils focused on the cards as she swiftly laid them out with her [skin tone] toned hand. The back of the cards were identical, all with the same simple symbol of a round, golden circle on a plain, pitch black back. The cards were placed neatly in unison with ease that one could easily tell that the fortune teller, who was called [Name], was a master with the cards before she could likely even speak. Her soft gaze averted to the Abella, inspecting Abella’s face that was scrunched up due to the difficulty of thinking which card to pick. They all looked the same, but let to very different outcomes.

               ”Pick a card, any card. Your fate will remain the same. Choose the ones that call for you, and it will be true.” You reassure her. Abella was always terrible at making decisions, but with reassurance from the very person who she trusted to help her every week, Abella squeezes her eyes shut and quickly chooses three random cards. [Name] picks up with cards that Abella had chosen, and inspects them.

               “For your past, you have gotten Death in the upright position. Death means that you have moved onto a new era of your life quite recently. It may have required some sacrifice and difficulty.” You tell Abella, who looked at you with her eyes as wide as saucers.

               ”I guess the Death card isn’t too bad.. when it’s the tarot explaining my past. Please, carry on to my present.” Abella says, biting on her lip afterwards in anticipation for what the next card would be. You move your attention back to the cards in your hand and put down The Tower card. Abella had never gotten this card before, so she quirked up at the sight. “What does it mean?” She asks desperately, as if her life depended on it. You chuckle slightly, and gently remove your touch from the tower card, leaving it in front of her and beginning to tell her what it meant, after you could hear the card speaking to you.

               ”The Tower in upright position. It means that there are big changes coming your way. These changes mean that any part of your life can be affected. Relationships, your job, or even financial circumstances. The chaos that the tower unleashes in this position will usually only affect one part of your life, but quite thoroughly as well. If the structures of your tower of life cannot handle this disruption without collapsing, then I suggest that it is best for you to add some new structures into your life.” You tell her, keeping your gaze focused on her to see the reaction you would receive from such a card. It wasn’t the luckiest card to get in present, but it also wasn’t the worst. The Tower meant that a part of her life will be heavily impacted. And that may be a good thing, as it will also give Abella a chance to build herself up again and choose better decisions in that part of her life.

               To your surprise, Abella doesn’t speak out and shout in a blaze of worry, she continues to bite her lip and nods her head, seemingly accepting the card in front of her. It seemed as though she knew what you were talking about and knew that in the end, it would have a positive impact on her life. “Carry on, [Name].” She says, in a more serious tone. She was properly thinking about the road of her life and obviously looked like she wanted to take caution and just live the best life that she possibly could.

               Finally, with the last card in your left hand’s fingers, you place it down on the table and tell her what was coming in the future, “You have gotten Strength in the upright position. This is a very powerful card and is generally a good omen. It means that anything bothering you at the moment will seem like nothing in the near future. Time will deal with all of your problems, but this happens all the time. You are lucky, Abella. The Strength card is a very good card to receive.” You tell her, a smile on your face at the good news. You feared that all the readings would be bad omens, but it seems that the Strength card turned the whole table around.

               Abella smiles delightfully, tapping her shoes on the ground with joy. “What wonderful news! I was scared that The Tower would lead to more bad. It turns out it will lead me to Strength. I must go through the hardships against me, mustn't I? Thank you once again, [Name]. Knowing what is coming my way truly helps to calm my nerves.” Abella thanks you, before pulling her sleeve up slightly to show a silver watch, which produced the subtle sound of time ticking away. “I’m going to be late for lunch with my friend if I don’t hurry. I’m afraid I may have taken my sweet time.” She says before taking two silver coins out of her coat pocket and placing them on the table. “Thank you kindly for the services once again, [Name]. I’ll be back for another one next week, as per usual.” Abella says, a pleased smile on her lips, completely different to the serious and frightened expression on her face as she was biting her lip earlier. Abella rises from the wooden chair and walks towards the exit of the shop, her white hair looking like a waterfall of snow as it drifted to her tailbone. Soon, you heard the door open and slam shut, meaning that she had left. Now, you sat alone in silence, with the muffles of life outside barely able to be heard. You get the cards and shuffle them up once again before placing them inside a box.

               Standing up, you place the pack of tarot cards within a small wooden box on one of your shelves, where it was now accompanied by at least a dozen other decks in the box. Closing the box, you decide that perhaps it was time for yourself to grab of something to eat, after all you could hear your stomach crying out for something pleasant to the tongue. You walk to the other side of the back room and pull open a black curtain, revealing a dark wooden set of stairs to the second story of the building. In the kingdom, most people usually had a shop on their lower floor and their home on the upper one. You found it quite functional and began walking up the steps calmly, despite the planks of wood moaning out with the threats of snapping in two due to wear and tear for decades. You lived in quite an old building. While it was not the best, it still had cheap rent and was home to you.

               Alas, your home could never compare to the gleaming white palace of pearl and golden detailing. The palace had towers that stretched up to the heavens and large windows that could barely give one a peek at their lavish lifestyle among the riches that their ancestors had collected through the eras. It may surprise a newcomer, however they were the only family that had ever been on the throne. True, pure blood royalty.

               The main doors were large and plain white with golden detailing and a large star in the middle that was made out of stained glass. The stained glass changed, depending on who’s reign it was. During the current King’s reign, it was red with a white flower in the middle of it, standing for fortune, purity and hope. At the back of the palace however, things got even grander with a garden too large for one to walk around in one day and manage to admire every single beautiful thing that it had.

               In despite of this, the prince’s keen, dark pearl eyes stared into the forest from his bedroom window, wishing for some adventure, or at least something new. Being forced to try your best at everything was tiring, and it was more tiring having to live up to everybody else’s expectations of you for your entire life. The prince was tall, standing at about six feet and three inches tall, about 190cm. He had a slender build, but his black outfit hid his well-toned muscle that had been build up over the years. Nevermind the fact of him being the best in combat, such as sword fighting especially, he didn’t have a single scratch on his skin that was as pale as the snow. Naturally, his cheeks were dusted with red due to the cold weather and slightly around his eyes as well, that were narrow and accompanied with orbs that were dark like the night sky. His lips had a slight red tint to it, but so subtle that one could tell if they examined him for a moment. His jet black hair was wavy and medium-cut for a man with it split in the middle of his forehead. His hair was undercut as well slightly, giving him an even cleaner look.  His hairstyle was truly charming, and was one of the most trendy hairstyles every year. The prince nonchalantly ran his long, slender fingers through his hair and stood up from the window seat, the grey light peaking out from the clouds falling on his shoulders. The prince wore a long-sleeved black shirt was a button-up, however the shirt went past to be buttoned up at the left side of his chest. His buttons were also black. There was a golden dragon embroidered on the prince’s shirt, but nothing was embroidered on his pants. They were plain black as well, and his shoes were pointy-toed and gleamed with ever step, but could never out-shine the prince no matter how much one polished them.

               “Your highness, the king awaits you in the amber private tearoom. He wishes to discuss your future.” The prince, named Bastiaan was being spoke to by a man who was neat in countenance despite the wrinkles beginning to form on his face. This man was his personal royal adviser. He had his grey hair slicked back, and the usual uniform of a white dress shirt and black pants but with red detailing, showing that his status was high thanks to the fact he was working closely for the royal family. The only person in the palace who ever dressed to show off their wealth was prince Bastiaan’s father, Alaric Beaumont Marchand Oscar D’Aramitz, who’s old age didn’t restrain him from wearing heavy red cloaks and jewels and badges all across the sash he wore. His pale grey hair still held some black streaks from his early, younger days.

               ”Very well then.” Prince Bastiaan responds monotonously, face void of emotion. His shoes clacked against the gleaming floor with elegance, and as he reached the expensive door, it was opened by two royal guards on either side. Walking past them, the prince makes his way to his father, the king himself. He could feel a nervous lump in his throat.

               As Prince Bastiaan walks along the polished halls, the floor tiled with black and gold marble. The wallpaper was extravagant and light in colour. There were paintings of past rulers and paintings done by famous artists, some of the paintings centuries old. Soon, he regretfully arrived at the end of the hall at a door much larger and grander than the rest, so detailed by gold that you could barely see the canvas that the gold had been laid upon. Prince Bastiaan dusts his outfit off and fixes himself up before running his hand yet again through his dark, silky smooth locks. Then he clears his throat and stands still. At last, the guards open the grand door for him and he is wet with the conservatory. Despite it being winter, the glass was so thick that it was warm inside. The room felt cosy despite being fairly large due to the large fireplace that roared on viciously behind his father. There he was. The man of the era. The man that ruled the kingdom. The man that ruled his life. He sat deep in thought, not noticing his son’s glamorous arrival. Several of his knuckles rested upon his chin as he contemplated deeply about god knows what. The room was dim, most likely ordered to be by his father who disliked bright light, complaining about the strain it placed on his eyes. Instead, the orange light of the fire lit up the room, accompanied by several lavender scented candles scattered about the room.

               Prince Bastiaan coughs, gaining his father’s attention. The king turns his head, looking at him with surprised eyes, having not noticed him enter. “You wished to speak with me, father?” He questioned, looking at his father’s grey orbs that matched his hair like the grey stone walls that had protected the kingdom for decades.

               ”Indeed. Please, take a seat, my boy.” His father responds. The king takes a porcelain teapot with fine blue designs on it from the table, and pours chamomile tea into two matching tea cups. There was a small three tiered tray of savoury treats, all attractively colourful and delicious. Their smell mixed with the lavender, making the room that tiny bit more enjoyable. Following his father’s wishes, the prince swiftly sits down on a matching, large wooden chair that was cushioned with soft, velvet, maroon fabric.

               ”It is time to speak about a certain topic, my boy. Your future. However, I would like to focus on a specific part. Which is, love. Every king and every queen has had a partner by their side. Love makes us stronger. My son, you are a gift from the heavens. Everyday, with each new achievement you make, I think to myself, ‘Is he really my boy? He’s so talented, and capable, someday maybe he will be as great as me.” The prince’s father begins. The prince stays silent, grabbing his tip of tea gently with his left hand as he pays attention. The only thing interrupting his father was the slight cackling of the fire.

               “My son, I wish for you to find a beloved. Perhaps, even a wife. Or even, a meaningless fling with a noble lady to your liking. You must relax. Sometimes, I look at your listless face and ask myself, ‘What happened to the little boy who used to smile at every single thing, as if it meant the world to him?’. I do not wish to find you a wife myself, however I may feel inclined to if you do not find one within the next six months. Or at the very least, a love interest. Every woman in this kingdom rests at your feet, worshiping your status, beauty and intelligence. Surely, it will not be an issue.” The king states.

               ”Father, this is unfair. I hate to argue with you, I truly do, but I do not wish for any of these women. There is no challenge. They all fall to my feet and would willfully marry me if I so much as glance at them. They claim to love me so deeply, they claim that I am god’s lost child, however they do not know me at all. The noble ladies wish to marry and converse to me for the status and money. My looks and capability are just a bonus. If I marry women like them, what will become of me? I must set an example, and if I get married, my wife shall be an example to the rest of the kingdom as well. I refuse for you to control my love life. I am perfectly capable of ruling this kingdom on my very own. When the time is right, I will marry. If that time never comes, it is of no importance. It is only love.” The prince responds, hands tightening around the arm rests to restrain his temper. In his head he could hear multiple voices of those who have commented on his love life before.

               ‘Prince Bastiaan is perfect, so why doesn’t he marry already?’, ‘I wish he would look at me and realize that I’d be willing to marry him. He’s a gift from the divinity I tell you.’, ‘Have you seen the prince? He must be quite a loner if he hasn’t ever had a lover at his age.”

               You could visibly tell that Prince Bastiaan’s calm response had set the king off with rage. “You will marry. You have six months at most. Do not dare defy me once more.” The king threatens, his voice dangerously low. Full to the brim with anger and disappointment towards his father, the prince raises up to his feet and begins taking swift and large strides along the halls towards his bedroom. Once he reaches his destination, he opens the door himself, leaving the guards slightly confused, only to realize what had happened when the prince slams the doors behind him

               His back was now pressed against the door and he looked down at his feet. He knew that he couldn’t impress everybody. He knew that everybody admired him, or at least, everyone except his father. He couldn’t understand why it was so important to find a partner in life, and he truly didn’t wish for one. He had read multiple romance novels from the palace library and all seemed to be filled with heartache and tragedy. He was not about to sign himself up for something that he knew would inflict emotional pain on him. If he was hurt in any way, he couldn’t continue being the perfect man that he was, and it seemed that only god knew how difficult it was to live to people’s standards. With the marker set up so high, even if he was slightly off target, everybody would be disappointed. The prince clicked his pointy tips together before walking towards the window and inspecting the kingdom that lay before him. The kingdom that he was set to reign over.

               Prince Bastiaan had heard from whispers on the street that there was a fortune teller. One that could tell fortune with great accuracy, and who’s abilities brought those who didn’t believe in her to their knees. He gazed out, looking for his answer in his mind. If he hired the fortune teller, perhaps it would help with his love life. Especially if she would tell him about his progress every week and what is to come. That way, he could be prepared for any emotional storm that would come. That way, he would learn how to win a woman’s heart with his personality alone. Despite of this, the prince felt his hope slip through his arms as he realized that he did not know what his personality really was. He was a puppet, or even a mere doll that everybody played with. The doll had to be whatever the people wanted, and they wanted a true idol. One that could compete against the greatest gods. Before he could think any further on that matter, a loud knock sounded on the door.

               “Your highness, lady Isla from the house of Brodeur has come for your meeting. She is waiting for you inside of the amber private tearoom where you once were. Your father has retreated to his private quarters, so you two will have the tearoom to yourselves.” The royal adviser's voice informed the prince through the door, slightly muffled.

               ”Yes, I’m on my way.” The prince says. “That’s today?” He whispers to himself surprised. He sighs, deciding that perhaps lady Isla was his only choice at the moment. After all, she was obsessed with him. She stuck to him like glue and whenever they were at the same ball or gala, she would follow him despite the weaves and turns he would make. She often bragged to her group of friends with how she was childhood friends with the prince, despite him not considering them friends at all for that matter. Her affections were completely one-sided yet she never stopped chasing after him. The prince looked back at the kingdom and sighed. Perhaps he should gather some suitable choices for himself before making his final decision. He needed somebody suitable to be the mother of the country. He wanted them to be great, or even greater than his late mother.

               The prince spun on his heel and went through the same corridor and door to return back to the tearoom. He had managed to recollect his thoughts, and felt much more calmer now. However, he had no idea how he would appeal as amorous or even properly flirtatious to a woman. After all, he did not find Lady Isla even the slightest bit appealing, not as a lover or a queen.

               When the prince entered the room, he saw Lady Isla standing tall and joyfully. At first glance, she seemed neat and mature. She was quite tall for a woman, standing at around 5’9. Shiny dark brown hair cut into a bob. Her diamond blue eyes scan over the prince, taking in all of his beauty with a pleased smile on her face.

              “Your highness, thank you for meeting with me today. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.” She says thankfully, grabbing the back of the chair where the king himself had once sat, and curtsied, bowing her head much deeper than required to show how grateful she was. In all honesty, the prince had only agreed to this meeting in order to tell her straightforwardly that he was not interested in her. The love-sickness that was tied to him had grown annoying and was interfering with his work. Now it seemed that we had to do the complete opposite of what he desired to save face.

               ”You may sit.” Prince Bastiaan says motioning to the chair in front of him. Lady Isla blushes as she sits down on the maroon chair. The fact she was in his presence and could have his full attention for a small while made her feel like her heart was about to pound of its chest. The prince saw her as foolish, especially since she had sat down. Yes, he may have told her to, but she should know that it is required that any royal blood sits down first. It seemed that she had failed in the department of manners. How could a queen not even know the rules, manners, and laws of her own country? Prince Bastiaan sat down opposite Isla and felt pressured by her large eyes piercing at him intently, not leaving his figure for a split second. He felt uncomfortable but decided to use his confidence. He was a prince after all.

               The prince looked Isla directly back into her eyes with a listless face. She could feel that her heart was skipping beats like crazy, she was surprised that she had not fallen over with a heart attack. Though she didn’t know that the prince was testing out one of the moves he had learnt from reading romance books. His heart was supposed to flutter at the very sight of her, he was supposed to feel his heart skip a beat. But there was no warm feeling, no happiness, no sped up heartbeat. Nothing. Perhaps it was time for him to accept that he had been granted the gift of being talented in return for his ability to love.

               “How was your morning?” The prince asks, as a servant comes over and begins to pour them a pot of freshly brewed green tea. He breaks gaze with Isla and picks up his teacup, taking a small sip out of it to take the warm liquid in.

               ”It-It was alright. And yours, Bastiaan?” She asked, longing for his dark orbs to stare into hers again. Even if the interaction was over, her heart would not stop beating quickly. Prince Bastiaan put down his teacup as he tried not to flinch with repulsion and her poor manners. Was she a noble lady or a slave? He decided that she really was not the one that was worth the status of being Queen.

               ”It was lovely meeting you once again today. I have my studies to attend to. Thank you for coming, perhaps we could meet again in the near future. However, I am quite busy today.” The prince lied with his cold tongue. In whatever way though, the noble lady’s heart could not be cooled down.

               “That is...is quite alright,” She stuttered out, in disbelief that he had actually said that he hoped that they could ‘meet again in the near future’. Had something changed? Perhaps the prince was finally paying attention to the sort of things that other men his age would. Regardless, the prince just wanted to get out of this situation and as far away as possible. He didn’t want to appear rude after what he had pulled today, it may damage his reputation.

               “I’ll be off.” He vocalized, before standing and retreating back to his chambers. He rushed to the window and placed his hand on the clear glass, as if reaching out. Taking a deep breath in. He needed help, desperately. He was afraid to admit it, but this fortune teller seemed to be his only choice. If he was to find his perfect bride within six months, he needed to get help in avoiding women who didn’t live up to the standards. He needed hints. So with that, the prince walked over to the part of his room where a rope hung from the ceiling. Grabbing it with his hands and pulled, ringing the summoning bell. Several moments later, the royal adviser walks inside of his bedroom.

               “Summon that fortune teller near the compact housing. The one that the common folk and nobles alike speak of.” He demanded, not seeing any reason to justify his actions. He was simply complying with his father’s wishes, but not so much in the way that the king expected. He spoke with utmost certainty, determined to find the perfect queen, even if there were no feelings of admiration.

               The royal adviser simply compiled, slightly caught off guard by the request. “Right away, your highness. I will come back to you with them soon.” The adviser responds, before disappearing once again, the doors shutting closed silently behind him.

               Prince Bastiaan sighs sorrowfully, and sits down on a large couch in his bedroom. His room had a black and white marble floor, with wallpaper that was black and golden. Black was his favourite colour. It was practical and fit every occasion. Parties, afternoon tea, funerals, ceremonies, etc. Not only that, but the young prince swore to wear black for the rest of his life after his mother had passed, at the age of eight.

              Entering your shop, you move to take your coat off but are interrupted by insistent knocking on the front door. You open it a smidge and peek through to see a young man in full plate armor.

               “Are you the fortune teller of this shop?” He asks eyeing you down.

               “Yes…?” You answer, opening the door a bit more. You are about to ask what kind of fortune he wants to be read, when he speaks again.

               “Prince Bastiaan of the royal family requests your audience.” You stand there with a confused look on your face. You had just gotten home from finishing a late lunch, and several minutes later, a palace knight had come knocking on your door. To tell you that the prince “requests your audience”.

               ”Why?” You ask, hoping to get some answers. The whole scenario makes you scratch your head, wondering why the prince would want a simple fortune teller.

               ”You are expected at the palace by ten in the evening, tonight. A carriage will come to pick you up at nine in the evening. Have a splendid day. Long live the king.” The knight states, completely dodging your question. It seemed that your question was either confidential information or the guard did not care to answer. You sigh, seeing that you had no choice. You slam the door shut with anger at the knight who hadn’t even bothered to give you a simple answer. Now, your thoughts will wander until ten in the evening, when you were supposed to meet the prince. Then, you froze. Akin to a statue when you realized that you were meeting the acclaimed perfect prince from fairy tales that young ladies dream about. You had to look your best. If you looked the slightest bit scrappy, god knows what would happen to you. The prince may think that you are disrespecting him with informality and as a result, his father would behead you. Alright, perhaps that was a bit of a stretch, but it was still plausible.

               You hurried upstairs. It was already six in the evening and you only had three hours to make yourself look better than you ever have before. You admit, you didn’t care much about royalty or wooing the prince. However, you did care about paying respect to where respect was due. Though you hated to admit it, the prince had a heart of generosity. Not only did he give 90% of his homeless subjects homes and jobs, he helped fill their stomachs until they were stable and able to survive on their own without his aid. Prince Bastiaan had even risked his life in battle more times than you could count for the kingdom, returning without a scratch. He was the rightful owner of the title, Angel of Beauty and Blood. It sounded quite cliche to you, but you knew that it was true.

               Your wooden planked floors creaked with every step you made, begging for repair and threatening to break. You paid no mind to the creaks and entered your small box of a bedroom. It was full of herbs, orbs, and dried out vegetables, specifically for making medicines. The white wallpaper was stained yellow and was chipping off of the wall. Some of the wall was covered by a large tapestry of a purple eye, which was pinned up with two small nails. In the corner of the uncomfortably small room was a dresser, with your clothes hung up with thin, metal hangers. There was a drawer at the bottom, where inside were your underwear, tights, shirts, and pants.  You reached out for a hanger that held a purple and white dress. It was lilac and strapless, and the chest area looked as though it was a purple-toned water lily. The bottom was quite puffy and had translucent fabric stacked on top in order to add that extra volume. It had small, silver shimmers that seemed as though they could catch the moonlight, and overall, was quite cute and elegant. It had matching, long lilac gloves that went up a few inches past your elbows, and had silver ends with white flowers embroidered on neatly. This dress was once your mothers from what you could tell judging by the tag inside having the words ‘from mother’ sewed into it. You only wore it on the most special occasions, and this one was certainly a special occasion.

               You slithered out of your day wear, abandoning your old clothes on the floor before picking them up and placing them in a small laundry bag that hung on door’s knob, handcrafted from an old sack of potatoes. Afterwards, you proceeded to put on your special outfit. You admit that perhaps you had grown quite a bit since your last special occasion, as it was slightly more difficult to zip yourself up into the dress. As you put on the rest of your outfit on, such as the gloves and your white tights due to the cold weather. Afterwards, you went into the bathroom and stared yourself in the mirror. You wanted to give yourself a speech to psych yourself but as your lips parted, nothing came out. You had the lowest rank a person could have, and the second highest rank, only to the king, that belonged to the prince wished to get in touch with you. Yes, you. The [hair colour] haired girl staring right back at you in the cracked mirror. Perhaps you had the right to believe that broken mirrors granted you bad luck. If word got out you met with the prince, wouldn’t business become better? What if they gave you free snacks there? What if you were making a big deal out of nothing? What if you showed up to palace looking like a purple doll while the prince was in his pajamas? Wouldn’t you look like an idiot? In fact, what if business went south? What if people got jealous that you talked to the prince? What if all the women in the kingdom couldn’t accept you?

               You shake your head before the anxieties driving around your mind could come back to you any faster. You gripped the edges of the sink with your fingers turning white due to how hard you gripped it. You breathe in. “One, two, three. Breath out gently.” A young man with golden hair and snowy white orbs, looked you right in the eyes as you opened them gently. “Better, isn’t it? If you feel worried, then remember to breathe. I won’t always be here to remind you of that.” He says, a small smile on his rosy lips.

               “I feel much more calm now. My nerves.. aren’t as tense. Too bad the sweat on my hands can’t be taken back into my skin, I feel like I’ll form a river. I just.. I’m so nervous for this. I truly believe in this, Florian. I truly do. If I can make even the smallest change-“ You were cut off by Florian’s small, melodic chuckle.

                “Yes, I know, I know. [Name], you can change the world. You can do much better than your pathetic excuse of a friend. Keep your head held high. As a famous poet once said, ‘a happy soul is the best shield for a cruel world’. Stay smiling bright like you always are. Now, get out there and knock their socks off!” Florian reassures you, his hands gripping the sides of your arms and encouraging you. His smile shone brighter than a million suns and you felt blinded by his beauty and grace. Your soft fingers gripped into the sides of his arms in return, with stress and darkness. It was as if there was a rain on your parade and the sun had come to personally greet and save you. You regretfully let go of his arms, your own dropping to your sides. You bite your bottom lip and nod, feeling determined.

               “You sway the heavens like the branches in the wind. Surely, you can sway this crowd of people with your talent.” Florian says, before squeezing your sides tightly then letting go.

               You pant, your eyes wide and shaky. Your legs tremble and you fall down onto your backside, colliding with the hard tiled floor of the bathroom. Who was Florian? Yes, it seemed like a memory, but you weren’t sure if flashbacks got that intense. Your hands felt numb and your fingernails hurt from how hard you had unknowingly gripped upon the sink.

               Though you did not like to spread the information, you had amnesia. The earliest memory you ever had was waking up on the side of the street completely stripped of any memory or coin, as though you had been brutally kidnapped then abandoned. You’ve been dealing with it for seven years. Seven years of never knowing who you were, where you came from or what your family was like. It did not make you too sad because you couldn’t miss a part of your life that you couldn’t remember. You occasionally got, what you believed to be, glimpses of your past. They put you through intense emotions, and left you feeling as though you had experienced a panic attack about a hundred times within a minute. Your head ached desperately as your fist weakly hit the floor. God, you wished that you could remember something. Your fist raised from the cold floor and onto the top of your head. However, your hit against the top of you head was weak as well. Your fingers, covered by gentle cloth intertwined with your [hair colour] strands that rose messily out the top of your head.

               Getting back up shakily, you stare at yourself in the mirror. There was a small, wooden clock that ticked sorrowfully in the lonely bathroom, signalling that it was already at seven in the evening. Had time really flown by so quickly? Well, time is a construct. It flies by when you long for it to linger for longer, and lingers for longer when you long for it to fly by.

               You pick up the brush that rested on the sink and brushed out the tangles in your hair, and styled your hair in a way so that it was neat and tucked behind the ears. Doing so gave you a clean look, as if you were a completely different class. You practiced smiling in the mirror. As you practiced, you suddenly halted. Had you become crazy? Why were you practicing how to smile?

               Slightly angry at yourself for wasting time by getting carried off on a tangent, you hurriedly finished up your hair, using all sorts of products to make it smell luscious and look better than it ever had in its lifetime. You finished several minutes after the clock had hit eight. Now, you lightly placed some natural appearing makeup and hugged your faux fur coat tight around your body. You looked at yourself and took out a pearl necklace. It was on sale, and perhaps fake due to the cheap price you managed to get it in, so you had bought it just in case something like this had come up. You slipped on some white flats, not willing to risk a mishap in heels.

               It was now half past eight and you were pretty much ready. All that was left was to pack the things you’d need. The prince most likely called upon you as audience due to your fortune telling abilities. You made your way downstairs, switching the light off in the bathroom.

               You picked up a white satchel with some embroidery done into it of purple flowers. You had gotten it for such a cheap price despite it being quite the steal, especially since there was purple. You felt connected to the colour, even if it maybe wasn’t your favourite. Your empty satchel felt like a feather as you wrapped it around your body, then proceeded to look around the shelves. The small, brown box called out to you from the shelves, driving you to pick it up. Inside, there was a small, glass orb. The glass orb could give the user a warning to one’s future at the price of a drop of blood. This let the orb know whose future to read, and helped it to accurately show a glance at one’s future.

               You began your course of action for the drab, amber box that held around about a dozen different tarot cards. You selected the one that stood out of the pile. The cards had a back of black with the national flower painted upon. It was truly a beautiful selection of cards, so you put it into your bag as well, with all the cards held together inside a black card box. It wasn’t in top condition with numerous scratches on the cover, however you didn’t pay any mind to this, considering it was the tarot cards that mattered.

               Deciding to not travel too heavily, you simply place your purse into the satchel, now ready to go. You wait several minutes while sitting at the round table in the back room, eyes straight at the rusty clock. It was ten minutes away from nine in the evening, which was when you were told to be picked up. However, you jumped slightly when you heard a loud, firm knock upon your wooden door, causing the door to threateningly shake, as if it were to fall any moment.

               Quickly, you advance towards the oak door, unlocking it shakily. Your hands shuddering slightly as the brass key in the lock turned. You opened the door just by a peak, to see the royal knight’s eyes shift from staring straightforward at the door, towards you. His eyes widened slightly, yet he was quick to conceal his feelings. The royal knight seemed to be around his early thirties, still looking fairly young despite signs of ageing beginning to form. He wore a cerulean and argent uniform with a plain white sash around his slightly built form. There were several badges on it, indicating that he was of a fairly high status.

               ”Greetings. I came here early to warn you, but it appears that you’re ready.” The knight says, able to see part of your outfit and how nicely you had done your hair compared to beforehand. “Well, I’m glad that we’ll have no rush. We can leave early if you’d prefer. That way, we can be positive, with the utmost certainty that you won’t be late.” The knight suggests, his grey gaze staring at you, waiting for an answer.

               “I guess that’s logical. Let’s be on our merry way then.” You respond, stepping out of your house and locking the door behind you. Afterwards, the guard leads you to a black car that was as spotless as a ballroom floor. Waxed so greatly and excessively that you would’ve mistaken it for some sort of gorgeous eclipse. The windows were lined with a pale gold and there were two small kingdom flags on either side of the back. The guard holds the golden handle and opens the door with ease, gesturing for you to go into the car. In all honesty, this felt a bit sketchy, as though you may be getting kidnapped.

               Despite your thoughts, you complied and simply stepped into the vehicle, resting against the fine, red leather. The front of the car was separated from the back with a wall, which had a screen inside, allowing the person at the back to open or close it as they pleased. You stay still and gaze outside the window, reality starting to come to you. You really were about to meet the prince. You really were in a royal car. You really were summoned. As all this was processed, you gulped nervously.

               “You did amazing, [Name]! I’m so proud of you.” Florian tells you, a bright smile on his lips.

               “I know this is a competition but my god, you are good. I don’t think I can win this.” Florian adds before gazing towards the mountains. Your gaze follows his, resting on how the snow fell gently, like a million feathers upon the ground. You smile gently to yourself, seeing the sunset paint the sky purple and red, all as though it was from an expensive painting brought to life.

               “I only did well thanks to your great advice. Remembering to breathe helped me much more than I would have thought. All of the methods you teach me are very helpful.” You reply gladly.

               ”Gosh, this is tiring. I guess we’re working together now instead of going solo. On the bright side, there’s only one more mountain to go.” Florian reminds         you before pointing his pale finger towards a tall, dark mountain. Clouds hid the top of the mountain, with shadows from the sky cast a cloak of mystery and dread.

               “Are you sure that’s the right mountain? I thought the instructors said that we wouldn’t have to go up a mountain that high.” You speculate, hand on your brow in confusion.

               ”Please, [Name]. My navigation skills are top tier. You’re lucky I’m helping you. Look at the map, I’ve read it perfectly.” Florian responds harshly, obviously stressed. He didn’t have the best map skills, but believed that he could manage. So, he handed the tattered map over to you.

               “Oh, this is supposed to be a competition. Why are you so supportive? Do you have some ulterior motive?” You interrogate him, your gaze breaking away from the frosty mountains and towards your friend with golden strands. His diamond eyes squinted slightly before turning to you. He pouts as he turns to gaze at the mountain again.

               “You’ll feel relieved to know that I don’t. I understand how this competition can benefit us both, however. Enjoying these moments with you along the way is much better. I’d be happy to let you win, [Name].” Florian responds, before his smile fades away and his eyebrows knit together, concerned. While you both chat, you continue to look at the map.

               ”Florian, the map is upside down!” You yell, before sighing heavily. “I can not believe this. This is outrageous. We’ve been walking for a week in the completely wrong direction, Florian!” You complain, a whine escaping your mouth as you kick your legs in a childlike manner.

               “What?! Since when-?” Florian is cut off by a knock. Wait, a knock?

               ”Ma’am, please wake up. I’m terribly sorry to disturb your doze, however we have arrived.” The knight tells you from outside the window, his knuckles gently acting as an alarm for you to wake up to. The knocking had brought you to your senses as your [eye colour] eyes examined the real world around you. Two flashbacks in one night? This was too much for you. You noticed you had a blanket of goosebumps on your skin and that you had been lying there in a cold sweat. Slightly embarrassed, you nod your head.

               ”Yes, it is no problem. Do not apologize, I’m the one who should be sorry. I apologize for falling asleep in the car.” You reply, your fingers reaching for the handle, only for it to be pulled away by the guard opening the door for you. He had no need to bow, especially since your rank was lower than his. In fact, you were lucky that he was being kind to you at all. You heard many stories of knights who were disrespectful and rude to those in the lower class.

               You step out of the polished black car and as soon as you do, a butler steps inside and drives the cab away. You watch it for a second before following behind the guard towards the palace. As you looked up at it, you felt your jaw drop to the ground. It was more beautiful than the paintings or stories could have ever told you.

               The palace consisted of pearl and white marble on the outside, with gold intricately interrupting the sheet of white, adding more elegance. The palace was so large yet sparkling clean, as though there was a layer of fresh snow, glimmering with beauty and grace in the moonlight. Marble steps led up to the palace. Taking note of this, you were careful of each step you took towards the top of at least dozens of steps, especially as marble was slippery, and looked freshly washed. This made you thankful for the light blue carpet that extended from the landing at the top of the steps and through the closed doors of the palace that hovered over you.

               “We’ve arrived ten minutes early, so please wait in the staff room. Once the prince has summoned you, I’ll ensure somebody comes to guide you to his private library.” The knight informs you. As you both walk towards the main door, two other knights equipped with gleaming gold did some sort of knock on the door, signalling for it to be opened. As the large doors open, you felt all the luxury hit you in the face. Standing in shock at the perfect fairy tale scene. You had no idea that the inside would be able to compete with the extravagance of the outside.

               The walls of the palace were tall and were not shy to show off the expensive foreign wallpaper plastered upon them. The floor was made of black jade, with golden symbols detailed upon the jade. On the ceilings hung chandeliers as if they were made of the most expensive pure diamond, crying droplets of light that illuminated the hallway. There was a bright red carpet on the floor that led up to a set of silver and golden double doors at the end of the hallway.

                “Please follow me, ma’am.” The knight who was accompanying you stated, leading you down the long hallway. You were still in the hall, your eyes gleaming like a child eyeing their Christmas present and your legs nervously wobbly from the thought of the person you were about to encounter. One’s home reflected the person, and if the prince’s home was this grand, then perhaps, you had underestimated just how meaningful, important and powerful the royal family really was. You knew they had the power to kill you without a single person questioning the act, but you had never known that perhaps the empire was larger than you had thought. How were you supposed to know? Books were not exactly of easy access to you, as you had to buy them or pay the entry fee to go inside the public library.

               The knight takes a left, leading you down a different hallway. Stopping at the third door on the right. The door was extravagant, however looked less expensive than the others. The knight proceeded to open the door for you and stepped to the side, his arm pushing the door open.

               “Go inside, ma’am. You will be summoned shortly.” The knight states as you walk through the door, only to jump slightly as the knight lets it slam shut behind you. You look around to see several maids sewing and gossiping on a purple velvet couch. Several butlers and cleaners seemed to be resting as well. It seemed as though you had been put in the staff’s resting quarters. Your feet tapped against the grey and white marble floor. You approached a small, round table colored brass. You sat down on the matching chair nervously, hoping not to catch too much attention. Despite your attempt, one of the maids seem to notice your presence at long last and whispers to the other maids before putting down the scarf she was knitting to approach you. She sits down on one of the four chairs surrounding the table, and smiles kindly at you.

               The maid was wearing the usual black and white outfit, with her hair a shade of premature grey. Looking to be in her late twenties.

               “Hello there, I am Guinevere. I’m the co-head of the south wing’s maids. Are you here for work?” She asks, tilting her head with curiosity.

               “Actually, I’ve been summoned by the prince to tell his fortune. It is lovely meeting you by the way, I am [Name].”

¹ countenance ; a person’s face/expression

Status: Edited

[mediocre--writing]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMeknnubu/

I think I can send links but- I just saw this Pre K teacher tiktok & now all I can think of is a future AU where Steve takes like maybe a younger cousin or maybe a friends kid to school (or even his own kid??) and he walks in on fucking bad boy Billy Hargrove, still rocking his leather jacket and combat boots, seated on the carpet doing this with a bunch of Pre K kids as their teacher. Just this big mean badass dude sitting with a bunch of kids, being the best, most sweet teacher in the world

Bonus points for him having a battle jacket of some sort that he lets them add too and play with the dulled down spikes and studs on. And he has a class where the kids all make a patch one big patch for him to add to his jacket because he loves them so much

AND even more points if he just says his whole nice personality is “fake and for work only because it was the first job he got” but It’s actually real, and he really just likes being with the kids all day because their fun & they unconditionally love him, especially on his bad days where he’s sad & less motivated. I just crave soft emotional stuff 😔

steve, for as kind a fellow as he is, really should have thought twice about offering to take his nephew to pre-k every day.

jill, his older sister, had to be at work by 6 every morning during the week and had no means to take her son, patrick, to school every day.

and steve offered because what else was there to do? he worked two jobs that both started later in the day and jill offered to give him gas money to do it, so why not?

plus, patrick really was a sweetheart, he was just an energetic kid. steve preferred older kids. the younger ones tested his patience too much.

but imagine his surprise when he walks into the building, going to patrick’s classroom, turning into the doorway to see billy hargrove, same as he was when they were in high school, sitting on a colorful, patterned rug, animatedly talking to children.

“biwwy!” patrick yelled as he ran from steve’s side to his... teacher... and hugged him super tight.

“hey, patrick, my buddy!”

steve felt like this may be a dream. there is no way that billy hargrove, mullet and all, was patrick’s pre-k teacher.

billy looked to the door, where steve was still standing, and offered a smile. patrick looked to where billy was looking, excitedly telling him about how his super fun uncle was driving him to school now.

billy was engaging with the kids. he talked along with them and was able to balance all the kids at once. he looked happy, steve realized.

steve left a few moments later, making sure patrick was ok and staring at billy for a while longer.

it’s not until the day before winter break that billy and steve actually interact again.

the class is having a holiday party and parents are encouraged to come and bring food, drink, or just general supervision.

steve had made tons of cookies, enjoying his fattening hobby of baking, and they were all decorated with fun santa’s or snowflakes or christmas trees.

he was even told to make a few blank cookies and bring spare icing for kids to decorate during their party stations.

when steve got to the classroom closer to the afternoon, it was still nap time for the 15 kids in the class, all curled up on small cots and bundled in blankets.

when he came in, billy was sitting at a table near the door, organizing strings by color and had stacks of paper and boxes of markers organized the same way.

“hargrove,” steve greeted, “i made cookies, didn’t know if there were any allergies, so they’re pretty plain, no chocolate or anything. and i didn’t decorate a few, like you asked,”

“thanks,” billy didn’t look up to him, still hunched over the table detangling strings. “‘can set ‘em over there,” billy vaguely gestured.

steve went to set them on a table with a fun, winter themed cover over it.

he came back to sit by billy at the craft table because he didn’t know what else to do. plus, he didn’t want to wake any sleeping children.

“so, why are you a pre-k teacher?” steve asked.

“getting straight to the point, huh?”

“well, you look like that,” steve gestured to his embellished leather jacket, the mullet, the tight jeans (not as tight anymore, he did have to get up and down off the floor), and the hefty black boots that could probably crush a kid’s tiny fingers. “and i haven’t heard about you going through a brain reset or something, so what’s up?”

“it’s the only thing i could find,” billy grunted, not liking this conversation.

“don’t teachers have to go to college like everyone else? and have to have like a specific thing that says they’re qualified to be a teacher? seems like an awful lot of work for this to be the only thing you could find,”

“well, i can boss four year olds around all day, who wouldn’t like that job?” billy countered.

steve went to respond when there was a creak heard from behind him. one of the kids, a young girl with a wild head of hair, was walking over to billy with her blanket still wrapped over her shoulders.

“hey, jeanie, what’s wrong, doll?” billy asked, drawing his eyes away from the tangled string, which he didn’t do when talking to steve. he was giving the girl— jeanie— his full attention.

“i woke up,” jeanie said as she made her way closer to billy, “i got nightmares,”

billy’s face turned sympathetic as he put his arms out for jeanie, allowing her to crawl into his lap and rest her head on his chest while he wrapped her tight in his arms.

“wanna tell me what it was about?” billy asked, but only got a shake of her head in return, “that’s ok, you can sleep for another 10 minutes, doll. you’re safe,”

she was cuddled up in his arms, poking at the dull spikes on his shoulders and the silver buttons around the jacket. she looked utterly peaceful as she started to doze off again.

billy was so gentle with the little girl, adjusting her in his arms, making sure she was stable in his lap, before moving one arm back to the string, as if doing it one armed would be easier than before.

“i can do it,” steve offered in a hushed tone, “the string. i can untangle it for you,”

billy slid the string ball over to steve’s side of the table and let him take a crack at it while he started rubbing jeanie’s back.

steve had managed to get the string ball undone in the 10 minutes of nap time they had left. the boys didn’t talk through those 10 minutes, but steve would sneak glances over at billy often.

billy, for someone who tried to run a group of kids over once upon a time, was really great with younger kids. he was able to keep jeanie asleep, even when he moved an arm or straightened his back, something steve couldn’t do with patrick.

another parent showed up right when nap time was going to end, carrying bags of board games and such.

two more parents showed after the kids had woken up, and soon the party was in full swing. the kids were having a delightful time, half of them covered in glitter and icing, but nothing a good bath won’t fix.

billy was thriving in the chaos of four year olds, making sure they were following directions but still having fun, keeping the morale up and excitement high.

the parents seemed to love him, from what steve heard. one parent, wendy, even said that she didn’t like billy to begin with, thought he would be irresponsible and mean, but her kid loves him.

billy, for as much of a big guy as he was, didn’t seem to tower over kids menacingly when standing at full height. and it didn’t seem taunting when he would crouch down. he was on their level, in many ways.

once parents started taking kids home at the end of the day, billy, steve, and patrick were left to help clean up, though patrick was knocked out on the multicolored rug, he’d used up a lot of energy that afternoon.

“so, what do you want me to do?” steve asked, watching billy sweep the floors.

“you can leave if you want, i’ve got it. plus, pat seems to be knocked out, huh?”

“he’s already sleeping, and i feel really bad leaving you to clean everything.”

billy sighed, looking around at the disaster that was his room, “could you start wiping down tables? clorox and paper towels are in the far right cabinet, second shelf,”

they got to work and the whole classroom was clean within the hour. billy was throwing his bag over his shoulder and steve was carrying patrick in his arms as they walked out to their cars.

“do you mind opening my door?” steve asked after many attempts to get patrick adjusted in his arms to move and open the back door.

billy moved over to open the back door of steve’s car before walking back over to his car, the same car he’d been driving since high school.

i guess people really never change, steve thought.

once he got patrick settled into his car seat and got the car running to warm it up before he drove home, steve stood and talked to billy for a few minutes. just casual conversation, a thanks from billy for steve’s help.

“would you, maybe, wanna go get a drink or something some time?” steve asked, awkward as ever.

the rest was history, steve and billy would see each other for a date every weekend and they’d wave to the other in the mornings and afternoons.

they had a similar situation when the spring party came, steve bringing decorated and undecorated cookies for the kids and showing up during their nap time.

but steve had something in his bag that he wouldn’t let billy see.

through the party, steve would bring the mystery item to each kid, making extra sure that billy never saw it.

even at their date that weekend, billy couldn’t get it out of steve to find out what it was.

at the very end of the year, they have another party (and steve does not remember his pre-k days, but he doesn’t think they had this many parties).

billy has been weird the past week, finally realizing that he’s not gonna see these kids often, if at all, anymore. he’d grown very attached.

but, in true billy manner, he refused to let anyone know he was upset about a bunch of toddlers.

that’s where steve’s secret came in handy.

you see, on that day of the spring party, steve had gotten a piece of paper and has each kid sign it in a different color. he’d brought it to a small shop and they’d been able to transfer it onto a patch, one for billy’s jacket.

it was scaled down to be the size of an index card, but all the names were still legible.

when they’d given it to billy at the end of the day, before kids went home, billy almost cried.

he loved the kids so much and loved the connection and impact they have had on him without him knowing. he’s gonna miss rocking jeanie to sleep three times a week because she can never stay asleep alone.

he’s gonna miss the chaos that this group of children, specifically, brought. they made his day great, even if he was feeling especially shitty.

they helped him feel good about himself. kids don’t lie, that’s for sure, and billy created such a strong bond with them that all their thanks and love will be forever ingrained onto his heart.

[jesuisgourde]

gay/queer references in Peter’s journals

Again, I have probably missed stuff due to going through pretty quickly and also due to having stared at this document for so long, everything has kind of blurred together.

Sometime close to the day that Carlos & I watched 'Love And Death on Long Island' (and afterwards paraded through the tea rooms of Picadilly) we both filled in application forms and were tres excited to be invited to the same group 'interview' - twas more like an audition though. I got the part. Carlos never. This did not bring any animosity - we both know that success for either of us is magnified a million times if it is shared by us both.

from 'A Diamond Guitar' by Truman Capote "Except that they did not combine their bodies or think to do so, though such things were not unknown at the (Prison), they were as lovers. Of the seasons, spring is the most shattering: stalks thrusting through the earth's winter-stiffened crust, young leaves cracking out on old left-to-die branches, the falling asleep wind cruising through all the newborn green. And with Mr Schaeffer it was the same, a breaking up, a flexing of muscles that had hardened. It was late January. The friends were sitting on the steps of the sheep house, each with a cigarette in his hand. A moon thin and yellow as a piece of lemon rind curved above them, and under its light, threads of ground frost glistened like silver snail trails. Tico Feo had been drawn into himself - silent as a robber waiting in the shadows."

Then a meet with Bounds Green's African prince outside whitechapel tube, rugged lookies at I in military attire & to a ruptured Albion rooms tidied in hours and now lids drawn heated on the eyes. A young looking fella has a crush on me.

Jackie/Camillia/Marie/Kate/Chris/V. churchill Jackie/Evelina/Jasmine/Sachi/Dalston/Sussie Sandra/Carlene/FP/Jay/Dalston/Kraut

There sat a young black man, perhaps in his early or middle twenties. He looked for all the world like the archetypal rude boy. Clean, cheap reebok, nike, adidas variously rolled, laced & zipped about his lean, spreadeagled body that hung loosely about the waiting room chair. Gold & tattoos adorned his person, and a blank animal look was attached to his clear face. He sat before me in a row of four empty chairs, staring at polished floor or the mundane television. A balding white man minced in & all perceptions were suddenly proven to be false as they embraced and snuggled up to each other, giggling & whispering & touching each others noses.... very much in love, fingers crossed for the blood tests.

[Image: an article from Gay Times of an interview with Peter. For some reason, the portrait included alongside the article is of Carl wearing a grey and black t-shirt.] Name? Peter Doherty Age? 22 Where are you? I'm on the motorway just north of Southampton. What kind of day are you having? (Vaguely) Erm... quite misty. Something's waiting around the corner, but there are no corners on the motorway, so we'll just have to wait and see what lies ahead. Maybe something will happen tonight.... What's this we hear about you once being a rent boy? Well, when times are hard, duty calls. How long ago was it? When I was 19, about three years ago. How do we know this isn't just a Shaun Ryder-type lie? 'Cause if it was, it would make me a complete scumbag and I'm not, and I'm not interested in that kind of pantomime. It wasn't a very happy time. I didn't really enjoy it. Why did you give it up? (grimly) Well, certain people disappeared... and anyway, ultimately I found myself no longer in such a vulnerable position anymore. Dawn broke, and I realised that it was a beautiful world after all. Have you done any other dodgy jobs? All of us in the band have tried to deal, but it's not good if you like the drugs too much. You just end up using them yourself! I once was a gravedigger. I used to do it with my mate in Willesden Green cemetery. We didn't actually do the digging, a machine did that, but we used to have to fill them in. It was pretty grim work. So are you gay then? Love is love, wherever it comes from. I'm not anything, really. I am a very sexual person but... I dunno, I believe in liberty... The Marquis de Sade has a lot to answer for... Do you get a lot of gay fans? Yeah - well, there's one guy in particular. He's very shy and he follows us around. He brings in letters and cards and stuff, but he's very quiet. I think John (the bassist) is the main pulling power in the band. Are you jealous about that? Nah! I've known him too long.

You know I'm alright i dont even care i like it when they stare & stare call me queer, dear oh dear a million things & what I wear He's real hard when he's with his mates but I'll saw him again & he was too late

Dear NME I'd have thought after the Gay Times piece, the interview with Rapture fanzine & our recent gig at the Slum Club everything would be clear. No it still remains to give a big hearty fuck off to all these twisted suburban types calling me a liar. Vulnerable young men & women all over the world find themselves victims of circumstance.

she was dressed in suit & tie & lightly etched-on moustache. 'I've always wanted to kiss a bird in the back of a taxi.' she says, running her hand up the fishnet ladders of my thigh. Stepping onto the front line in Bow puddles, elevators, buzzing doors,

[Image: the original page in the book has been preserved. Two paragraphs have been boxed off with biro. They read:] “...cast Richard Burton and Rex Harrison as bickering queer barbers and then much more uncompromisingly in William Friedkin's adaptation of The Boys in the Band (1970), which introduced some of the plainer four letter words in the English language to the screen for the first time. 'Who,' asks Cliff Gorman, in his brilliant portrayal of the most effeminate of the homosexual group as they gather for a soul-searching party, 'Who do you have to fuck to get a drink around here?' Other homosexual manifestations to occur in movies around this time included an elliptical but unmistakeable male fellatio scene in John Schlesinger's Midnight Cowboy (1969) when Jon Voight, as a broke and disillusioned Texas stud importunes in a New York cinema....”

[Image, top left: a blurry photo of John onstage, playing bass. Image, top right, sideways: a photo of the band onstage. Carl and John are on the left, sharing a mic. Peter is on the right, playing guitar and singing into his own mic. Image, centre left: a torn photo of Peter sitting in a chair, shirtless, playing guitar. Only his bottom half from the chest down is visible. Image, centre left: a torn photo of Peter sitting in a chair, shirtless, playing guitar. Only his top half from shoulders up is visible. Image, bottom left: a torn fragment of a photo. What looks like a denim-clad knee and a yellow carrier bag are visible. Image, bottom middle: a photo of someone's knee in torn jeans, taken from under a table. Image, bottom right: a torn photo of Carl in a black sleeveless shirt, posing with his fingers in his mouth.] [A paragraph from the original page of the book has been left exposed and boxed off with black biro. It reads:] “The Boys in the Band was displaced by an immeasurably more powerful portrayal of homosexual groups, Fortune and Men's Eyes (1971). Set in a Quebec prison, this disturbing, factually based drama vividly recounted the corrupted of a heterosexual convict trapped in a tough, potentially vicious homosexual society. In one horrifying scene, a weak, put-upon prisoner is gang-banged by his fellow inmates; in another, the 'hero' is blackmailed by his cellmate into accepting him as his lover for the duration...”

Like a cat on a hot tin roof Like a macho man in a roomful of poofs I have tried in my way to be free.

[Written in Peter's handwriting] Jerome... is that how it's spelt? [Written in someone else's handwriting] Yes it is [Written in Peter's handwriting] Can I read you something? [Written in someone else's handwriting] Yes please.....

I insist, new book of Albion, befuddled by drugs I may yes about 2 but I do not miss out entirely on the subtleties of the inhuman relation ships that are this the mainstay of my stay here in one bounce of a loaf. Boys are fooled into fooling with boys. [...]

More general references/some extra explanations:

“The boy looked at Johnny” is a line from Patti Smith's song “Horses,” part one of a three-part song called “Land.” In the song, a young man named Johnny is assaulted by another man in a locker room; he then mentally journeys to other fantastical lands and visions. A lot of people interpret it as being about gay sex, although some people interpret it as being about a stabbing.

Peter quotes and references Jean Genet's writing and works about Jean Genet many times. While Genet's works are nearly all about crime and prison (one of Peter's main interests and points of fascination), all of his works are very explicitly gay. The Thief's Journal is more about Genet's various lovers than it is about his criminal history. Our Lady Of The Flowers is about a drag queen and her criminal lovers, and is also extremely erotic.

(“Jerome” is Jerome Alexandre, vocalist of The Deadcuts, who was friends with Peter and Mark Keds.)