#also evidence i draw on paper occasionally lol

[time-slink]

tenz<3

[shadmlm]

hofnarr & christoff fluff/angst fic bc i’m rlly sad rn lol

“I think this will do..” Hofnarr hummed to himself as he held up a drawing with him and his fellow worker Jebediah. He thought it would be a relatively okay gift to give to Jeb as he felt like this gift came straight from his heart.

He stood up and collected his things from the table he sat at and began making his way back to the labratory he shared with his friend. Peeking around the corner, he saw Jeb working diligently. Butterflies always filled Hofnarr’s stomach whenever he saw his friend look so focused on his work. It was a stark contrast to how he worked as he tended to accidentally knock things over or lose track of what exactly he was working on. Regardless of this, he was a fine worker and would always manage to get his work done on time as he was supposed to.

However, it wasn’t long until Christoff turned around from his working station to grab something when he noticed Hofnarr watching him. He wasn’t startled by any means, but he was surprised to see the smaller man standing there. He gave Hofnarr a soft expression and approached him.

“I was wondering when you were coming back,” Jeb said as he glanced over at the paper Hofnarr held in his hand.

“Ah, yes… I was working on something briefly during my lunch break.”

Upon noticing him look, he quickly put the drawing behind his back and averted his gaze somewhere else. He was nervous and this was made apparent by his body language.

Dr. Christoff caught onto this.

“And what is that you’re hiding, Hofnarr?”

The anxious man looked back up at him and felt beads of sweat form on his face. He couldn’t even begin to wonder how he looked right now... he knew he must look utterly awful.

Hofnarr sighed and held the drawing out to Jeb. “It’s a gift...” He stuttered. “I wanted to show you how grateful I am to have you as my friend and coworker.”

Christoff held the paper in his hands and examined the drawing. It was evident that Hofnarr took his time with this by how careful each line was and how every little detail added something special to the piece. The drawing wouldn’t be as meaningful to anyone who passed by and happened to see it, but it meant the world to Jeb. He also took note of the flowers Hofnarr drew in their hair and smiled. This was the perfect drawing.

“This is amazing, Hofnarr. Thank you,” Jebediah looked back at Hofnarr and saw that he was shaking a bit with red cheeks. He must have been so nervous to hear if he liked it or not…

The bearded man turned around and looked across the laboratory to find a perfect spot to put the drawing.

After a few seconds of looking, he took four thumbtacks off of his desk and hung the drawing right above it. He made sure that it was straight before stepping back and admiring Hofnarr’s work. Jeb looked back over at Hofnarr and made a small smile once again.

“I’ll be keeping this forever.”

Tricky wandered through the abandoned building and ran his bloodied finger along the walls as he sung his favorite song. The place was rather dim, so he would occasionally step on shards of glass and let out a sharp hiss each time. He found it rather annoying how they would ruin his slippers as well.

“GAH, THIS PLACE IS SO BORING AND EMPTY...” Tricky said out-loud to himself.

He kept walking until he noticed a room that had its lights flickering. This peeked his interest, so he went inside.

“HMM...”

Tricky looked around and wasn’t too impressed with what he saw. The room was completely trashed as like every other room in the building. He was about to turn around and leave when he noticed a paper that was hung on the wall above a bloodied desk. Curiosity got the best of him as he took the thumbtacks that were now loosely embedded into the wall and examined the paper.

It was hard to tell what exactly was on the paper due to the blood splattered on it and the dimness of the room, but as he continued staring at the paper, he noticed two men.

One of these men looked very similar to the man he considers an enemy... while the other felt very familiar, yet unknown to him. Trying to remember who this person was, was nearly impossible since every time he tried digging into his memory, it kept getting more and more hazy and unintelligible. He tried so, so hard to remember, but it was to no avail.

His attention was soon shifted to the footsteps he heard coming from the hallway and he quickly turned around to see his enemy...

“What are you doing here?” Jeb asked in a deep, dry voice.

“CLOWN COULD ASK YOU THE SAME THING, STUPID!”

Jeb groaned. “There’s nothing for you here. Get the hell out.”

Tricky looked down at the paper and crumpled it up. He threw it onto the floor and shrugged. “FINE BY CLOWN! THIS PLACE WAS BORING ANYWAYS!” He twitched as he quickly walked past Jeb and down the hallway.

He was genuinely surprised the mad clown actually listened to him and left, but he quickly shook his head and walked into the room. Kneeling down, he picked up the paper that Tricky crumpled up and widened his eyes as he realized what it was.

It was the drawing Hofnarr made all those years ago.

Tears quickly began forming in his eyes as he tried his best to fight those away those old feelings he once had— that he still has. He couldn’t believe a simple drawing could make him feel this much hurt, but he knew this wasn’t the time to be thinking about the past. He had things to do and work to be done, so he neatly folded the drawing and put it safely in the pocket of his lab coat.

“I’ll be keeing this forever.”

[pandas-pandemonium]

Seventeen Reacting to Someone Flirting with their S/O

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (final)

Part 2 is finally out! Hopefully I can get the last part out within the next few days. Also each members part may get a little bit shorter each time because collectively I’ve written more than 3k lol.

Kwon Soonyoung

Soonyoung was the sort of person who wore his emotions on his sleeve, sort of. Maybe he never intends to, but it was always easy to tell when something upset the boy; especially when he goes quiet around you, someone he’s supposed to comfortable with. Thankfully, it was always easy enough to soothe his feelings and in no time, he’d be back to his jovial, bubbly self. Fortunately, his moods only came around once in a while. However, it just so happened, today was one of those ‘once-in-a-while’ moments.

You never really intended to make him jealous really, but the man in front of you just would not give up trying to get your number. After who-knows-how-long, you were close to just snapping at the flirt. It really was no use trying to be nice and polite with clueless people like him. Just as you were about to snap however, your lovely boyfriend came in and dealt a hefty right hook on the guy, leaving you stunned for a moment.

“Can you take a hint and leave my girlfriend alone?!” yelled Soonyoung, his cheeks red in anger. In any other situation, you would think he looked really cute, but you could feel the rage seething from his body.

“Honestly! You keep going on and on and on about her giving you a chance but she said that she has a boyfriend you idiot!” At this point, Soonyoung was fuming. It was the worst case scenario ever, you truly did not ever want this man’s rage directed towards you ever.

“Ho-Soonyoung-ah, leave the guy alone…I’m sure he’s learned his lesson,” you said, tugging at his yellow sweater sleeve, trying to pull the taller male away from the other guy’s body on the floor. Soonyoung wasn’t hitting him sure, but he was shouting angry insults which was drawing a crowd.

Your boyfriend turned towards you, his face still a bright red.

“You’re not defending him, are you?” he asked, mouth agape and in shock. Quickly you shook your head.

“Of course not! It’s just that your shouting is drawing a lot of attention…” you mention, gesturing to the curious crowd of people that had surrounded the three of you. Immediately, your boyfriend flushed pink again.

“A-ah. Whoops…I guess I went too far. Yeah, l-let’s go!” he said, grabbing your wrist and hurrying out of the crowd, pushing through the wall of people as he ran with you trailing behind.

Once you reached a quieter part of town, he finally let go of your hand, allowing you to speak.

“Soonyoung-ah, what was that all about? You don’t normally get this mad,” you said. The taller male sighed, looking down sheepishly.

“Honestly…I was watching from afar. I wasn’t sure if I should intervene, but that guy’s last remark really got to me you know. Something about you deserving a better man and all,” he explained. You sighed, pulling the man into your arms.

“Oh please, Hoshi. You’re the best boyfriend I could ever ask for. There’s no one better than you, okay?” you said with a small smile, in hopes of lifting up his spirits. Sure enough, it worked, and your smiling hamster of a boyfriend was back.

Jeon Wonwoo

You had just finished work at the cat café and Wonwoo was waiting by the front to pick you up. Although you had told him many times previously that it wasn’t necessary, he continued doing it. You soon got used to it and so did your co-workers. Wonwoo waiting by the front every day at 8pm soon became a normal occurrence and it was clear to everyone, even if you didn’t mention it, that you were both dating. It just so happened today of all days however, that a rather gutsy newbie at work tried to pick you up in front of Wonwoo, completely ignorant of the fact that he was your boyfriend.

“Hey, um, [L/N]-seonbaenim* …Thanks for showing me the ropes today. I was hoping we could head back after work together?” The boy asked. He was just a little younger than you, and honestly, not a bad person from your short experience of working with him for less than six hours. Before you could get a word out though, Wonwoo had gotten off his seat and headed to the counter where you two were.

“I’m sorry, but she’s got a boyfriend,” he said, his sharp gaze targeted at the shorter male. The boy’s eyes widened and his eyes flickered between the two of you.

“O-oh?” he stuttered out. “You have a boyfriend, sunbae? Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, surprise evident in his voice. You sighed and nodded.

“Yes, I’m sorry Ryujin-ssi. But you were bound to find out sooner or later,” you explained. You could see the frustration and disappointment on the younger boy’s face, but you weren’t sure how to comfort him.

Just then, Wonwoo sighed, “It’s getting late, [Y/N].” He then directed his gaze to the rejected newbie and spoke, “Listen bud, I think it’ll do you well to be more aware of your surroundings next time, and not make moves on someone’s girl in front of her boyfriend.”

Ryujin pouted, looking away in embarrassment. You let out a sigh, moving away a stray hair out of your face before speaking.

“Sorry to let you down, Ryujin-ssi,” you said, before you gathered your belongings and awkwardly came out from behind the counter. Once the two of you were out to nudged Wonwoo gently with your elbow. “What was that? You could have been nicer to him,” you reprimanded. Wonwoo averted his gaze and huffed.

“Sorry, I was growing impatient,” he said. Rolling your eyes, you thanked him anyways. At least he got you out of an uncomfortable situation quickly. You could only hope no other new workers will make the same mistake.

*seonbae-nim: honorific for someone of a senior position/class/have done a job longer than you

Lee Jihoon 

(A/N: This was kinda different as I was running out of situations)

Jihoon was a man of few words, and often times he expressed himself and his feelings better with his music. Although it was a little difficult at times for the two of you to talk about your feelings, you knew you could always look forward to a new composition or a paper slipped under the door with lyrics to a future song, describing his emotions and his love for you. Some may find it sappy, but you thought it was romantic. At the end of the day, you were both fine with it as long as he got his feelings through, and yours to him.

However, the past the few months had been lacking in face-to-face communication time, as he had been away on multiple overseas trips, working with celebrities to produce hit albums. It was when he managed to secure a single day that you remembered exactly why the two of you held frequent communication sessions. Your date together was going smoothly despite the occasional cat calls and men trying to make a move when you were alone. Little did you know how affected Jihoon was, seeing his girlfriend having to turn down or ignore so many scumbags who didn’t know how to read body language.

The two of you were seated in front of his TV in his apartment when he finally spoke up.

“I’m sorry.” The apology came unexpectedly, confusing you.

“Huh? What for?” You ask, turning to face him. The light haired man was looking away, a look of guilt on his face. 

“The date…I should have protected you better, but instead I always got there just when you handled everything yourself.”

Your face softened into a smile and reached over to hug your boyfriend. “What? That was it?” you asked, laughing a little. It only made the man blush a little, quietly shifting in your arms.

“Don’t laugh! I really felt upset! I mean, you’re pretty, gorgeous, sweet, everything a perfect partner could be! It was scary, I was wondering if you truly needed me…” he trailed off. Sighing, you sat up, turning your whole body towards him and taking both his hands into yours.

“Jihoon-ie, look at me. You’re VoBo, a genius producer, the sweetest boyfriend I could ever ask for. There’s nothing for you to be afraid of, okay? Also, without you, who can I use as a human pillow whenever we cuddle?” You ask, joking slightly, invoking a light chuckle from your partner. 

“Yeah, we all know you’d absolutely suffer without me around as your cuddle bud,” he replied, his gaze softening. “Thanks, I think I have a new song in my mind now. I’m gonna go to my studio first, ‘kay?” he said, quickly standing up before heading to his studio. 

A small smile crept on your lips.“Alright!” 

Xu Minghao

Minghao always liked to think he was very trusting of his partner, having absolute faith in her that she won’t cheat or anything like that. A good healthy relationship is based on trust and faith after all. So, it was quite a shock for him, and you as well, when he found himself yelling at some guy for flirting with you. He just couldn’t describe the feeling of anger in his chest when he saw some bastard try to hit on you when you were right next to him. You’re his girlfriend! Why couldn’t he see that? Was the scumbag really that oblivious? Or was he just ignoring Minghao on purpose? Either way, the dancer could care less. The damn bastard was hitting you and making you feel immensely uncomfortable, and that was unforgivable.

He was very close to swinging at the guy when he saw him put a grimy hand on your shoulder, but somehow, you managed to stop him in time.

“M-Myungho, please don’t cause a scene,” you whispered in his ear, your hand wrapped around his arm. Minghao’s eyes softened as he let out an exasperated sigh.

“Right…it’s no use beating sense into such a dumbass anyway,” he said, just loud enough for the other man to hear him.

“Hey! What the hell did you call me you punk?” the man shouted, face flushed red with anger.

“Ahhh, it’s nothing. It’s just the truth, don’t worry. But, next time you try and make a move on my girl, I won’t hesitate to punch you in the face,” the lanky male said, a hint of mock in his voice. You sweat nervously, gosh, you really had to drag your boyfriend away from the stranger before an actual dogfight breaks out.

“Minghao~,” you dragged his name out, meeting your boyfriend’s eyes. “The movie’s gonna start soon,” you said, pouting slightly while tugging on his sleeve. Internally you hoped he got the message, and to your relief he did. The man beside you sighed, combing his fringe back with his free hand before nodding and turning away, leaving an angry and frustrated stranger fuming. While leaving the site, you didn’t notice your boyfriend glance over his back, shooting a piercing glare at the flirt.

Kim Mingyu

Often times you would say it’s easy to tell when your boyfriend, Mingyu was jealous. He was much like an overgrown puppy to you (and many others). See, Mingyu was the sort of person who thrived on your attention and affection, and when other people took that away from him, it irked him, badly. On occasions like that, the best action to take would be to smother him in hugs and kisses afterwards to get him out of his mood. You needn’t worry about him getting violent either, as most of the time, he would make light threats but you knew he would never actually hurt anyone. Thankfully these occasions were few and far between, but they still did occur on occasion.

Today was one of those rare occasions. See, some guy had come up to the two of you while you were both on a date. At first, he seemed like someone who just need directions to a shop he was supposedly meeting a friend at, but next thing you know, he was suggesting for you to come alone with him to “show him the way”. Of course, Mingyu did not take the man’s advances lightly, hurriedly pulling you back the moment the guy tried to pull you away from your boyfriend. The situation didn’t escalate any further than a few light threats and complaints from both sides, as your boyfriend’s height did most of the scaring-off. However, you were left to deal with the aftermath.

You were both in his apartment, silently eating dinner which he had cooked since he had claimed that the guy “ruined the outdoor atmosphere” and wanted to have some alone time indoors with you instead. Seeing as his place was nearer, you both adjourned there. The food was good, but the silent sulking wasn’t.

“What’s wrong, Gyu?” you asked. Even though he had cooked, he barely touched the food.

“Nothing.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Come on, Mingyu. You know I was just trying to be a nice local. I didn’t expect him to try and drag me,” you explained. Mingyu sighed.

“That’s not it… you could have been hurt. That’s what I’m upset about,” he said. A soft smile crept on your face as you gazed at the taller male lovingly. You then got off your seat, waltzing over behind your boyfriend’s seat and enveloping his bigger form in your smaller one.

“Sorry I worried you. But see! I’m perfectly fine, thanks to you,” you said, planting a kiss on his cheek. Mingyu blushed in response.

“A-alright, I see that! Now let me eat, [Y/N],” he stammered out, quickly shoving a spoonful of rice in his mouth, causing you to chuckle.

“Okay, okay. We’ll talk more about this after we’re done with lunch.”

Later that evening, the two of you spent the rest of the day cuddling on the sofa.

[gwoongi]

(abandoned) all i want for christmas is woohoo

kim seokjin / kim namjoon genre: uni au, fluff, crack rating: general words: 4.9k warnings: clownery, i knew nothing about uni, character dynamics based off a fic none of u have read a/n: incomplete prequel to the yoonmin fanfic i wrote three thousand years ago. i will never finish this so here’s what i started and left behind for the dogs to have at

The stranger makes a noise of voiced agreement. “Mood.”

September 8th.

One thing they never tell you before going to Uni, is that it’s fucking mental on Move In Day.

Obviously, he had some idea that the student digs would be fairly busy with students moving in, but he never expected to be waiting in a thick line of tired and excited first years for around fifteen minutes, only to then wait another twenty just for the student- who, by the way, was way too busy picking at her purple nail varnish to give two damns about Namjoon’s clearly very important moving in schedule- to find his key on the board barely 50 centimetres away from where she was sitting.

So, yeah- when his sister comes to Uni after him, he’s definitely going to warn her about the madness that is Move In Day, because clearly nobody else had cared if Namjoon was stuck waiting like a doormat for one student who thinks she’s something to hand him a key. I mean, how hard can it be? He doesn’t get it.

“Sorry about the wait,” another male student, who noticed the lack of enthusiasm from second year student apparently named Jisoo, says as he moves from behind the desk to give Namjoon a silver key on a chain, with two other keys present. “Here are your keys- one’s for the front door of your flat, second is for the main building in-case you’re late after hours and the third is for your pigeon box.” He pauses: “no help from your parents?”

Namjoon shrugs politely, “Just me. My parents are back in Ilsang, couldn’t make it.”

“Bummer,” the student replies. Along with the keys, he shoves a brown paper bag into Namjoon’s hands with a toothy smile. “Your complimentary moving in gifts, from the students who moved out! Thanks for picking Blossom Island as your student accomodation!”

Although Namjoon wants to tell him that Blossom Island was the only cheap option out of three absurdly priced accomodations for first years, he doesn’t; instead, he smiles, lips closed and dimples on display, nodding his head and turning all within the same second. The student moves away after, so he doesn’t feel bad about ending the conversation so abruptly.

Blossom Island is located smack bang outside of campus, across a small stream that Namjoon thought would be filled with blossom, but instead is littered with algae and tinfoil. It’s large, tall like a regular apartment complex, with a courtyard out the front with a bouncy castle that Namjoon can already see some people jumping on with what he assumes is their new roommates.

Namjoon leaves the lobby- should he call it a lobby? It was more of a downstairs kitchen and living room, with two small sofas and a mounted flat-screen, a pool table pushed weirdly in the middle of the colourful boxed room and a door near the back wandering into the community study area, another door for what he guesses is for laundry. Hauling his suitcase and big, cardboard box in his arms across the courtyard, he follows the number on the key- number 8, floor 6, Kyoto Building and barely makes it five steps without almost dropping the box entirely, all thanks to some jerk wearing Thrasher and a beanie.

“That’s what you get for not tying your shoelaces.”

Mid-crouch, Namjoon looks over his shoulder and spots Min Yoongi stepping out of the building, followed by a rather proud looking set of parents, preening at the fact that their son is going into Nursing. Due to that, he bites back a curse word he figures would be impolite for the elders, and manages a smile in the sun.

“What? He clearly pushed into me,” Namjoon reasons, standing upright and saying a hasty hello to Yoongi’s parents, who, in all honesty, have never really liked him much. He laughs breathily, waiting for a few seconds before asking, “where are you?”

Yoongi checks his key. “Number 13, Floor 0, Juko Building. What kind of name is Juko, anyway?”

“Beats me,” Namjoon scoffs. “I think Juko’s close to Kyoto. I’ll come visit when you’re all settled and moved in, yeah?”

Yoongi nods, already beginning to walk away. “Yeah, I’ll get your mug out ready.”

That’s the thing with Yoongi, Namjoon thinks as he walks away; he’s always been about the little things in life. In the many, many years that Namjoon has known Yoongi, he’s never really changed- Yoongi has always been compassionate and cutely caring, buying two mugs instead of one and making pasta for two when he knew Namjoon was due to visit on days his parents were working late. And he feels bad, because Yoongi is a giving guy, not a receiving one.

He watches as Yoongi leaves with his parents, and he feels weirdly sad. It’s none of his business, too, as he watches the three Min’s enter the Juko Building, painted a pastel pink with mint compliments, swirling patterns dancing as the leaves on the trees move in the whisper of wind.

Namjoon now has the urge to paint.

In Number 8, Floor 6, Kyoto Building, Kim Seokjin finally sets down the last potted plant on the sparse looking shelf above his desk, and he steps back with his hands on his hips to admire the minimal effort. Although it definitely took some struggle, what with his Dad accidentally dropping his bag with his Nintendo inside and his Mother judging his absurd amount of pink bath-towels, Seokjin has a feeling in his stomach- the feeling where you know that everything is going perfectly.

There’s a smell in the air; blossom from the large tree outside his window, propped open on the hatch to allow a breeze air out the room. Since his roomie hasn’t arrived yet, the least he can do is get rid of the stuffy smell, something strangely similar to pool chlorine. He inhales it deeply, a smile tugging at his lips. Seoul weather amazes him- even though Gwacheon is a blink away, Seokjin is already starting to feel like a new person.

Maybe it’s just University excitement. Maybe it’s University nerves. But, maybe it’s also because he really needs a wee and can’t think properly.

He waits nicely for his parents to finish up straightening every single crease in his bedsheets before saying goodbye. Although he might tease to their faces that he won’t miss them, and they won’t miss him, Seokjin knows from the minute they open the door to head back out to the corridor that it’s going to take a while to adjust to life without the nagging, but endearing, guidance of his family.

Because Seokjin has always sort of been the baby boy of the Kim’s from Gwacheon- his older brother inherited a type of broodiness that Seokjin is thankful he hasn’t got yet, and so Seokjin’s always been the favourite. The favourite crawler, the favourite footballer, the favourite baker and painter- in honesty, Seokjung never wanted any of that. Seokjin’s proud of who he is- he’s so fucking proud of his family. So he sort of takes pride in being the baby boy of the Kim family. He wears it like armour, glistening armour that represents him in front of a whole army of potential threats and friends.

Jinyoung, an old friend, used to say it was embarrassing- as if Jinyoung doesn’t have a comfortable enough life with parents who would murder for him, but Seokjin doesn’t care. Why should he be ashamed of being loved? Most families aren’t as close as the Kim’s, so he takes extra care in making sure his family know that he loves them. That’s the sort of guy he is- giving, occasionally receiving, but giving, giving his whole heart and soul to everybody else in order to make others happy.

Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose as the door closes with a sickening click, the noise muting around the faint buzz of traffic across campus and the baby birds in the nest a few floors down on a branch, fluttering in the wind like wings. He’s so lost in the way the small twigs are woven together, like the way a spider builds a web, or an ant a colony, that he doesn’t realise three minutes have passed.

Now he really needs a wee.

When Namjoon opens the door to room 8, he’s surprised.

Not shocked, but surprised. Because there’s a difference between shock and surprise- shock is entering a room and finding a serial killer, but surprise is walking into a room and finding a party. The difference is in the level of reaction, and Namjoon hadn’t walked in and been completely thrown off by a wall of cute posters and the obvious collection of DS games and a cool looking computer. If anything, he’s intrigued. Surprised. Pleasantly surprised, perhaps.

To the right, Namjoon hears the toilet flush and he knows that he has a couple seconds to look around the room and plonk his bags and box on the plain bed before his roommate emerges from the bathroom. As he sets them down, he casts a gaze towards the right side of the room where his roomie has claimed a bed, a desk and a small looking wardrobe near the door. On the wall next to his bed, a collection of posters have been washi taped to the boring blank canvas- although, as an artist, Namjoon considers anything blank and white to be inviting and anything but boring, because a canvas holds endless opportunities- and his bed covers are a washed out blue, a colour that now, actually, as he’s looking at it, is becoming more chiffon coloured.

It’s evident his roommate likes video games- half the posters on the wall are related to games he knows that they must like; Animal Crossing, a small Stardew Valley postcard and a commissioned drawing of Jinx from LoL, taped next to a large artwork of Mario Kart and more postcard art of games Namjoon thinks he’s heard of but isn’t sure- The Last of Us, Tekken, Zelda. He pretends not to notice the small Minecraft postcard in the corner of the mural but weirdly enough, he finds it endearing knowing that someone at University still plays Minecraft. 

Most of all, Namjoon notices the strange obsession with The Sims, as seen through multiple artworks and the fantastic collection of Sims3 Expansion packs sitting on the shelf above his bed, next to pop figures and a photo frame of a group of friends.

He wonders if his roommate will let him use the expansion packs when he’s bored.

“Oh, hey.”

Clearly having not heard the bathroom door open, Namjoon spins on the spot to look back at the bathroom, where his roommate stands with his hand animatedly raised in a wave, a smile lifting his cheekbones. They look pale, almost watery, but Namjoon doesn’t say anything. He knows why.

“Hey. Namjoon,” he says, leaning forward to shake his hand. For a moment, his roommate stares at the hand, as if wondering what to do with it. “What?”

His roomie shakes his head, moving to shake his hand once, up and down, before letting it drop. “Nothing. It’s just, well, how many people give handshakes nowadays?”

Namjoon thinks it over in his head. “Well, a lot of people. Useful in business, and stuff. A manager might want to shake your hand at a job interview.”

As he says the words, Namjoon can tell by the passing look on his roommates face that he wasn’t expected to give an answer. He stops talking after that, looking back to his bed with a feeling similar to embarrassment, while his roommate moves towards the window and clears his throat awkwardly.

“Seokjin.” He finally introduces himself. Seokjin- it has a ring to it. Namjoon says it over in his head, growing familiar with it. Now that he’s mentioned it, Namjoon looks back over his shoulder and realises that he looks like a Seokjin. The name suits him. “What’re you studying here?”

“Art and Design,” Namjoon replies with a brief smile over his shoulder. Seokjin isn’t looking, anyway. “Nothing too crazy.” He looks at the wall of posters- “Are you studying graphics?”

“Yeah. I’m studying Digital Art,” Seokjin replies, and it’s clear in the way his whole body moves as he says it that he’s passionate about his subject. He laughs shortly, “Isn’t it funny how we’re both doing art and we got pushed together? Do you think that’s intentional?”

Namjoon shrugs, taking out his clothes first from one of his suitcases. “Maybe. I’m glad you’re Digital Art and not Performing Arts. One, this room is not big enough to dance and sing and two, I don’t want to be woken up by a classical alarm clock. You know?”

Seokjin laughs and it suffices as a reply.

As Namjoon sifts around his bag and pulls out the remainder of his clothes, Seokjin turns around and watches for a swift three seconds, and then moves back towards his desk and absent-mindedly moves around his keyboard, straightening it up.

“Do you need any help?” he asks, and as Namjoon turns to catch his eye, he notices he means it genuinely.

“Uh, I’m alright,” Namjoon replies, and even though Seokjin can clearly see the amount of work he has left to do to his half of the bedroom, he doesn’t pry and decidedly drops it. He shrugs.

“Alright then. I’m gonna head out,” Seokjin says. He gestures with his head to the hallway. “Out on campus, they’re doing that thing. What do they call it- Wildflower? I think I just wanna go meet some people. I can wait for you, and we can go together, if you want?”

Namjoon does want. He really wants to. But he takes several glances back at his boxes and frowns deeply. And anyways, he’ll have plenty of time to hang out with Seokjin later, won’t he?

“I’ll pass,” Namjoon rejects him softly, a smile on his lips as if to say, I do want to come but I’m way too busy. Seokjin’s lips twitch into a pursed mouth and he nods. “I’ve just got a lot to do. We could hang out later, if you want?”

“Sure,” Seokjin replies, already inching towards the door. “Yeah, alright. If you need help, just text me. I’ve got my number on the pinboard above my desk- just incase, you know?”

Namjoon glances over; surely enough, on a corkboard pinned to the wall above his desk and beneath the shelf, he can see the sleek black letters printed with “emergency number” written next to it in messy handwriting. He smiles, mostly because he’s never seen someone have their own phone number hung up in their room before, and nods without looking in Seokjin’s direction. “Okay, thanks, Seokjin-ssi.”

Seokjin makes a sound similar to a laugh, air through his nose, a small intake of high pitched breath afterwards. Out the corner of his eye, Namjoon can see him hovering his hand over the handle and to be polite, he finally looks over. Something tells him he was waiting for that.

“Seokjin should be fine,” Seokjin replies with a smile.

By the time Namjoon finishes sorting out his things (and by sorting out, he means that he’s hung up his clothes and kicked the cardboard box towards his desk out of the way), Seokjin’s still not back from Wildflower, and quite frankly, he’s bored.

As if by a magnetic pull, he finds himself leaving Kyoto building to trudge in the mid-move-in-manic, across the small courtyard where the bouncy-castle has deflated thanks to someone jumping on it wearing shoes, and towards Juko building, a big clump of pastel next to the white blossom tree that Namjoon is jealous of. Yoongi’s room, even back at his home in Daegu- where Namjoon had lived throughout his entire high-school life before his parents moved back to Ilsang during his final year-, was somewhere Namjoon had felt completely and utterly accepted. At home.

He always found it funny how Yoongi said the same thing for him- his bedroom back home was small, smaller than the dorm room he has now. It was an average room, with small bold letters spelling out his name on the front of his door, and his walls were painted a navy blue with dark wood floors that went through the entire house, with thrown around covers and three pillows to sleep with and furniture which didn’t match the colours. But Yoongi’s room was different. Yoongi’s room was Yoongi.

Slanted ceilings and an off-white coloured paint-job on the walls, with grey curtains and white sheets and an electric piano pushed up against the window-wall, overlooking a small line of houses out the front of the street Yoongi lived on, a tree that turned orange in October. On his walls, Yoongi liked to keep it minimal, minus the posters of his favourite artists and a little area above his desk for pictures of him and Namjoon, his first family pet, a ticket to his first family vacation when he was thirteen, dried flowers from a tiny bundle he was given on a Valentine’s Day. His first Valentine’s gift. A memory. A wall of memories, stuck with shimmery tape and dried blue-tac on the white, unremovable, stuck like glue. It was everything Namjoon wanted in a room. It was everything Namjoon needed in a place to feel completely and utterly safe.

Namjoon wasn’t surprised that Yoongi had stuck with the bland style of dorm room, compared to the bed next to him which his roommate- a kid studying Music with an incredible obsession with BoA and Michael Jackson- who, even though he was an amazing artist, Namjoon always felt weirded out by.

He stands by the doorframe as Yoongi shuffles to straighten his blanket at the end of his bed, simply looking at the decor, taking it all in with a deep breath. His roommate stared at Namjoon waiting in the doorway and pulled his lips to a frown, excusing himself, “...heading to Wildflower, bye,” being the only words he ever said to Namjoon.

“Namjoon, I hate it.”

“You’ve been here for two hours,” Namjoon frowns, sitting on his roommate’s bed. He won’t mind (only he does, and he notices the imprint of Namjoon’s arse left behind which he thought would disappear after five minutes.) “It’s not that bad, surely?”

Yoongi shakes his head adamantly. “I wanna go home, Joon. I don’t wanna do nursing.”

“You might really like it, though,” Namjoon sighs. “You never know!”

“I don’t want to study nursing,” Yoongi repeats himself through pouted lips that Namjoon can hear. “I wanted to do art, or music like my stupid roommate. I don’t know why I’m here, Namjoon, I really don’t know why I’m doing this to myself.”

Namjoon knows it’s hard for Yoongi. His family expect too much- like most parents, actually, Yoongi knows they want the best for him. But, the best isn’t forcing him into a nursing degree.

Toying with the frays on Yoongi’s roommate’s blanket, Namjoon says, “hey, hey, calm down. It’s fine- if you don’t like the first three classes, you can’t be expected to stay. You’ve got to do what you want to do.”

Yoongi bites his lip before replying. “I have nowhere to go if I drop out. I’ll do a year, maybe. Maybe half a year. Oh, I don’t fucking know. I don’t wanna give up and let down my family, you know?”

Namjoon does know. His parents had wanted him to be a lawyer. His sister, Kyungmin, wanted Namjoon to do something with his music. But, like the delinquent he is, Namjoon always knew he had a passion for art. Drawing made him happiest- letting his thoughts draw something on a blank canvas was the closest thing to real magic. Singing your feelings is one pleasure, but capturing the colours and movements onto paper was something Namjoon found absolutely rewarding. Thankfully, his parents knew there was no point in forcing him into doing something he wouldn’t enjoy. He was lucky.

“Yeah, I know.”

Yoongi knows Namjoon knows, and he also knows Namjoon doesn’t know what to say. He pulls at the bridge of his nose and lets out a low grunt. “Anyway. How’s your roomie? A weirdo?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “No, not really. I mean, he’s really into video games but it’s not overbearing. Kinda endearing. He’s fun. Seokjin.”

“Oh, cool,” Yoongi replies, nodding slowly. “You get all the good stuff, you know that?”

“What’s mine is yours,” Namjoon says with a frown.

At that, Yoongi smiles. “Yeah. I know, Joon.”

Wildflower lives up to the frantic Google search that Seokjin did moments before heading down to check it out. Even before arriving, he could smell the variety of foods on rickety stalls, and hear the experimental strum of a live band getting ready to play near the main building to the University campus.

Ducking his head underneath the waving arm of another female first-year, Seokjin took a stroll around the small section of Wildflower, politely looking at the bits and bobs he could purchase, like complimentary University flags and tapestries for walls, or a coffee where the change went to a local suicide-prevention charity. He bought one, a tea that was too milky for his taste, and continued walking.

He hadn’t bought much change with him. After the rather awkward first meeting with Namjoon, Seokjin had let it slip his mind. Regardless, he wasn’t willing to let the lack of coins and a credit card spoil his First Day mood. Inhaling the smell of a nearby Jjinmandu stand, he let his stomach steer him towards it, collecting the spare change in his pocket- luckily for him, he had around 4,000 in his jacket pocket which more than comfortably paid for a portion of Mandu.

“Here you go,” the server hands Seokjin his small paper dish of Jjinmandu with a smile, a smile that reminded Seokjin of his third-year teacher back when he was a child. Warm, inviting, kind, a mother’s smile. She smiled toothily when Seokjin handed her more than he was being charged, saying it was a tip, first day luck, or something. She bowed her head meekly.

Without wanting to hold up the slightly growing line, Seokjin moves out of the way and towards a small cluster of metal tables and chairs, shivering as the umbrellas moved in the wind, passing the sauces with a thoughtful pause. He has time to kill; he puts his dish on the small counter and puts a tiny blob of sauce in the corner, and he dips his finger in to taste it. He recoils visibly, finding the taste too bitter.

From somewhere behind him, Seokjin hears what sounds like laughter and he turns, surprised, and finds another student with a bright orange lanyard hung around his neck. He’s a total stranger, with hair pushed into a black beanie and a denim jacket covering a brown shirt, with some black jeans with the knees cut out. On his feet, worn out Converse. Seokjin does a double take.

“You know that’s spicy BBQ, right?”

Weirdly enough, Seokjin finds that he sounds exactly like what he thought he would. He stares at his glasses, first, and the way they slide down his nose, slightly oily because of the heat.

“Don’t you usually have teriyaki with Mandu?” he continues, wandering over to glance at the bottles of sauce, before pushing a slightly stained bottle towards Seokjin with a smile. “There. Honestly, scrape off the BBQ, this will taste so much better.”

Seokjin feels dumb. “I only usually have the tomato chilli. “

“Yeah, and BBQ?”

“No,” he replies, and then he laughs quietly, “no, never BBQ. Let’s call that...first day experimenting.”

The stranger nods along, shoving a mouthful of his own Mandu. Seokjin wants to point out that he has sauce on the corner of his mouth, but it feels rude. He barely knows him.

Glancing at the lanyard around his neck, Seokjin finishes his mouthful- “Are you staff?”

“What?” the stranger asks, caught off guard. Then, he looks down at the lanyard and smiles, politely, not in mockery, and shakes his head, disturbing feathery hairs that were once tucked up into the beanie. “Oh, no. No, I’m a first year.” He chortles at Seokjin’s stunned expression. “What, do I look really old?”

“No,” Seokjin replies. “I was just...surprised. I don’t know- today’s been weird for me. I’m all over the place.”

The stranger makes a noise of voiced agreement. “Mood.”

They stand in silence for a couple moments after that, eating, staring off at the little stream that ran around the perimeter of the small square, listening to the sound of the live band kicking off their setlist with a slow song appropriate for the weather.

The stranger swallows his Mandu, pointing at Seokjin with his spork without really realising, “oh, I’m Hoseok by the way.”

Hoseok. A name to the face.

“Seokjin,” he replies. Now he’s finished his Jjinmandu. “Digital Art.”

Hoseok makes a noise. “Woah, no way.” Gesturing to himself, “Art and Music.”

Seokjin wants to laugh. “That’s so weird. My roomie also does art. It’s like I’ve been thrown into a pool full of art students.”

“Yeah. Well, we are in the Arts Square. Wouldn’t it be weird if I was doing Chinese studies and I hung around in the Arts Square on my first day?”

“True,” Seokjin nods.

Talking to Hoseok is easy. It’s so fucking easy- it’s as if Hoseok has been a friend for years. They walk together, along the small path that barely fits them both, weaving around the stream. Seokjin learns that Hoseok is from Gwangju, and has a sister who designs clothing in the city. Hoseok, in return, learns that Seokjin barely escaped being a lawyer and comes from a family inheriting endless zeros. It doesn’t bother him. It usually bothers people.

“It’s cool that you got to do what you wanted to,” Hoseok says as they walk further along campus. Now, they’ve reach the on-campus convenience store, the artificial lighting making Hoseok squint, even though daylight still pushed on. “Most kids don’t when they’re in your kind of position.”

Hoseok quickly looks over, “I don’t mean that in a bad way, I only-”

“No,” Seokjin agrees, nodding and thrusting his hands into his pockets. He dips his head upwards, inhaling the smell of the sunshine, before looking at Hoseok with a friendly smile. “No, you’re right. Most kids don’t. I’m lucky.”

Hoseok’s grateful Seokjin didn’t misunderstand. “Hm, maybe we’ll be in each-other’s classes.”

He says it with a hopeful tone, lightly nudging Seokjin’s shoulder with a small smile, that caused dimples to spread across his lower cheeks.

“I hope so,” Seokjin replies, but the sound of the stream covers it. Hoseok keeps walking, not making it known if he heard. He probably hadn’t.

Namjoon rolls over the next morning, not quite remembering how he got home and when, and squints at the Sepia screen of his phone. It reads 6:45am, too fucking early to be awake on a Saturday.

did you get home ok yoongi

dont think i care about you or anything yoongi

Namjoon snorts quietly, wincing when he thinks he’s woken up Seokjin across the room. But, when he looks over towards Seokjin’s side of the dorm, he notices that he’s not even in bed. His sheets are tucked in tightly, and his jacket is absent on the coat hangers on the back of the door.

Holy shit, Seokjin gets up early.

yeah. hows minjoon, the name robber joonie

seriously fuck off he’s playing fred videos yoongi

it’s fucking 7am yoongi

Namjoon scoffs, mostly to himself- because who else is he going to scoff too?-, and rolls over flatly to press his feet onto the flattened out carpet of his room. The sun barely peeks through the shitty curtains, and he yawns loudly, feeling the euphoria of a morning stretch. Namjoon sighs with pleasure at the feeling of his body stretching out, letting his arms drop and grabbing his phone to reply to Yoongi, who Namjoon’s surprised is awake, even when Fred is involved.

i thought fred had died, fr joonie

bitch me too but here we have his channel, still screeching away about rubber sharks in his tiny swimming pool yoongi

im really not joking joon. i wanna quit so bad i’ve been here less than 24 hours and i’m already fantasising about drinking the bathroom bleach yoongi

He’s about to reply when the door to their dormitory room swings open, and the hostility of the swing almost makes him drop his phone on the floor. Namjoon scrambles to catch it, staring up with surprise at the sight of Seokjin carrying two mugs of what appears to be tea. Namjoon smells the cranberry as Seokjin comes closer with a sheepish, yet almost smug, smile. Bare in mind, Namjoon hates cranberry tea; at the smell he smiles and fakes joy.

“Saw your post-it saying you had to set an alarm for seven,” Seokjin said casually. “Figured you’d be up by the time I came back with this...hope you like cranberry.”

[ventrue-rosary]

Kingdom of Decay - Chapter 3

Reposting bc it was redirecting to the wrong blog lol

Also available on Ao3. Like my work? Support me on Ko-Fi!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Chapter 3: Amaranthus

Even during summer, when the sun dips behind the horizon, the air grows chilly. One would catch their death of the cold if unprepared. Indeed, even festooned under her cloak with a bedroll and a blanket, Amara shivers, finding sleep hard to come by as the cold assaults her body.

‘Can we please build a fire?’ she asks through chattering teeth.

Addenus shakes his head, looking at complete ease with the unfortunate weather. ‘Draw too much attention. This place is called the Red Rivers Crossing for a reason.’

Amara sits up but remains in her cocoon. ‘What reason?’

‘Monsters.’

The wind picks up. The icy breeze caresses Amara’s cheek. She cringes against the unwelcome sensation. 

‘You’re not going to elaborate?’ 

‘Wouldn’t wish to sabotage your sleep, Princess. And you will need it.’ ‘I think it’s safe to say its already sabotaged.’

‘Just a jest, Princess-but make no mistake, the woods are dangerous. Come with me.’

Intrigued, she follows Addenus further into the woods. Though human, he has no trouble navigating the smothering dark forest, dodging trees and ducking underneath low-hanging branches with grace. Before long, she hears the unmistakable sound of running water. Soon they come into a clearing. A large body of water, some 50 feet across, has cut a path through the forests. It isn’t until she stands at the edge of the bank she sees the deep crimson hue of its currents.

‘Red…red water? How?’ 

Addenus stoops down to pick up on of the plants growing along the rivers bank. He holds up what looks like a flower–numerous small petals folded on one another leading upwards to form a stalk, in a deep burgundy hue.

‘You know what this is?’

She cocks her head. Familiarity rushes through her, and a name pops into her mind. ‘Amaranthus…’

He twirls the stem between his fingers. ‘ “Undying…” safe to say the river is picking up the pigment from these flowers growing around it. Since the Amaranthus’ never wilts it has a constant supply of them…the river always runs red.

‘ “Undying” ‘, Amara repeats to herself. ‘Nothing is undying.’

‘The Amaranthus is. And maybe the Princess named after it will be.’ Addenus offers her the flower with a small smile. 

‘I doubt that very much.’ she mutters, but she takes it all the same.

‘Oh, you will die given time. But your name, and your deeds and influence can survive past the grave. It all depends on how you act in life.’

She stares into the flowers depths. Trying to imagine what kind of legacy she would leave on the world. For a moment, she thinks she sees something–a flash, two people, boy and girl the exact opposites of each other, like fire and ice. It vanishes as Addenus claps her on the shoulder. 

‘Let’s get back to camp. You should rest.’

Addenus starts a fire, leaving her comfortable enough for sleep to find her.

When Amara wakes, she wakes alone in a strange unfamiliar place. Instead of finding herself beneath star and leaf, she finds herself surrounded by stone walls. The room is entirely empty, and dark. Even her eyes find it difficult to penetrate the yawning abyss ahead of her. 

Then, a light, flickering and blood red. It swallows the dark around it, allowing her to see what lies ahead of her. A single sword of a dark grey hue and a finely made handle. Metal twisting upwards around the dark red gems running up along the handle to the hilt. Another, far larger gem makes up its pommel. Small runes occasional flash in red along the blade.

‘You answered my call…’ Amara starts when she hears the voice. It is not a single voice, but multiple, one dark and raspy, the other light and alluring, like two sides of the same coin. 

‘Sanguine?’

‘Your family and I have been one for generations. It is your turn to shoulder the burden…but are you ready?’

‘What do I have to do?’ she asks.

A low chuckle resides in her head. ‘First, survive. Then, we shall see.’

A hand of shadow clasps around the handle and swings the sword, testing its weight and balance. From out the darkness steps a woman clad in fine armour that almost matches the design of Sanguine–dark, but glowing with runes and a single red gem in the centre of the chestplate. The woman has long black locks, violet eyes and tapered ears. Amara gasps as she beholds the form that appears to be an older, stronger version of her, wreathed in a red and black miasma. 

She holds Sanguine to the exposed skin of her left forearm. Amara cringes as the blade is drawn down, cutting through the skin. Instead of dripping down to the ground, the blood coalesces on the blade, manifesting as brightly burning flames that flicker a deep crimson colour.

Amara stumbles back in horror, tripping over her own feet. She crawls backwards, her palms scraping against the rough stone as she drags herself away. The wrath rushes forward, and plunges Sanguine deep into her heart. She feels the blade cut through skin, flesh, bone and eventually tissue. The flames lick at her sundered skin, cauterizing the wound as it cuts. The blazing inferno seems to surround her in flame, drawing out of her a feral scream as she lays in the gripes of agony so unreal she scarcely believes it. 

When she jolts awake at the camp she is still screaming, until the pain subsides. Desperately, she claws at the fastening of her shirt, fingernail scrabbling at the skin between her breasts in her panicked struggle. There is no sign of scar or injury. Her body sags in relief, but her mind is still fraught with worry and her heart doesn’t slow it’s chaotic rhythm. She meets the gaze of Addenus the other sight of the campfire, as he attempts to stoke the embers back into life. He doesn’t seem surprised or curious at her frightful outburst, instead regarding her with sympathy. 

‘You met Sanguine?’

She nods. The fire springs back to life. Amara jumps back, remembering all too well the agonising heat as it consumed her heart.

‘He can be…intense.’ Addenus winces.

‘It wasn’t just him…’ Amara swallows. ‘There was…someone else.’

‘Someone else…who?’

‘Myself, I think. Only much older. Stronger. I was wielding Sanguine. I…she stabbed me…’

Her fingers trailed the skin between her breasts, where the blade cut. Addenus crinkles his brow in confusion with a hum as he considers her words. ‘Curious. I don’t believe anyone else had had such a dream. It has always just been Sanguine, and Sanguine alone. You say this…other you wielded Sanguine?’

Amara nods. ‘Stabbed me straight through my heart.’

‘Curious indeed. We should head for the Order post-haste. Perhaps we can ask him directly when we get there.’ Addenus rummages through his bag and tosses her an apple. ‘Here. Break your fast and walk. I would like to get there today.’

Amara’s entire body quakes with exhaustion as they mount the final step leading up the order. Standing tall and proud at the apex of the mountain is a square building hewn from obsidian stone. Braziers flank the large metal doorway which bears a sword pointing groundward wreathed in flames. There are no visible handles or door knockers on its surface.

Addenus steps forward, producing a small dagger. Her slices open his palm, and places it on the the metal. The blood stretched across the surface, coating the carving of the flaming blade. With a grinding groan, a seam appears in the middle of the door. The two halves part and swing inwards into the dim lit exterior. They close and reseal behind them, erasing all evidence of the split. Amara turns to face the interior. High windows allow what little light is left of the day to filter through, bathing the stone interior in the hues of sundown. The entryway splits into three identical corridors, two to either side and one straight ahead. Addenus leads Amara down the centre path, ending at a door which looks like an exact replica of the entrance, only on a smaller scale bearing less extravagance and an actual handle. Addenus raises his fist and raps on the door thrice. 

‘Enter,’ a stiff and nasally voice responds. 

Addenus opens the door, revealing a large study room that is the picture of organised chaos. Piles of books and parchments are stacked on nearly every available surface, some even on the floor. Nearly every wall is covered by full bookcases, or well stocked cabinets of weapons and several pieces of well-kempt armour, or shelves littered with vials, bottles, more paper, small framed portraits and other suck knick-knacks. 

Sat in a plush armchair behind a huge mahogany desk sits a middle-aged elf, his hair more salt than pepper, his wrinkled face devoid of any sort of facial hair. Dressed in a black coat with shiny gold buttons, and writing unimpeded by the large and numerous rings on his fingers, he looks every bit the noble. He even carries himself with grace as he sets aside the quill to regard the both of them. ‘Addenus…Mistress Darcelle, a pleasure. Your uncle is a formidable fighter. I hope you also have the skill, but with a touch more self-reflection.’ His thin lips stretch into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘Jedrek Blackclaw, at your service. Well, now you have arrived we should set you up with accommodations…I trust it has been a pleasant journey?’

‘Uneventful, but tiring,’ Addenus says.

Amara, now in a strange place with exciting yet terrifying prospects, finds herself quite awake. 

‘Of course. Show the young Lady to the quarters, then you may retire. We’ll start with the induction in the morrow.’

Addenus stuffly bows. ‘Of course. Come on, young Princess.’

‘Induction?’ Amara asks fearfully as she follows him through the halls, back to the entrance then steering to the right.

‘It’s nothing. Just a lot of talking, and swearing oaths. Boring, political stuff. The exciting stuff happens later. Training, fighting…you’ll love it.’

Amara is less convinced, but she deigns not to argue. They pass many doors. She hears clashings of steel behind one, others voices talking and laughing, but she sees no one else out and about.

Eventually, they stop at a single door, in a private alcove away from the activity she heard earlier. 

‘This is you. The Darcelle room your Uncle was using.’

‘Am I ok to use this?’

‘Of course. We figured you’d like some taste of home for your stay. Sleep tight.’ Amaranthe tiptoes into the room–a moderately sized chamber quaintly furnished with a simple queen-sized bed, an armoire, nightstand and a window seat, a shelf on either side holding a handful of books. 

Amara kneels on the window seat, reaching for the shelf, and adds her dog-eared copy Of Monsters and Men to the meagre selection. The book barely reaches the surface before she pulls it into her lap and opens it. The lettering on the pages is barely legible, but enough so to rouse her memories of reading it through countless times. She recounts the tale in perfect accuracy, until nodding off where she sits. The book falls to the floor, but doesn’t reach it. It remains suspended an inch off the ground. Curious, Amara reaches for it. The pages turn as though caught in the ire of a gale, stopping at the midpoint of the book. An illustration depicts a helmeted knight holding up a familiar sword–one with a dark blade and jewel encrusted hilt. She turns the page. No words, but a drawing of a dark stormy landed shrouded in mist. The mist parts, revealing a dark castle that fills her gut with dread. From behind the foreboding spires, a monster emerges: sickly green tentacles wrapping around the building.

The book falls from her grasp she she retreats from it. It lands with a loud thump. The sound starts her. She wakes on the window seat to complete darkness. Her eyes eventually adjust to the absence of light. 

Amara retrieves the book which fell from her grasp. No strange, moving illustrations. Just words. She slots it onto one of the shelves and walks to bed. She passes by a window as she does, and spots a figures from the corner of her eye, Looking down to the ground below, she sees her Uncle in passionate talks with Jedrek.

Jedrek strikes a blow to her Uncles face. Amara flinches as she hears the sound from her window. He staggers, holding a hand to his bloodied mouth. One foot is put forward, as though he intends to retaliate, but he freezes. Then his head angles upwards. 

With a gasp Amara jumps to the side out of the pane, back against the stone. She wonders if she moved quickly enough. Peeking around the corner, there is nothing but an empty courtyard.