#and i most certainly did NOT use loose glitter last time

[purpldawne]

new nails bc i deserve it

[ticenchantedtoc]

3 for the holiday fic stuff? Any characters you wanna use is fine :3

It had been Belle's idea. Something her family used to do when the roads were buried under snow and the award money never came.

In the castle, though, it was simply convenient. Belle had gathered everyone in the ballroom, which was still a mess in preparation for their usual, ostentatious Christmas gala. The tree sat empty, and the floor was littered with loose pine needles and golden glitter. Dusty boxes of ornaments and candles were piled anywhere there was room, in some method of "organization" that only made sense to Angelique. Belle made a seat for herself atop an old cedar trunk, sending another puff of dust onto the once-polished floor. She barely suppressed a giggle at the way Cogsworth's nose scrunched up.

The names were shuffled in an empty box for the garland, scraps of tinsel and evergreen tossed with them. Everyone walked out with a folded scrap of paper and the promise that someone had theirs in turn.

Everyone except Fife.

He hadn't come to the ballroom. In fact, Madame de Garderobe could not recall the last time she saw the boy at all.

"We should do something for him."

Her husband glanced up to her with a blink, as if he hadn't seen her at all. His pen had stilled so abruptly that a blot of ink bled into the page. A soft smile graced her face. "Apologies, mi amore, I did not mean to interrupt you."

In an instant, and for no discernable reason, Cadenza suddenly noticed the growing dot of ink beneath his hand. He frantically tried to smudge it out with his thumb, which only made the mess worse. His face fell into his hands. "Yes, mi stella?"

Garderobe pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket to dry the black stain now on his cheek. With a cheeky grin, she whispered, "My sincerest apologies for disrupting a genius at work."

He crumpled up the paper with a huff. "Nonsense, all I've written is nonsense!"

"I'm sure that's not true."

"How am I supposed to appeal to the prince? He has been famously been difficult all his life, and if that wasn't challenging enough, now he's a different man entirely!"

"And I'm certain the most talented composer in all of Europe can make something perfect for him."

Cadenza tossed the paper ball into a corner, the newest addition to a white, crinkly mountain of ideas that would certainly be brilliant to anyone else. But not Cadenza. Temperamental, perfectionist Cadenza with too many ideas and too little patience.

Garderobe chuckled more as she leaned down to kiss his cheek. "Now that I have your attention, I have a little request. The little flautist, we should do something for him."

"Mi amore, we barely know him!"

"But we do!" she insisted brightly. "We share an art, darling; that is more than enough!"

Cadenza shook his head. "Oh, if you insist."

So their search began. Cadenza asked as much of the staff as he could, but not even Lumiere knew a thing about the boy.

"He is— Well, you know, he keeps to himself."

"He rarely spoke to anyone but the Maestro. Quite flighty, as it were."

"He's an odd little tyke. I've tried talking to him some, but he always avoids us."

None of it sat well with the diva. Especially when she knew—or rather, had known—Maestro Forte many years ago. He had always been a bitter, reclusive man, and she could not bear to see sweet Fife become the same.

It didn't matter that she didn't know him. Madame de Garderobe had never been the type for small things. On the stage and in her behind-the-scenes life, she would love with her whole heart, sing until her throat was raw, throw herself into anything if passion swayed her so.

And suddenly, she knew what to do.

"Mi amore, what was the name of that carpenter in Villeneuve?"

"Firmin, I believe."

"Thank you, dear!"

Cadenza shook his head as she disappeared out the door, her thick skirts following a few seconds later. There was no use arguing with his wife when she set her mind to something, but that was also one of the things he loved about her.

She poked her head back into the room. "And the seamstress?"

"I don't know," he chuckled. "Why don't you ask Belle?"

"That's brilliant! Thank you, love!"

She was gone again before he could answer, and thus Cadenza remained tucked away with only his harpsichord as company. Hours slipped between the keys as he wrote and rewrote and wrote and rewrote... His hands seemed to move on their own as his mind followed the road through the forest, all but invisible beneath the snow. He thought of Garderobe in Villeneuve, shining like a Christmas star in all her jewels and silks and beauty. And above all else... her joy.

Cadenza looked back to his sheet music with a smile. He had nothing to worry about. Tomorrow, the gifts would be exchanged, and there would be laughter in the ballroom, and none of his stresses mattered because there would be joy.

[five-rivers]

Three Twilights

Can be considered a loose sequel to Deep Sea Diver (same vibes).

Warnings: Soft body horror, Danny totally ignoring objectively horrifying things

.

.

.

“I was thinking,” started Maddie over breakfast, “we could start observations of that island that came into view last week, the blue one.”

Danny shook his head. “You’ll have to use the Speeder, then,” he said. “I’ve got an errand to run.”

There was a pause as both of Danny’s parents looked at him, confused. He didn’t blame them. Danny rarely went out as a human anymore, and certainly not for anything like errands. Looking like he was still fourteen after all this time made doing anything even remotely official difficult.

But this wasn’t a human errand. “Yeah,” said Danny. “In the Ghost Zone. I’ve got to go to Three Twilights.”

“Where?” asked Jack.

“It’s, um, a city,” said Danny. “Well, three cities, I suppose, depending on how you want to group them. One Realm. On the shores of the Celestial Sea. I’m sure I’ve put it in your files.” Probably a direct copy from his files from before he came clean to them, but still. He stirred his cereal counterclockwise, letting his ice powers chill the milk.

“Yes,” said Maddie, “but there are a lot of places in there. I’m not sure we’ve had a chance to properly look at them all, much less memorize them.”

“Okay, yeah,” said Danny. “I guess that makes sense.”

“What kind of errand are you running, Danno?”

“I’m picking something up for a friend. A book,” he clarified. “They lent it to someone there, but they need it back.”

“A book,” said Maddie. “For the Library of Tongues?”

“No, they’ve got a contract service for overdue loans.”

“Contract service?” asked Jack.

“Yeah. Moonlighting bounty hunters mostly.”

“For a library?”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” said Danny, shrugging. “They’re really serious about their work.”

“If it isn’t for them, who is it for?” asked Maddie. “The princess? Wulf?” Wulf had actually been over a few times, and his parents had… Well, saying they got along would be an overstatement, they didn’t really have anything in common beyond ripping portals in the fabric of the universe, but everyone had been civil. “The boy at the school?”

“No,” said Danny. “Wulf would just get it himself.”

“Who, then?” pressed Maddie.

Danny put a spoonful of cereal in his mouth, delaying. Maddie hadn’t eaten anything since Danny had mentioned the errand. The errand was, in fact, for Clockwork. Danny was always more than happy to do anything for Clockwork. The older ghost had saved him too many times for him to be otherwise. But Jack and Maddie were wary of Clockwork. Danny didn’t get it, but talking about it hadn’t been productive so far.

He didn’t want to lie to his parents. Not ever again.

“It’s for Clockwork,” he said.

Ah, yes, there were those suspicious looks. The ones Danny could have interpreted even without being able to almost literally taste emotions.

“I see,” said Maddie.

“Anyway,” said Danny, quickly, “if I haven’t shown you Three Twilights yet, it’s really cool. I don’t want to take the full rig, but maybe the little ectocam would be okay? The one that I can clip on.”

“Why not the normal camera with an ectofilter?” asked Jack. “That has more features, and it’s easier for us to get data from.”

“Three Twilights. It’s dark there,” said Danny. “It might work in Civila, but not so much in Naŭtika and Astronomia, and I sort of want to go down to the beach and see if I can find any star pearls, and that’s really dark, so if you want to see anything properly, it’ll have to be the sonar setup, which I’m not doing, the noises that thing makes are offensive, or the ectocam.”

“And the Fenton Phones?” asked Maddie.

“Sure,” said Danny. “But I always bring those.”

“Yes,” said Maddie, after a moment. “You do.”

“Great. It’s settled, then.”

.

Most of the journey to Three Twilights could be made by air. Or, rather, what passed for air in the Infinite Realms. But when the rocky edge of an island came into view, Danny touched down. Further in was a blue wood, and Danny walked under its inviting branches.

The atmosphere started sunny, summery. The leaves and needles of the trees were the color of a clear blue sky. But as he got deeper, the leaves were touched with sunset colors: golds, reds, oranges, purples, and pinks. They fell to the ground, crunching beneath Danny’s feet. The sunset grew longer, deeper. The leaves on the trees grew sparser, revealing patches of sky.

By the time only bare branches framed the sky, it was a dusky, dim, purple. A few lonely stars twinkled in the sky.

He passed out of the forest. The city of Civila rose above him. Windows glowed in the near dark like eyes.

Danny had changed, too. His aura had dimmed. The whites of his suit were now dark gray, and patterns swirled on its surface like camouflage, like wind-twisted clouds, like nebulae.

Shadows bled around the corners of the city buildings like ink in water. Will-o-the-wisps bobbed, casting pools of illumination in lieu of streetlamps. Ghosts walked up and down the streets, or floated only a few meters up.

The buildings glittered. Everything was dark, vibrant, colors. A sharp, sweet scent filled the air, something dark and rich beneath it.

The canals in the center of the street were filled with flashing fish. Or perhaps serpents. Or perhaps worms. Between how fast they moved and the dimness of the light, it was difficult to tell.

Danny could feel his irises contracting, shrinking down to needle-thin rings. His teeth were sharp. He matched the other ghosts around him. This was how the Civila liked it, how things were in this part of Three Twilights.

Everything in order. Everything peaceful. Everything civil.

Danny walked through the market square, and bought some charcoal-colored cherry pastries from a vendor who looked like someone’s nightmare demon with a chip of ghost ice.

Much to his parents’ protests. They didn’t care for him eating ghost food.

There were seven bridges to Naŭtika, which was built half underwater and half on boats that floated both on the water and in the air. As the dark waters of the inlet lapped at his feet, Danny felt the changes ripple across his skin. To a human, he would look pure black, except for the faintest glimmer of rim lighting and the stars of his eyes. He and the other ghosts moved silently, cutting through the waters like shadows.

To Danny’s ghostly senses, the place was alive with emotion and force, energy loud and crackling against his senses.

“We’re solely on the ectocam, now,” said Maddie. “You were right about that.”

“Mhm,” said Danny, half distracted by a whispered sea-shanty backed by a choir of not-voices and not-sound that wove together with the mastery of a hundred years of practice.

He glided up a rope net, and began to navigate the ropes to the taller ships. The very tallest, the ones that scraped the ever-darkening sky and blotted out uneven sections of stars, moored the glass-like ships that floated above. He’d need to reach them, to get to Astronomia.

“What’s that?” asked Maddie, breaking his concentration on his path.

“What’s what?” asked Danny, whisper soft, drawing some looks. He turned, slowly, on the spot, planks barely creaking under his steps. A gentle wind ruffled his hair.

“There,” said Maddie. “By the ghost that’s registering red.”

It had taken Danny a long time to learn what color on the ectocam’s artificial sensor signified what, but he had, if only to reduce the guessing when they played this game.

“Star pearls,” said Danny, eyeing the ropes of stone that glimmered brighter than his eyes currently did. They were one of the only reliable forms of light, out on the Celestial Sea, although they were valued for other things, too.

“They’re putting out a massive amount of energy,” said Maddie.

“You mentioned them before,” said Jack. “You wanted to look for some?”

“On the shore,” said Danny. “Out past Astronomia.” He wanted to find his own, rather than buy them.

Partially because they were expensive. He didn’t really want to think about how much unmelting ice he’d have to conjure up to equal one of them. They were usually bartered in exchange for… more significant things.

The ghost by the pearls beckoned him closer, clearly hoping to make a sale. Danny shook his head, broadcasting regret and admiration for his wares. Speech might be faster but, under these circumstances, it would not be polite.

When Danny left, the social rules of Three Twilights would only leave the faintest impression on his mind. But, for now, they were a heavy, but not uncomfortable weight. One he could shrug off if necessary, but which was currently useful.

“What are they?” asked Maddie, as Danny turned away.

“They happen when big enough things fall into stars,” said Danny. “They’re all the memories of what they used to be… and the imagination of what they could become, when the star dies. Well, that’s what they’re supposed to be. I don’t think anyone really knows for sure.”

“And you can just… find these? Lying around?”

“Not… not really,” said Danny, slowly drifting towards a crow’s nest. “It’s like that one national park. That one where you can collect diamonds? You never really find anything good, but you can look.”

“I see,” said Maddie. “So, you don’t expect to find one?”

“Yes and no,” said Danny. “If I don’t expect to find one, I probably won’t. Unless the sea is feeling ironic, which it usually is, apparently. I mean, it’s an ocean and the stars. And prophecy is, like, ninety percent irony, but mostly for an outside observer. Which honestly makes sense, I think. An observer, not an Observant. Those are different things.”

The kind of silence on the other side of the line was the one that emerged when Danny used too much ghost logic.

“Anyway,” he continued as he scaled the crow’s nest and started traversing the glass ropes and chains to the all-but-invisible glass ships, “no, I don’t really expect to.”

The path to Astronomia was a staircase carved from moonstone harvested in October, when the moon was full and orange-red. It burned Danny’s eyes to look at and feet to walk upon. Like many ghosts who fixated on things like astronomy, he adapted quickly and thoroughly to the spiritual dark.

This darkest twilight was built of delicate bubbles, whorls, and arches of glass, any of which could cradle a ghost, all of which could be phased through with impunity. There were no true roads here, but certain places were easier to travel through. Addresses were carved in the glass in glimmering, holographic sigils made from glass-caught starlight that humans would never be able to read, but Danny could understand with a glance. It was not silent in Astronomia, the high wind sung through the glass like the immense instrument it was, playing ethereal and eternal music that mirrored heaven.

As always, Danny was enraptured. Perhaps the stars here were not true stars, only their memory and imagination (or simulacra made from stripped ghost cores, he remembered with a shudder), but he felt so close here.

“Danny? Are you still with us?”

Danny started to reply, but realized he had forgotten, once again, that he had no mouth here.

A phantabulist played a story for a group of not-quite-children, characters made of carefully constructed light chasing each other about with vigour. Danny stopped for a while to watch the story, a parable about spiders and fish. They were common here, storytellers who plied their craft this way. The stories could be pressed into glass prisms and orbs that served as books and viewed even in other environs of the Ghost Zone.

He moved on, passing through a glass bubble full of ghosts that snatched at and stroked him as he passed by, leaving stars and dark clouds to swirl across his skin. His suit had long since smoothed over and sunk in. His skin was a thin surface, a membrane holding in liquid night. He was like smoke, like vapour, thin and easily overlooked.

The places he passed were homes, places of business, warehouses, and hotels, organized without any apparent reason. A phantabularium glowed like a struck match, snatches of story visible inside its walls. He walked by.

Eventually, he reached the palace at the city center.

The ghost who lived there was old. Older, perhaps, than Pandora. She filled the vessels of her palace in placid pools connected by crystalized threads and looping tubes. Seven round-bottom flasks, radiating outward, like the spheres of heaven. The music here was almost deafening.

This was Urania, Muse of Astronomy. Astronomia was her city, and subordinate to her will before all else.

Danny resisted the urge to kneel. He was not here as a supplicant, and they both knew it.

The lowest pool bubbled, and slowly a glass prism, a dodecahedron, floated to the top. Danny took it with careful hands and left Urania’s direct presence as quickly as possible.

Being near her was always difficult. She was the Muse of Astronomy, and she felt he did not indulge his second Obsession as much as was proper.

Indeed, she thought it should be his first.

(The starlight inside him pulsed. He was never sure how much influence Urania could exert on him when he visited Three Twilights, never sure how much the relationship between his passions shifted when he was here. He loved it here too much to stay away forever.)

Astronomia did not end all at once. Instead, as one walked farther from the palace, the delicate, clear glass was replaced by black sand. When Danny had feet again, and could feel the grains beneath them, he knew he was no longer in Astronomia, but on the Shores of Night. The Isles of the Moon were faintly visible in the distance, sea-spray framing them in silvery halos.

He felt human here. His breath moved in his lungs, and his skin rose in goosebumps, the sleeves of his t-shirt fluttering in the wind. The sea and the sky were the same, and twice as beautiful for it.

“Sorry for going silent on you there,” said Danny. “I keep forgetting I don’t have a mouth there.”

“How do you forget that?” asked Jack.

“I don’t know.” Danny shrugged, even though he knew Jack couldn’t see him. “Do you think the ectocam might be able to spot buried star pearls?”

[honeymoonjin]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5.9k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: cursing, panic attack

A/N: apologies for my tgm crimes here but i gotta keep you on your toes since you have the old plan. also i'm not going to spoil anything but day 25 has one of my fav scenes in the show so far ;;-; so please enjoy this chapter and i will continue to work hard to finish the following one and get back into the posting routine!

DAY TWENTY-FOUR

You’re roused from sleep by the feathered sensation of fingertips on your jaw. Twitching slightly, you try and move away from it, burrowing deeper into the warm, gently rocking pillow your head is propped up on.

Before you can slip back under, however, the fingers give one last attack: a sudden flick to your cheek that echoes with a thwack. You flinch and furrow your brows, grumbling your displeasure since your words haven’t quite found you yet.

“Get up, sleepyhead, unless you’d rather I just piss in the bed.”

That’ll do it. You shoot up so quickly your vision swims, one side of your face feeling cold without the comfort of Yoongi’s chest. “Fuck you, go pee,” you slur, eyes still half-closed, the morning glare peeking through a gap in his curtains.

Yoongi happily but hurriedly trots off to the bathroom, giving you a moment of respite to collect yourself. It takes a few moments to recall the previous night, not just the way Yoongi’s voice had made you cum in your room, but also the way it later lulled you to sleep as he told you hushed stories of his childhood or anecdotes from his days as a sex education teacher.

You can even hear his voice now, just barely slipping under the crack of the door, humming and singing under his breath as he washes his hands.

When he finally exits, you’re propped up by pillows, duvet tucked over your knees and eyes crinkled fondly at his bedhead.

“Oh, no,” he starts with a frown, “you better get that look off of your face.”

Your smile drops. “What?”

Taming his hair with a few flat strokes, he shakes his head. “I need somebody sane in this house to talk to. You aren’t allowed to fall in love with me, it’s conflict of interest.”

Mouth dropping open, it takes you a few minutes to note the subtle curl to his lips. “You dick! I’m certainly not planning on it, don’t flatter yourself.”

“Hey,” he defends in a drawl, no attempt at modesty as he shucks his pyjamas before browsing his chest of drawers, “it’s been done before. You come for the massive dick and stay for the massive heart.” He pauses, shoulder muscles flexing as he reaches in to a drawer, pulling out a pair of dark wash jeans. “Stop looking at my ass, I’m trying to lecture you.”

On the contrary, you lower your gaze and narrow in on it. “You’re starting to develop a little bubble butt, Yoongi. It’s very cute.” Not leaving him time to protest, you barrel on. “Besides, your dick isn’t that big.”

“That’s only because you’re comparing mine to hyung’s. And Namjoon’s. And… And Jungkook’s, I guess. And-” Suddenly he cuts himself off, throwing himself back on the bed with his back hunched in despair. “Fuck, do I have a small dick?”

“Mm, not really,” you dismiss easily, deciding to finally get out of bed and pick out your own clothes - selecting them from Yoongi’s drawers, of course. He makes no protest, still staring blankly at the jeans in his hands. “You just have steep competition here. There’s nothing wrong with small dicks, either. They’re cute.”

Now visible from your angle, Yoongi’s face twists in a grimace. “But my dick isn’t small, right?”

You shrug, slipping on one of his FG shirts and a pair of sweatpants loose enough that you have to knot the drawstrings. “If it helps you sleep at night.”

He spares one somber glance down between his legs before he slips on a pair of underwear, finally stepping into the jeans. There’s a brief period of comfortable silence, before he lets out a small sigh. “Can I… Can I confess something to you?”

Although a quip would be easy enough to say, you sense the joking is over. “Of course, Yoongi,” you assure instead, sitting cross-legged on the unmade bed beside him. He doesn’t meet your eye, busying himself with slipping a shirt over his head. “What’s up?”

Once he’s fully dressed, he still keeps his eyes low. “When you- On Monday, when you voted out Jin-hyung. I was so glad.”

You pause for a moment. “Because you wanted him out of the competition?” you venture, but he shakes his head dully.

“Because I thought he might look at me again if he didn’t have you.”

Something sinks in your stomach, cold enough to make you shiver. The guilt in Yoongi’s voice doesn’t conceal the open vulnerability of his expression as he fiddles with his bitten fingernails. “What do you mean, Yoongi?”

“What him and I had earlier wasn’t healthy, I know that,” he defends to himself, “but… I still miss it. I miss him. But even when I spoke to him after the elimination, all he would talk about was you. And I can’t even be mad, because I get it. And I- If I’m honest,” he murmurs, feet scuffing restlessly on the carpet, “I don’t even know what I’m wanting to achieve by telling you this, but I couldn’t stand not having anybody know about it. I never wanted it to get this messy. I told myself I wouldn’t let my feelings get caught up. But I think a little heartbreak would be worth it, for him. Is that stupid?”

You feel so unanchored, like there’s nothing for you to grab onto to steady yourself. More so, you feel entirely incapable of helping your friend like you so desperately want to. “It’s not stupid,” you begin, reaching out to cup one of his hands snugly between the two of yours, head resting on his shoulder in solidarity, “and I’m so sorry. Does he- does he know you feel this way?”

“I don’t think so,” Yoongi admits in a low voice, leaning into your touch. “If he does, then he must not like me since he’s not acknowledging it. And if he doesn’t, then he must have never even considered me like that. I know I was a distraction at best.”

You knit your brows together, deep in thought to try and find the right words to say. “Or perhaps he knows and he’s respecting your boundaries by letting you initiate, especially since he was the one who took advantage of you last time. And perhaps he doesn’t know, and it’s only because he’s so caught up in his own feelings that he hasn’t considered that you may feel the same. You just don’t know these things, Yoongi. I didn’t know how you felt either until you told me.”

He nods slowly, jerkily. “Yeah,” he says weakly. “Jungkook said almost the exact same thing, actually.”

You pull back slowly, curiosity colouring your tone. “Jungkook?”

Yoongi manages a shy smile, cheeks colouring slightly. “He approached me. We- we talk a lot, way more than hyung and I ever did. I know Kookie has a crush on me, and we said we’d take things slow, but dammit, I can’t help but like the kid.”

You let a surprised laugh bubble up your throat. “That- I was not expecting that, but I’m so glad, Yoongi. Even if you don’t have Jin, I’m glad you’re letting yourself be happy with others.”

His smile falters. “Is it greedy that liking Jungkook doesn’t make me want Jin-hyung any less?”

You go still, thinking of your own blooming feelings for... Well, for most of the people in this house, if not - at least a little bit - all of them. “I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “I’d like to think not.”

Yoongi lifts his gaze to you, carefully studying your face. “Do you ever worry,” he begins, so softly that you have to strain to make the words out, “that our feelings have been set up. By the show, I mean.” His brows furrow deeper. “We’re living in a practical paradise - luxurious house with no real jobs, our food is paid for, we’re literally getting rewarded to have sex. It’s so artificial, you know? So who’s to say that our feelings are artificial, too? I- I’ve been thinking about that a lot,” he admits with a pensive stare.

You can’t lie. You nod. “I’d like to think not,” you repeat hollowly, “but… I mean, yeah, this feels like some alternate reality, and thinking of any of you in normal, mundane, real-life scenarios seems so strange. Like, can you picture Hoseok sitting down and doing his taxes?”

Yoongi snorts, shaking his head in bemusement as a line of tension eases from his shoulders. “I hope he hires an accountant. I certainly wouldn’t trust him with my money.”

You let out a deep sigh and fall backwards onto the duvet, air punched out of you on impact. “The thing is, Yoongi,” you declare in a matter-of-fact tone, “we have no way of knowing what life will be like once all this is wrapped up so why even bother worrying?”

He turns slightly, just enough to watch you warily over his shoulder. “Maybe because I could get my heart broken?”

You pout at him. “Tell me how that’s any different from developing a crush in real life?”

He opens his mouth, furrows his brows, and closes it again. “I- Ugh. Fuck you for being correct.”

Pleased with yourself, you hide your grin as you playfully knock his side with your foot, making him recoil with a groan. “Be as cautious or as impulsive as you want, but even if all this is fake, you could’ve just as easily developed those feelings outside of the show. Like come on, if you saw Jin in the grocery store don’t tell me you wouldn’t fall in love on sight!”

Yoongi shakes his head again, a wry smile playing at his lips. “I see your point… and now I’m picturing Jin getting groceries and looking hot doing it...wow.”

You cackle at the dazed look on Yoongi’s face, using his arm to pull yourself up off the bed, patting him on the shoulder. “Good talk, champ. I’m off to chow down on the leftover pork from last night. Care to join me?”

His eyes glitter, but the doctor declines. “Yoonji said she blackmailed one of the production team to bring her fried chicken from her favourite place. She’s hiding it in the bunk room, but you didn’t hear that from me. She’s selling some to me for a small fortune, the little devil.”

“Less than half a week here and she’s already set up a black market,” you muse, “I think I may be in love with her, Yoongi.”

“Don’t you dare.”

--

While the kitchen is empty when you first arrive, it only takes the sizzle of pork belly in a saucepan to draw your roommates down.

Jin is first, silently rummaging in the pantry and fridge for some side dishes to add to the mix. In return, you begin boiling some hot water, adding instant coffee mix to two mugs.

As the others join, the line of mugs and glasses on the kitchen island grows, until even the two Min twins are hovering in the kitchen, looking suspicously still hungry after their illicit breakfast.

There aren’t enough chairs at the table to seat you all, but luckily Taehyung and Jungkook are happy hunched over the bench in the kitchen, sharing a set of Airpods and snickering at a seemingly endless stream of TikToks.

At the table, Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi chow down on their meals, the latter with a considerably smaller portion made up mostly of meat. Yoonji and Jimin are on either side of you, with Jin on one end, chewing slow to savour each bite.

It’s the first time in a while that you’ve all shared breakfast at the same time, and you’re struck with a deep feeling of fondness at this little family-like group you’re living with.  Jimin sneaks extra strips of meat or spoonfuls of rice into your bowl when he thinks you’re not looking; Hoseok listens enthusiastically to Namjoon’s explanation of a summer school course he’s taking, even as he has to ask for clarification just about every second sentence; Yoongi splits his time between checking up on the two maknaes with a soft look, and scowling at his sister’s teasing comments.

“Any plans for the day?” Yoonji asks suddenly, tugging you out of your musings. She’s dressed sleekly in a black velvet mock neck shirt and high waisted denim shorts, her face as stark a resemblance to her brother as ever, with two sharp lines of black on her lids being the only visible makeup. “Except, I suppose, the mandatory fucking.”

You huff with pink cheeks, never growing used to hearing it so openly. “The days kinda blur together a little when you have no real responsibilities,” you admit, “I should probably find a hobby or something.”

Yoonji’s eyes crinkle in faux empathy. “Oh, honey, you’re gonna be so out of it when you return to the real world. You all will,” she adds, before shrugging, “except maybe Namjoon. Seems like academia doesn’t stop for anyone.”

You can’t help but agree. “He has more brain cells in his pinky finger than I do in my own body,” you swear, “he could break an arm and still type a thesis one-handed.”

Halfway through a mouthful of food, you’re rewarded to the ungraceful yet endlessly endearing sound of her snorting, a hand cupped over her mouth. After swallowing, she turns towards you to respond. “I haven’t known him for long, but that seems to check out. He’s quite the character, huh?”

You don’t miss the meaningful lilt to her voice, nor the quirk of a sharp brow. “He’s a good guy,” you reply under your breath, gaze darting down the table to where the man himself is engaged in an intensely enthusiastic discussion (okay, closer to a TedTalk) with Hoseok, now using pieces of meat to create an abstract diagram in his otherwise empty bowl. The latter looks bewildered, but is nonetheless paying deep attention to every word.

It’s impossible not to feel soft inside as you look at the pair of them, all complementary contrast. Hoseok with his slender nose and harsh facial structure and Namjoon with a round, gentle face. One of them dressed in sleek black and the other in oversized earth tones, the typically reserved one animated and the bubbly one focused in. It had taken you barely a month of shared living to become completely fond of these men, not just Namjoon and Hoseok but all of them, and as much as it was nice to have someone new in the Villa for a while, Yoonji’s presence makes you more aware of the fact that you and the seven guys had developed a certain equilibrium that seemed slightly off-balance with the change.

It makes you worry about what other disturbances this delicate system could hold, and if returning to the real world would be a shift large enough to permanently upend it.

Wishing to dispel the pessimistic narrative beginning to form, you focus in on Yoonji again. “Anyways,” you start, “how are you finding the Villa so far?”

“Certainly an interesting look behind the veil, though it’s really not ideal having to-” Yoonji’s cut off by the chirp of an incoming message on her phone. “Sorry, one sec,” she mumbles absentmindedly, but you don’t miss the way her face falls when she reads the message, immediately glancing directly across the table to where her brother sits.

To your growing concern, Yoongi is also reading a message on his phone, and he quietly excuses himself from the table, leaving his bowl half-eaten. He jerks his head towards the front door, and Yoonji manages a quick apology before they’re leaving the room.

All startled out of their separate conversations, the remaining members of the household sit in confused silence, enough that even Taehyung and Jungkook turn around from their phones.

“What’s going on?” Jungkook asks in a worried voice. “Where’s Yoongi-hyung?”

Nobody replies, Jin just shaking his head with a grim frown and leaving the table himself, going after them.

“Guys,” Taehyung says more insistently, eyes not leaving the empty seats at the table.

“They both got a text,” you say with furrowed brows, “Yoongi and Yoonji. Must’ve been bad news, judging by their faces.”

“Jin-hyung’ll find out what’s going on,” Namjoon assures, though it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself, “let’s just clean up for them and wait for an update. Yeah?”

The two youngest nod solemnly, still with a single Airpod each bobbing in their opposite ears.

For a while, the group of you remaining sit in silence, as if caught up in some spell that would only be broken once Jin returned with some answers. The absence of Yoongi at the table is so much more pronounced, and you can’t help but feel the sickening worry swirl inside you when you look at his bowl, chopsticks strewn carelessly beside it.

Everyone is just waiting for bad news. You’ve felt this looming dread before, and it either came with a swoop of relief or a blow of despair. Your teeth find your thumbnail as you wait helplessly to see which one it’ll be.

It feels like an eternity before the door finally opens, making everyone jump, but only a few minutes have really passed. Jin is panting slightly, like he ran back from wherever Yoongi disappeared to.

“He’s-” he starts quickly, before a tremor passes over his face and he grimaces, jogging over and falling heavily into his chair at the table, face in his hands. “Their dad is in hospital. Heart attack.”

“Oh my god,” Namjoon breathes, brows knit together in sympathy. “Is he okay? Was it serious?”

Jin shrugs, looking up enough to run his hand over his face and take a shaky breath. “He’s alright for now, but apparently they need to make sure it doesn’t repeat anytime soon. If he settles, he’ll be fine, but there’s a chance that he might suffer another attack. Yoongi and Yoonji are going to the hospital now to stay with him until they’re more certain he’s stable. Just in case.”

“When is he coming back? Yoongi-hyung?” Jungkook’s eyes are wide, shiny. He can’t stop fiddling with his fingers, self-soothing.

“Not for a while, I don’t think,” Jin divulges with a pained expression. “He needs to be there for his family right now. That’s all I know, I’m sorry.”

The front door creaks, and all of you instinctively whip your heads towards it, as if Yoongi himself might be returning already, but you’re greeted with the weary face of Producer Sejin, joining you at the table, taking Yoongi’s old spot. Taehyung frowns deeply at the choice, turning his face away.

“What’s going on?” you ask quickly. “What happens to Yoongi? And us?”

“Yoongi is… He was in a rush to get going, understandably, so we didn’t speak in great depth. But he in short stated that he’d return when his father was in better health if the place was still open for him. I’ve got in contact with the higher-ups, and we’ve agreed to put the show on a temporary hold.”

“On hold?” Jungkook asks in a nervous voice. “What does that even mean?”

Sejin clears his throat stiffly and clicks his tongue. “Well. It means we’re putting a stop to the game for now, in short. If Yoongi is able to return by the end of the week, we’ll resume as usual. Otherwise, we’ll consider him to have permanently left the competition, and we’ll be forced to continue the game without him.”

You frown, fighting the urge to cry. This all feels so wrong, like he’s been taken from you with little hope of reunion, and discussing it like administration feels so clinical. “So we’re just sitting here, not knowing if he’s going to come back home, waiting around in limbo?” As soon as you finish, it feels like the word home lingers in the air longer than the rest of them. And perhaps this house doesn’t feel like home to you, but it certainly seems like six of the seven pieces of home are around you right now, and it’s not the same without him away. By the way the others are solemn and red-eyed, you probably aren’t the only one that’s begun feeling that way.

Sejin just shakes his head slowly, as subdued as you all are. “Listen, I know this isn’t ideal. The boss wanted to film it, make a big drama out of it, and then kick him off the show for views. I’m doing the best I can here to compromise and give him some dignity.”

Eyes widening, you stare at the round eyes of the cameras in the living room. “Are you- are you even allowed to say that?”

“I cut the camera feeds,” Sejin says in a defeated tone, “the show is officially off-air for technical difficulties. You can do what you want here while you wait - hell, you can leave if you want, just please be prepared to come back on the Sunday. We’ll have a discussion about whether Yoongi can return, and what we’ll do if he doesn’t. Understood?”

“Understood,” Namjoon offers up for the group, and the producer leaves with another sigh and an attempt at a comforting smile. You can’t help but feel bad for him, working such an emotionally draining job, especially when you’ve heard nothing but bad things about his employer.

Once the room falls into quiet again, Jin stands up, chair legs scraping against the floor. “Okay, I think we should decide as a group what we’re wanting to do. Stay or go?”

You open your mouth to give your two cents, but before you can, Jungkook suddenly chokes on a sob and covers his face with his hands, Jimin immediately scooting his chair closer to wrap an arm around his shaking shoulders.

“Hey, what is it?” Jimin asks quietly, but the room is so silent that you all catch it. “Talk to me, bun. What is it?”

Jungkook takes a few stuttering breaths to compose himself, sniffling. “I don’t want you all to leave too,” he confesses, Jimin’s thumb catching a tear dangling on the tip of his nose, “isn’t Yoongi-hyung enough?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” the elder promises, pressing a kiss into his hairline before looking up at the rest of you, eyes widening intentionally. “We’ll stick together through this until he comes back, yeah? It’s not all bad. The cameras are off, remember? We can have a break now, we don’t need to worry about the show. Isn’t that nice?”

After a moment’s considering, Jungkook nods slowly. “‘t is nice,” he admits begrudgingly. “But only if everyone stays.”

You can’t help but smile fondly, getting up yourself to come behind him, stroking his hair back. “We’ll stay, of course we’ll stay. Let’s spend some time together tonight, we can put on a movie and snuggle, how about that?”

He perks up at the thought of this, glancing around the table as the others nod in affirmation. “I’ll bring down the blankets,” he bargains, cracking a small smile, and the rest of the room relaxes, immediately bursting into sound as everyone arranges the necessary supplies for a good quality movie night, almost back to normal.

Jungkook, as the member of the Villa in most urgent need of a pick-me-up, is given movie choosing privileges, so the seven of you tuck in for a rewatch of his favourite Spiderman movies, perhaps the only thing that can keep him glued to the screen.

At first, the absence feels overwhelming to you. Try as you might through the opening sequence, you can’t shake it. Your mind counts heads without thinking, keeps looking at the space on the couch where Yoongi liked to put his feet up. Even though you know it’s his father who is unwell, not him, there’s the sick swelling in your stomach that makes you feel like his departure is final, and shortly after the title card plays out, you’re quietly excusing yourself and stumbling to the back door, in desperate need of fresh air.

It’s cold outside, a brisk wind cutting through you. You barely make it around the corner out of sight before your legs buckle, and you let yourself fall into a pathetic crouch, your weight propped up against the side of the house as you try to suck the chilled air into your lungs.

The panic creeps up on you in swells, the irrational fear that Yoongi would leave the show and you’d never see him again and everything would fall apart suddenly feeling like a whole tsunami crashing against you. Your fingers claw at the exterior wall as you fall back onto your behind, unable to even keep yourself in a crouch.

More so than the intrusive thoughts, it’s the image of Yoongi’s face falling, of him rushing out of the house in frantic distress that replays in your mind and leaves you suffocating. He looked so scared, your calm, reliable Yoongi. He was like a pillar, but that news was a fell swoop he couldn’t stay strong against. Your heart burns for him, cramping and aching in your chest.

For a moment, you picture yourself staying out here, gasping for breath until the sun goes down. You feel alone, more than ever since coming here, and even as the thought spooks you, there’s no energy in your body to do anything about it.

Just as your breaths start to sound more like death rattles and you curl your face towards the ground, a warmth envelopes your back, arms circling your middle and lifting you up.

“Hey, breathe, breathe with me, Y/n. I’m here.”

You recognise the voice. You recognise the built torso holding you steady, but your mind isn’t putting the pieces together, and so you simply squeeze your eyes shut and allow yourself to be maneuvered around there are hands on your face and a deep voice instructing you to look at me. I’m here; look at me.

You crack your eyes open, body heaving with the effort it takes to get any oxygen in your lungs, but you’re met with the soulful brown eyes of Kim Namjoon, narrowed in concern.

His hands are warm despite the frigid air outside, and you let yourself melt into him, eyes sinking to watch his lips mouth instructions, demonstrating exaggerated breathing for you to follow.

You feel distinctly like you might vomit, but you force yourself to match his breaths. The shuddering in and stilted out aren’t as fluid as his, but slowly your heart doesn’t thud in your ears and your body doesn’t shake as violently.

You feel damp, sweating all over, and your whole body aches, but your hearing begins to properly tune in again, coherence creeping back. “Na-Namjoon,” you gasp, wishing you had the energy to grab his arms or hug him or something other than lying limp against the wall of the house.

“Shh, hey, don’t strain yourself. Take it easy. I’m here.” He’s crouching in front of you, eyes locked onto you as he continues to hold you steady, jaw kept aloft by his hands. “Keep breathing, and it’ll go away. It’s a panic attack, I’ve had my fair share. You’ll come right.”

Trusting him despite the persisting burn in your chest, you let him coach your breathing for several more minutes, the heightened air influx making your head go light and floaty.

Once a counted breath turns into a yawn of exhaustion, you know the worst has passed. It leaves you boneless, not a single ounce of power left in your muscles, but you can breathe again, and it’s all thanks to the man across from you.

“I’ve never had one before,” you manage, voice cracking, “not like that.”

Namjoon’s lips press together in sympathy, and he turns to prop himself against the side of the house beside you, letting you continue breathing independently. “Is it Yoongi-hyung?”

You nod weakly, and the academic hums in confirmation. “I used to get panic attacks a lot in university. I used to hate them, thought they meant I was weak. Like I couldn’t handle the pressure as much as I thought I could. But, you know, these days I just figure I’m only panicking because it means so much to me. And I don’t think that makes me weak at all. It just means I care. Don’t feel ashamed about this, Y/n. All it means is that you care about hyung a lot.”

All the breath in your lungs leaves you in one rush as you prop your head in your hands, knees tucked towards your chest. “Yeah.” You wish you had something more appreciative to say, but your mind is waterlogged, weighed down and not functioning.

Namjoon doesn’t seem to mind the curt response. “I care about him a lot too. He’s like the glue for us, isn’t he? I’m worried to fall apart without him here keeping us in line. But we survived before we knew him and we’ll survive now. What’s better is supporting each other and waiting to see how we can support Yoongi-hyung, too.”

“You’re right,” you admit with a heavy breath, wiggling your toes to will energy back into them. “We’ll be okay.”

Namjoon bends sideways to bump your shoulder warmly. “That’s the spirit. Now; I’m happy to stay out here as long as you need, but Jungkook was the first one to notice you had been gone for a while, and I think he’s probably getting concerned by now. If you’re up to it, I can give you a hand to get inside and join the others again. What do you reckon?”

You lean your head back against the wall, taking a moment to consider. “What movie is he putting on next?”

“He mentioned wanting to check out Paw Patrol on Netflix.”

“Let me die out here,” you plead weakly.

Namjoon laughs, the sound like comfort itself, and stands up, offering you a hand. “Come on, kitten, up we get.”

In the end, the Netflix viewings manage to distract you for the rest of the night. When your limbs are tangled together and snacks are flowing, it’s easy to tune out of reality a bit and focus on the television screen in the comfort of shared company. Jungkook clears space on the couch for you the second you return, and clings to you for hours, his chin on your shoulder. You don’t complain, feeling soothed by the physical closeness. But the hours pass, and when the majority of you can no longer hold in your yawns, Seokjin gets up to turn the lights back on and clean up.

“Let’s get some rest,” he decides, and it’s that return to the real world that immediately dampens the atmosphere again, the group of you turning solemn. You pause to pull out your phone, sending Yoongi a quick message of support, and that you all missed him already, but no reply comes.

Without words being spoken, the seven of you remaining find yourselves flocking together as you make your way up to bed. Jin flanks the maknae as Namjoon and Hoseok lean heavily into each other, the four of them disappearing into Jin’s room. You naturally fall into step with the remaining two men, Taehyung linking his arm into yours and holding you close all the way to Jimin’s room.

Somehow, the house is too quiet. Even though Yoongi wasn’t a particularly noisy housemate, his absence cloaks the air.

You have no energy to shower. Washing your face is as much as you can manage, and Taehyung is even more despairing than you are, slumped on the toilet seat as Jimin cleans his face for him.

The uncertainty is what makes your heart flutter on edge, unable to wind down, and you know from the restrained looks of fear and distress in the guys’ eyes that they feel the same. The show would be undoubtably ruined if Yoongi couldn’t return. But more important than that, Yoongi would be ruined if he lost his father so suddenly.

Knowing Yoongi is hurting makes you ache, and you cling to your lovers like they’re your anchors in a churning sea, tucking your face firmly into Taehyung’s shoulder. It soothes you a little to be pinned between them, but the three of you still lie awake as the minutes blink by agonisingly slow.

At some point, you must fall into a fitful sleep, because when a sudden noise fills the room, it rouses you aggressively, and you almost kick Jimin’s shin in the process. Grunting, the half-asleep man rubs his face and twists around, fumbling on the nightstand for the offending noise.

It’s Taehyung’s phone, vibrating against the wooden table, and once Jimin blinks twice at the glaring screen he gasps and yanks the charger out, sitting up in bed. “It’s hyung,” he declares in a voice more vulnerable than you’d ever heard from him before. “Wake Tae.”

You force yourself to dispel those last few wisps of sleep from your brain, and gently shake Taehyung awake. According to the clock on the nightstand, it’s almost two in the morning, but your heart leaps as Yoongi’s face fills the phone screen, looking right at the three of you.

“I thought you would be together,” he states with a rueful smile, though you can see that it doesn’t quite reach his reddened eyes. “Sorry for calling so late.”

“Don’t apologise, hyung,” Taehyung whines, half of his weight on you as he leans in close, “we were so worried about you. How’s your dad?”

Yoongi’s brows furrow beneath mussed hair. “Not great,” he admits. “A little more stable, at least, but he’s pretty confused right now. Nurses worry that it might have affected his brain.”

Your heart sinks, both at the thought of a relatively young man suffering such awful health complications, but also at how Yoongi was trying to hide his exhaustion and distress. “Oh my god.”

“Mm, we should know soon what the damage is,” Yoongi explains further, rubbing his eyes with the hand not holding his phone aloft, “and if he’s alright I can head back h- head back to the Villa. He’s just been sleeping a lot today so… We don’t really know how he’ll be until he’s conscious for enough time. Yoonji’s with him at the moment, I just wanted to duck out and give you guys an update. Where are the others?”

“Jin-hyung’s room,” Jimin answers, even as he’s throwing back the covers. “They’ll want to hear from you themselves, just hold on a minute.”

You hear Yoongi’s voice echoing from the phone and strain to make out his words as Jimin heads to the door. “No, no, don’t wake them. I actually wanted to ask if you’d like to come visit? Of course none of you know my dad, and he doesn’t know you, but- Well, Yoonji and I could do with some company.”

You jump up, rushing to Jimin’s side. As he naturally accommodates your presence and pulls you flush against him, you lift your face up to the phone. “We’ll be there,” you assure Yoongi, “just please get some rest tonight. It’s been a rough day.”

Yoongi’s pained smile breaks your heart, and Jimin leads the phone back to the bed so that Taehyung can say a final goodbye before the three of you hang up and crawl, exhausted but somewhat relieved, back into bed.

[the-littlest-goblin]

ooooooooh for fic prompts, could i request: essek interacting with Frumpkin, specifically playing with him (so as to impress Caleb and earn his favor a bit), but our favorite hot boi most likely did not have pets growing up and is at a bit of a loss with what to do. (bonus: Caleb sees this and thinks it's incredibly endearing)

I think you got everything you wanted. ft. my personal 'here’s how Frumpkin can still win’ headcanon.

----

This was not how familiars were supposed to work.

Essek may not have summoned one before (he’d never really understood the use of an assistant with no opposable thumbs), but he had read enough about the spell to know that this was not how familiars were supposed to behave. 

Maybe that was because Frumpkin didn’t technically count as a familiar anymore.

No one knew exactly what had happened, or why. Essek and Caleb had exchanged a number of theories on the matter, but so far the best explanation still went to Beau’s conclusion: “weird fey shit.”

After Aeor and the Somnovem, when they had all finally gotten a chance to breathe again, Caleb had done some sort of ritual to more permanently banish his familiar. Essek hadn’t gotten the full context at the time, but it had something to do with symbolic closure and moving on. The cat was already gone from the Material Plane at that point, but Caleb had wanted to remove the temptation to summon him again, and so devised a sort of reversal of the Find Familiar spell.

However, upon performing the anti-summoning ritual, the cat had appeared in the ritual circle as if Caleb had cast the spell as usual. Only instead of going to his master’s side, Frumpkin had sauntered away from Caleb with a swish of his tail and gone to sit directly at Essek’s feet.

“Hmm,” Caleb had muttered, the hint of a grin twitching at the corner of his mouth. “It looks like he has made a choice.”

Ever since, Caleb had been unable to banish Frumpkin, or communicate with him, or give him orders. He had seemingly lost his magical connection to, and mastery over, the cat—Frumpkin was no longer his familiar, as had been the intention. It was just that Frumpkin apparently liked the Material Plane better than the Feywild, and so refused to leave. And since Caleb had let him go, he chose a new wizard to keep him company. For the next several days they had spent recuperating and planning their next moves, Frumpkin stuck with Essek, never straying from his side for long.

But, crucially, he did not become Essek’s familiar, a lesson they had learned quickly enough. Essek didn’t even have Find Familiar in his spellbook. He couldn’t banish Frumpkin, he couldn’t communicate telepathically with him, and he certainly couldn’t give him orders. 

So, Essek just had a pet cat now, one which happened to be fey in nature. Stranger things had happened—much, much stranger—so for Essek’s part, it had seemed easiest to just accept this development in stride. At times, he was even grateful for the cat’s presence. 

But right now, he was very much not. At least familiars were obedient.

Essek winced against the sound of shattering glass—a sound which was becoming somewhat routine since taking up residence in these new, temporary lodgings with Frumpkin as his roommate. 

Essek closed his eyes and took one deep breath before looking up from his notes to survey the damage. His gaze met Frumpkin’s round, amber eyes across the room, looking impossibly innocent where he sat primly on one of the tables which Essek had set up to house his research. His tail swished back and forth where it hung over the edge, acting like a flashing signal to point Essek’s attention down towards the starburst of broken glass glittering directly beneath him.

Mercifully, the beaker which Frumpkin had marked for termination had been holding a harmless and easily replaceable solvent, rather than any of the more valuable or dangerous liquids Essek had lying around in his provisional lab. His fingers curled protectively around the precious vial of liquid dunamis sitting next to him.

“Why?” He let the single syllable of the word stretch out into a long, bone-deep groan lasting several seconds. The question was aimed both at Frumpkin and at himself, and covered a variety of curiosities he had about the situation. Why did Frumpkin feel such a persistent desire to destroy Essek’s belongings? Why had he chosen to adhere himself to Essek in the first place, when he seemed to hold a deep disdain for everything Essek owned or did? Why was Essek incapable of learning the very simple lesson of locking the door to this makeshift lab? Why had he promised Caleb that he would take care of Frumpkin while the Mighty Nein dealt with the Assembly, instead of throwing the mangy beast out onto the streets of Port Dumali as soon as they had arrived at the safe house?

None of these were questions to which Essek was about to get any answers, so he tried another one.

“What do you want from me?”

Frumpkin blinked.

“You are still a fey being. You don’t need food or water, and as far as I understand, providing those two things are the pillars of caring for a pet. So, what else could you possibly need that requires my attention?”

Frumpkin flicked his ears.

Caleb had given Essek a brief overview of what to expect in terms of cat-care, but either he had chosen to leave out a lot of unsavory details, or decoupling from their arcane connection had put Frumpkin through a drastic personality change, because Essek had received no instructions about how to handle the kind of stalemate in which he currently found himself.

“You have my sincerest apologies, but unlike your previous master, I cannot read your thoughts, and your current methods of communication are lacking in clarity.”

Frumpkin’s tail began swishing faster. He broke eye contact with Essek to gaze intently at the row of jars lining the next table over. These were full of various concoctions, including some potentially dangerous acids, the results of Essek’s increasing boredom as he stayed hunkered down in his safe house day after day. He only ever went out for the duration of a Disguise Self to buy food or other necessary supplies; he was too noticeable to amble around the city for leisure, on the slim but ever-present risk that word of a strange drow in Port Dumali would reach the ears of Ikithon or his servants. Essek was under strict instructions to stay as hidden as possible until he got the all-clear from the Mighty Nein. With only the materials to continue his most basic experiments with dunamis, he was growing bored out of his mind. 

Essek heaved another deep sigh before reluctantly abandoning his notes and gliding over to where Frumpkin had stationed himself. With a short wave of his hands, the spill vanished and the broken shards of glass floated gently into the trash bin. Then, Essek unceremoniously lifted the cat into his arms before he had the chance to wreak any more havoc, and deposited him outside the door. 

Distraction removed, Essek made to turn around and return to his research, this time intending to lock the door to prevent further feline interruptions. But before he could do so, he made the mistake of looking into Frumpkin’s eyes again. The cat’s pupils gleamed, impossibly wide and round, and his tail was still swishing back and forth in an incomprehensible pattern, like some sort of code. A mixture of affection and guilt welled up in Essek, rooting to the spot.

Godsdammit, but he had promised Caleb he was going to take care of his cat, and that meant not ignoring Frumpkin when he was clearly trying to tell him something. Because even if Caleb no longer wanted a familiar to travel around with him, he still loved this damned cat, and also Essek was trying to be less callous and heartless in general.

He thought back to Caleb’s instructions with a fair bit of desperation, searching for some hint of what would make Frumpkin happy. All he came up with was a faint recollection, something about enjoying being scratched behind the ears.

“Is that all you want? Is that what you interrupted me for?” Fighting not to roll his eyes, Essek reached down for a pet.

As soon as he got close enough, Frumpkin lunged.

“Gah!” Essek snatched his hand back, nursing the sting of pain from Frumpkin’s bite. There was no blood; the little demons’s fangs hadn’t managed to break the skin. It could barely count as an injury, but the shock of betrayal hurt more than the scratch.

“What in the Nine Hells was that for?” Essek glared at Frumpkin, then noticed just in time that the cat was poised to strike again. This time, he only had to turn slightly to keep his hands out of harm's way, but Frumpkin wasn’t aiming for the exposed skin. There was a loose thread dangling from the hem of Essek’s sleeve, apparently caught by the previous attack. Frumpkin was intent on it. He flung himself at the thread, grabbing at it with his clumsy paws. It slipped through his grip, and he lunged again without hesitation.

Experimentally, Essek lifted his arm so the thread dangled higher off the ground. Frumpkin took the challenge to heart, leaping to grab it in his teeth before it slipped out of his grasp again, and he landed on the floor in defeat. Essek moved his arm over to one side, and Frumpkin followed with enthusiasm, this time managing to get the thread around one claw. The split second of resistance was enough to tear it from Essek’s sleeve. Frumpkin rolled over onto his back, victorious, batting his prize around in euphoric glee.

A grin spread across Essek’s face as he watched this display of simple delight. 

“I suppose you were just bored, too. Was that it?”

Frumpkin responded by biting the string with a vengeance. 

An idea began forming in the corner of his mind as he watched Frumpkin playing. Absentmindedly, Essek twisted his fingers and summoned a trace thread of dunamis into his hand, shaping and stretching it into a longer and longer cord of greyish, glowing energy, which he then dangled tantalizingly over Frumpkin’s head. The boring, non-magical string was immediately forgotten and discarded as Frumpkin caught sight of the dunamis toy. His whole body wiggling in excitement, he lunged at the cord again and again, pulling a genuine laugh out of Essek as he bobbed and weaved the magic around, dancing it out of Frumpkin’s grasp. He needed a break from his lab anyway, and this was shockingly entertaining.

---

“Well? How are they?” Just a hint of nerves colored Caleb’s voice, as it did every time they checked in on Essek. The fear that this time, the scry would reveal him not safe and sound on the Coast, far from the Trent’s reach, but somewhere cold and dark and threatening.

The faint glow faded from Jester’s eyes as the spell ended. Looking up at Caleb with a smile, she said, “You’re not going to believe this Caleb, it’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.”

Caleb grinned back at her.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Crimson Ties (Bela Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 4

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: None for this chap Genre: Hurt + comfort Summary: Sure, your soulmate may be a vampire (of sorts), but there's nothing that love can't conquer, right?... Maybe it's time you learn a little more about the odd circumstances of your soulmate's existence- and the fear that lies beneath the surface. Notes: If the last chapter was "hurt" followed by comfort, this is "comfort" followed by hurt, also known as the part where the story's central conflict comes into play. Features an appearance from Daniela, who reminds us that Cassandra's not the only one with a sharp tongue around here. Previous Chapters: 1: Stem the Flow, 2: Tangled Strands, 3: Rumbling Thunder

4: That Which Burns

“Of all the stars, the fairest,” Bela murmurs in your ear, keeping her arms wrapped loosely around your waist, before giving you a gentle kiss on the cheek. If you hadn’t already been blushing, you certainly would have now done so. You’re leaning into her touch, face flushed as can be, loving every moment of this. For a while now you’ve been curled up with her, while she reads excerpts from her favorite works. Although both of you would have preferred to do this outside, enjoying the view of the stars, you figured it would be best not to push your health too much. After all, you had lost a huge percentage of your blood. Well, temporarily, but it was still better to be safe than sorry.

“That’s probably my favorite line from Sappho,” you chimed, fondly remembering some of your schooling. “Though the one about being remembered always stands out to me. I’m not sure I remember it correctly, and I’m sure it’s been translated a few different ways over the years… but I think it’s ‘someone, I tell you, will remember us in another time’. Might have gotten that backwards, actually.” Giving an awkward little smile, you sheepishly rub the back of your head with one hand. “Either way it feels so romantic. To think of a love so strong that it echoes throughout time, fondly remembered for generations… it warms the heart.”

“Mhmm, most definitely, my dear. Many aren’t as lucky, however,” Bela laments, an odd expression crawling onto her face. There’s the slightest waver to her lower lip as she speaks. Concerned, you turn in place to get a better look, gently reaching out to caress her cheek. Is there something I’m missing? You think, wondering what you should say. “I’m alright, I promise. Merely distracted by a fleeting thought. Let’s read another, yes?” Before you can protest, she’s already turned to another page, starting to read as if she already knew which one was next (which would not, at all, surprise you).

Love shook my heart, Like the wind on the mountain, Troubling the oak-trees

“Oh, if only I could speak Aeolic Greek, so that I could serenade you with tender prose, all the days of your life… just as it was originally written. Wouldn’t that be lovely?” Bela offers, once again smiling wide, as if nothing in the world was wrong, at least not when you were by her side. Though you are not keen to ignore her earlier stroke of misery, you are equally reluctant to put a damper on her current upswing. Now what were you to do? Little comes to mind, other than the simplicity of human warmth, and so you lean once more into her embrace, head held aloft on the strength of her shoulder.

“Here, as I am now, is more than lovely enough. Your voice is soothing in any language, sweet as sugar, relaxing as can be,” you reassure her in your softest tone. Heart fluttering, she finds herself easing back into the comfort of the moment, forgetting all about her earlier woes. “Shall we read another?” Nodding, Bela again turns the page and begins to read:

He’s equal with the gods, that man Who sits across from you, Face to face, close enough to sip Your voice’s sweetness

And what excites my mind, Your laughter, glittering. So, When I see you, for a moment, My voice goes,

My tongue freezes. Fire, Delicate fire, in the flesh. Blind, stunned, the sound Of thunder, in my ears.

Shivering with sweat, cold Tremors over the skin, I turn the colour of dead grass, And I’m an inch from dying.

“Does that make me equal to the gods, then?” You ask, as soon as the last line is given its moment to shine. A small hum comes from your soulmate, who seems equal parts intrigued and confused. “I look in your eyes and my lungs light on fire, my heart ricochets around my chest, and I hear the chorus of angels singing your holy praises. The fact that I can manage to speak at all is confounding. Maybe the muses have seen fit to lend me their artistry, so that I might make conversation worthy of your existence, my dear.” With that said, you find yourself being squeezed gently, Bela placing another kiss against the top of your head. Now, it seems she is the one without the ability to speak. “The divine witnessing the divine, yes?... Let me read the next one, and we’ll see if my voice could ever compare to your own.”

It’s innocent enough, your choice. A turn of the page, just another poem, selected for nothing more than respect for chronology. Yet something drains from the space around you as you begin to read, so subtly slow that you hardly notice.

Girls, you be ardent for the fragrant-blossomed Muses’ lovely gifts, for the clear melodious lyre: But now old age has seized my tender body, Now my hair is white, and no longer dark

How were you to realize that the great shadow of fear loomed over your soulmate, when she had refused to name it mere minutes ago? How were you to know to halt your reciting, when the aching of her heart rendered her throat dry, and she could not bring herself to call out to you? Words poured like poisoned wine from your lips… your soulmate having no choice but to drink up every last drop.

My heart’s heavy, my legs won’t support me, That once were fleet as fawns, in the dance I grieve often for my state; what can I do? Being human, there’s no way not to grow old

A shaky breath from age-old lungs, exhaled into tense air, forced out past a trembling jaw. Say something, Bela tells herself, any poem but this. For a split second you pause, and she wonders if her thoughts have found new light in your own mind. But you break the momentary silence without much care, simply having been unsure of your pending pronunciation of an old name, perfectly unaware of your partner’s panic.

Rosy-armed Dawn, they say, love-smitten Once carried Tithonus off to the world’s end: Handsome and young he was then, yet at last Grey age caught that spouse of an immortal wife

At last her ordeal was over. The final words hang heavy in the air, weighing down her shoulders, but they are done. Her fears had been dragged out from the pit in her stomach, now waving about like dirty laundry. There was only one way for her to avoid this happening another time: Tell you the truth. By now her silence had earned your attention, with you turning in her lap again, concerned gaze meeting her hollow one. Gently, she gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“I… am not one to balk at the nature of things, however painful the truth. Yet I hesitate now, with the very person I am bound to with crimson ties… How cowardly of me,” Bela all but snarls, anger clearly not directed at you. It’s clear in the way that she holds herself that she has more to say. There’s not much you can do other than wait, though you do tuck an arm around her waist, beginning to rub soft circles against her back. “Allow me to drop the pretenses. You are not immortal, but I am. We’ve only been together for a day and a half, and already I’m worrying about your lifespan. It’s safe to say that this particular poem was an unfriendly reminder of our situation.”

Oh. How exactly were you supposed to respond to that?... Your girlfriend- your soulmate- was immortal. Hmph, as if her essentially being a vampire hadn’t already been enough to freak you out. Now this? Well, maybe it wasn’t too much farther of a stretch from the last revelation, even if you were still recovering from that one. Even then, something told you that this was equally hard for Bela- both to say, and to simply feel. As if she needed more stress surrounding her partnership with you…

“Of all the ways for us to mimic legends… I don’t even know what to say, my dear. I… I suppose that I can only reassure you that we will make the most of every moment we have. However much time we are destined to get, we’ll make sure it is filled with bliss,” you reply, slowly, making it up as you go. An ache builds in the center of your chest as you talk, an internal yearning for greater confidence. Although words were your “weapon” of choice, you were not always a master in your use of them, too human to be infallible. “Maybe we should set aside the poetry for now, shift our focus to something, ah, less meaningful?”

“That would be for the best,” Bela agrees, already shifting like she was going to stand up, before you even had a chance to get off of her lap. Something strange had fallen over her expression, an invisible veil, putting an uncomfortable distance between the two of you. Inside your chest, a thundering heart threatens to go still. Had you done something wrong? Did you commit some unspoken sin? Together the two of you rise, in sync yet more separate than before, a thousand questions and anxieties rendering both of you silent...

—————————

Across the room from you, a pair of bright eyes watch your every movement, peering out from over an open book. If you didn’t know better, you might have thought that the “ruse” was intentionally poor. But for all the five hours you had known her, Daniela Dimitrescu had done nothing other than prove herself odd, clumsy, and quite possibly… overconfident. Admittedly, that still made her undeniably more pleasant than Cassandra. If you had to be stuck alongside someone other than your soulmate, well, ‘twas best that it was this strange redheaded gremlin. Even if she had expressed an unfortunate interest in eating you.

Gods, what is wrong with this family? You think, frowning a tad, unable to stop yourself from making eye contact with Daniela. Instantly she’s looking away, pretending to be engrossed within her book. The very same book that had remained open to the same page for half an hour now. I do hope Bela is having more fun right now, with whatever “business” called her away so unexpectedly. She hadn’t seemed happy to have to leave your side, earlier tension notwithstanding. Coming here to the library had been her suggestion, though you doubted she knew that Daniela was there, or at least hadn’t anticipated her sister’s unnerving behavior. Already the redhead was looking back at you, even less subtly than before.

Sighing, you decided that you could only put up with so much of this tomfoolery.

“Are you in need of something? Or is there something on my face?” You ask, setting your own book aside as you do. There’s a few moments of silence, as Daniela glances around the room, as if you might actually be speaking to someone else. When no scapegoats teleport to her rescue, she very awkwardly clears her throat, then moves to sit at your table. Though you are loath to admit it, your heart starts beating faster as she approaches. Not out of attraction, hell no, rather fear. Perhaps getting her attention hadn’t been the wisest choice after all…

“I just think it’s funny,” Daniela chimes, trailing off just long enough to run a finger down the length of your arm, “that Bela abandoned you so quickly. You’re so… fragile. Cassandra told me about the fun little introduction you had to our family- the blood loss, being chained up, the fear you felt when you got caught in our territory.” Suddenly she’s devolving into a fit of giggles, hand resting not-so-gently on your wrist. When you try to pull away, her nails dig in, and her gaze snaps back to your own. “But you don’t remember that part, do you? If you did… oh, we’d have to lock you up, like the little pet you are, to keep you from running away. I’m sure Bela wouldn’t mind seeing you in chains.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You snap, uncharacteristically furious. While it was true that you couldn’t recall exactly how you made it into the castle’s dungeons, you refuse to accept Daniela’s implications about your soulmate, or her assessment of your dedication. A brief second passes where you think she’s about to lunge towards you. Instead, she withdraws her hand, moving it to prop up her chin instead. Then, her lips slowly drag upwards into a wicked grin, wide eyes filled with dangerous amusement.

“So you’re more than a wannabe Shakespeare, after all? A bit more teeth, a touch more vulgarity, maybe a twinge of bloodlust, and you might actually fit in around here. Not enough to get our family’s ‘gift’- our secret to a long, happy life- but enough that Bela won’t grow bored of your sappy poems,” she teases with another string of laughter. Before you can question her about this ‘gift’, she’s all but jumping to her feet, stretching out her arms as she does. “I can’t wait to update Cassandra about you. We’ll be betting on how entertaining you’ll end up being. Try to keep from bailing on my dear sister too soon, alright?”

Just like that she’s disappearing into a swarm of flies, leaving you more confused (and angry) than ever. Taking a deep breath, you try to focus on what you need to do next: Find Bela. Talk to her. Get some goddamn answers.

[doctorwhoandfairytaillover]

Part 1 - Vikings: Una Flor

Summary: When someone returns from a journey, one would expect for them to return with trinkets and gifts from the journey. Apparently, Ragnar didn’t get the message and instead returned with a foreign flower his family wasn’t expecting.

Pairings: Ragnar x reader (platonic), Ragnarssons x reader (romantic)  

A/N: I would love to know what y’all thought of the first part to this new series. It will definitely be a little different from my previous work, but I’m excited to share it. 

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

All waited anxiously for the arrival of the men that after several months, had returned with whatever treasures they had taken from the raids. Amongst those in the crowd the sons of Ragnar; Bjorn, Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd, and Ivar along with Queen Aslaug waited patiently for the man to dock ship. It did not take long for the men aboard the ship to make their way to their loved ones amidst the cheers of celebration of another successful plunder.

The royal family were pleased to spot Ragnar as he made his way to his family, a proud and accomplished look to his face. He greeted his family with a jovial wave, walking toward them with his cloak loosely wrapped around his shoulders. 

His family greeted him with various forms of Welcome back, and Ragnar looked to Ivar, as the boy stared at his father with a furrowed brow.

“Is there someone underneath your cloak?” Ivar asked in bewilderment.

Ragnar chuckled as he pulled away his arm from himself and the cloak opened to reveal a younger woman nestled beside him, drawn close to him against the bitter cold as her own cloak was wrapped over her to hide most of her from sight.

“Come my sweet (Y/N), introduce yourself” he said.

Hesitantly, she pulled away the hood of her cloak and revealed her youthful features to Ragnar’s family as she nervously looked at them. She fidgeted where she stood, shivering from the cold and tightly holding onto her own cloak to stay warm.

“Tu familia?” she asked timidly, turning to him in confusion.

At his nod, her eyes widened in glee as she smiled widely and turned to them, leaving his side as she reached his son’s. Without another word, she grabbed Bjorn’s hands and kissed him on both cheeks.

“Un placer” she whispered in embarrassment as her cheeks reddened, reaching toward Ubbe and doing the same to all the brothers who merely watched her in fascination. After greeting them, she stood before Queen Aslaug and smiled despite not receiving one in turn. Taking the Queen’s hand in her own as she kneeled and pressed the back of the Queen’s hand to her forehead. 

Afterward with a nervous giggle, she returned to Ragnar’s side as she wrapped her arms around his waist as he pressed a kiss to her cheek in pride.

“This is (Y/N), a girl I paid for in a place known as Iberia and I have brought her to be a bride” he said.

His son’s and wife bristled in anger but before they could protest, he said “So boys which one of you would be willing to make her your wife?”                                   ----------------------------

Seated at the head table, (Y/N) was placed between Sigurd and Ivar as she stared wide eyed at the abundance of food lain before her very eyes. Seeing her apprehension, Sigurd placed a few things on her plate as she stared at him with her eyes glittering in excitement. Queen Aslaug watched the interactions of her son and the young girl that was apparently “bought” and turned to her husband.

“How is it that you came to find this girl?” she asked taking sips of her mead.

“We were caught in a massive storm that veered us greatly off course, it lasted for several days and it seemed that we would never see it calming at last the rains calmed and the wind had blown us to a coastal village” he said. “The locals were kind and many offered their homes as we intended on fixing many of the damages our boats had received. Floki and I were brought to the home of the richest man but also the most miserly.”

“Why would you say that?” Bjorn asked, having been listening in to his father.

“The man had eight children and whenever he set any of them out to trade or buy, he had each of them line up and have them mention the price and many other things to him before making sure they hadn’t spent more than what he thought necessary. The poor girl was treated worse than her brothers, the majority of my stay I had the assumption she was his slave with all that he expected of her.”

“Is that how you bought the girl?” asked Hvitserk. “Thinking she was the slave?”

“Oh no, I had stumbled into her room as she was changing and her brothers were quick to go to their old man. From what little I understood of their language, they claimed I had shamed them and needed to pay for her and take her with me. In his fit of rage, the man grabbed her long hair and cut it off at the ears as punishment apparently.”

All looked to the girl that was happily munching away at her food with stuffed cheeks, stopping mid-chew when she felt their stares. Sheepishly she swallowed and timidly smiled when she looked to them. As previously mentioned by Ragnar, (Y/N) had her (h/c) hair messily cut and near her jaw.

“Of course, in the time that she has been with us, her hair has grown some but it was much shorter. But I argued for some time with the man that I hadn’t shamed them, but eventually I agreed to take the girl and during the trip came to care for her as a daughter. It is on the voyage with some difficulty she told me about herself, and she revealed that her mother was a princess to a tribe of warriors that was kidnapped. I figured that she could be a wife for one you boys and provide an alliance of this group if one of you can somehow catch her eye and find the location of these warriors.” 

The boys scoffed, they assumed it would be a simple task as (Y/N) seemed to be naïve to the advances of men and could be swayed to like them, but their interest was certainly peaked that she was a grandchild to a group of warriors. 

With a smirk, Ragnar took a sip from his chalice.

“One more thing, (Y/N) is still learning our language. She understands some phrases and can say some things, but she is at a lost for the most part” he chuckled. “I will give you all an introduction and leave it to all of you.” 

A sharp whistle and (Y/N) quickly got out of her seat to stand beside Ragnar. He cleared his throat and spoke thickly, “Te presento a mi familia. As visto a mi esposa Aslaug.” (I present to you my family, you have seen my wife Aslaug)

“Ella es muy bella” (Y/N) said sweetly. (She is very beautiful)

Ragnar then pointed to Bjorn, “El es mi hijo mayor Bjorn. El es un gran guerrero.” (This is my eldest son Bjorn, he is a great warrior)

She stuck closer to Ragnar,“No me sorprende con su estatura.” (It doesn’t surprise me with his stature)

“Este es mi hijo Ubbe, un hombre sabio” (This is my son Ubbe, a wise man)

“El parece mucho como usted Ragnar” (He looks a lot like you Ragnar)

“A lado de el esta mi otro hijo, Hvitserk. A el le encanta mucho la comida.” (Beside him is my other son, Hvitserk. He loves food a lot)

“Oh! Seguramente el le gustaría platillos de mi pueblo.” (Oh! Surely he will like the dishes of my village)

“Del lado tuyo es mi hijo Sigurd, el sabe como tocar el oud” (Beside you is my son Sigurd, he knows how to play the oud.)

“Me encantaría escuchar cuando el toca” (I would love to hear when he plays)

“Y finalmente este es mi hijo Ivar un muchacho listo.” (And finally is my son Ivar, a clever boy)

“Ivar?”she gasped in excitement and realization. “El es como mi hermano Ivan.” (He is like my brother Ivan)

“My name is Ivar, not Ivan” the boy scoffed as he took a drink from his cup.

She scrunched her face in annoyance, clearly trying to find the right words to explain what she was trying to say and called out to Floki. The man in question looked to the girl as she pointed to Ivar in frustration.

Once again she said, “Ivan.”

The man giggled and sat beside Ivar.

“She knows your name Ivar” Floki laughed, “But she has a younger brother whose name is Ivan.”

“Well what does that boy have to do with her saying his name when she sees me?” Ivar asked.

“Because Ivan happens to be exactly like you Ivar, a little boy with broken legs. Only difference between you two is that Ivan has a sunny disposition” Floki giggled.  

“Well would you look at that Ivar, she only sees you as nothing but another little boy that should be pitied” Sigurd sneered. “Looks like we can count you out.”

Ivar scowled at his brother but said nothing. 

“No entiendo, que están diciendo Floki?” (I don’t understand, what are they saying Floki?)

“No te preocupes, solo son tonterías de muchachos” Floki said. (Don’t worry it is merely boyish foolishness)

She turned to Sigurd and Hvitserk, gesturing with her hands “You play and you dance, yes?”

“Are you asking if I can play?” Sigurd asked. 

Instantly the girls face lit up as she nodded excitedly, once again gesturing him playing on the oud. Taken by her sweet nature, Sigurd stood to play his oud as she had requested and instantly (Y/N) stood up from her seat taking Hvitserk by the hand to dance. In comparison to her light and quick steps, Hvitserk stumbled to keep up with her as she danced in a way that none of the Ragnarssons had seen before. She was not shy to fix Hvitserk’s movements and laughing when he would stumble, not out of mockery but in excitement that he was learning.

“I am going to cut in and see if I can do better, I’m sure that the dance isn’t as hard as Hvitserk makes it out to be” Ubbe said as he took his younger brother’s place.  

Both Bjorn and Ivar looked on at their brothers make fools of themselves as they struggled to figure out the quick steps of the girls dance, attempting with the little she knew of their language and gestures as to how they would communicate with each other.

“You don’t truly think one of us will marry the girl, do you father?” Bjorn asked seriously.

“I fully expect it Bjorn, it doesn’t matter who wins her heart but I intend for that girl to marry into our family even if it means forcing one of you” Ragnar said taking a long drink from his cup. “None of you might realize it yet, but that girl is more special than any of you know.”

With that, Ragnar said no more and Ivar was staring intently at the girl wondering what could be so special about this foreign flower that his father would want one of them to marry her.  

Tag List (Open) 

@heavenly1927, @princesscornbread, @fairyofvoid

@ivarthebloodyking, @shit-i-say-shit-i-think

@youbloodymadgenius, @youbleed-justtoknow-yourealive, 

@leahh19​, @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch​ 

(If I forgot to tag you or you would like to be tagged, please let me know)

[oscar-lettjohanssonloveme]

A Real Family (Miss Venable x reader)

hiyaa :3 This was a really cute request, thank you! Its kinda short i guess, but there we go..

request: (by anon) Hey hi, may I suggest something where reader and Wilhemina have a doughter, and one day she comes at home after school crying, because some kids made fun of her because she has two moms, so they have to comfort their doughter, and Mina, at first, wants to call the kids parents and shout at them, but reader will calm her down and make her change her mind. 👉🏻👈🏻

google translate whoop.. ohh and i guess the end is a bit sudden, i am sorry ://

"What about Levi?"

"We can't call him Levin while we always call Olivia Liv ... Levi and Liv sound ugly together .."

"Then suggest a name if you always find my ideas shitty ..".

You sighed as you leaned back to lean your back against Mina's upper body. It was Wednesday afternoon and you were sitting on the couch in your girlfriend's lap while you discussed the name of your second child who was already on the way (you were five months pregnant).

Mina was sitting behind you and had both hands on the round curve of your stomach, while absently stroking it with her thumbs.

"What about Theodore?" She finally asked as she rested her chin on your shoulder.

"My cousin's name is like that. And I don't like him .."

"Okay", she muttered thoughtfully. "And what about Benjamin?"

"Mhh....", you hummed. "Liv and Ben, that sounds nice."

"I seem to be good at choosing my names", Mina said softly and gently bit your earlobe.

"Olivia was my idea too.."

"No way!" You shouted loudly.

"It was my idea! Dont you remember? It was 4 o'clock in the morning when I had the idea of the name and then I woke you up and-"

"The name you woke me up for was Samantha..", Mina interrupted you and you could see in the corner of your eye how she smiled smugly.

You shook your head.

"Samantha was your idea! You-"

The ringing of the doorbell interrupted you.

"That's Liv..", you squeaked excitedly and pressed a quick kiss against her jaw before you jumped up to run quickly out of the living room.

You heard Mina laughing behind you.

"In your condition you should stop jumping around like a monkey."

You just rolled your eyes at her words and opened the front door to greet your daughter beaming with joy.

"Hey baby, how was- What the hell, Liv ??"

You looked confused into the sobbing face of your 8 year old daughter.

"What happened? Are you injured?", You asked desperately and crouched down to examine her for injuries. She was unharmed, thank God.

You brushed the red strands of hair from her tear-stuck face.

"Please talk to me, Liv..No matter what it is, I won't be angry .."

"T-they said our family is not real .." your daughter sobbed.

You frowned.

"What do you mean baby? Who said that?"

"And they say that you are sick, because you are lesbians ..", she continued to cry and you uttered a soft "Oh" when you suddenly understood what she was talking about. You looked sadly into her y / e / c eyes. One of your biggest fears became true.

"First let's go inside .." you mumbled and took the hand of your still crying daughter to go inside with her. In the hallway you took her backpack and jacket to hang on the wardrobe.

"What happened?", Mina asked worried when she limped into the hallway and saw Liv crying.

"Mommy, I don't want you to be sick .." Liv sobbed and ran to Mina to hug her legs. Your wife looked down on Liv in confusion, as she put her hand on her head and stroked her red hair.

"Sick? Baby what are you talking about?" She mumbled, looking desperately at you, who was staring at the child with concern.

"Okay Liv ..", you finally said when you walked over to her and took her hand again to walk into the living room with her. You sat on the sofa and Liv instinctively climbed onto your lap without injuring the baby.

"Can you please explain what's going on here?" Mina hissed after she sat down next to you.

"Liv baby, just tell us everything that happened .." you cooed gently as you started to play with the loose strands of hair, that had fallen out of the hairstyle Mina had done for her that morning.

"Uhm, today we had to introduce the family trees that we made ..", Liv began hesitantly.

"And then?"

Mina still looked confused.

"The others thought it was weird, that I have two mothers and said that we can't be a real family, because I don't have a father. And you can't have children without a father. And they said that you both were sick and going to hell .. But I don't want that!", said Liv excitedly.

For a few seconds you looked down sadly at the child in your lap, who had puffy eyes from crying.

"Oh baby .." you sighed.

"Of course we are a real family..Look!"

You pointed at the photos on the mantelpiece with your fingers outstretched.

"On the photo on the edge you can see me 8 years ago when I was pregnant with you. There's a photo of Mommy and me at our wedding next to it. And here you can feel your little brother ..", you muttered and grabbed her little hands to put them on your stomach.

"Mina and I are so happy together and we love you so much. How could we not be a real family?"

"B-but why did they say you are sick? ", Liv stuttered as she stared down at her hands that were on your stomach.

"Well .. you know, it confuses them, that you have two mothers because they don't know it any other way. Do you remember,  when you slept at Jennys House for the first time and how confused you were when you met father?" You asked and Liv nodded.

"It's the same for them. It's not unusual to have two moms anymore, but having one mom and a dad is still what most people know. You know, there are even children who have two dads and no mom at all and they are a real and happy family too."

Liv looked at you carefully.

"Really?" She asked, and you hummed in agreement.

"The only important thing is, that we all love each other okay?”

You smiled gently at the child in your lap and watched with satisfaction as she nodded.

"Who were the children who said that to you?", Mina suddenly asked and you had to frown when you saw how angry she looked.

"Uhm..Brian and Melinda.." Liv muttered.

"Brian? The ugly one with the glasses?"

"Mina!" You shouted, staring at her reproachfully.

"M'sorry ..", she replied curtly while still staring expectantly at Liv, who nodded shyly.

"Okay then, excuse me for a minute.." Mina mumbled and got up to leave the room.

"What are you doing, honey?" You asked confused  and you looked after her. When your girlfriend didn't answer, you got scared.

"Is everything okay again, Liv?", You looked nervously at your daughter, who nodded in agreement

"Well, do me a favor and go to your room to play, okay?"

Liv jumped off your lap after kissing you on the cheek and ran out of the room and you could go after Mina.

"Mina, honey?" You asked when you came into her workspace and saw Mina with the phone in her hand.

"What's that supposed to be?"

"What does it look like? I'm calling the parents of these kids.." she growled while angrily pressing the buttons on the phone.

"You shouldn't do that .." you said and quickly reached for the phone to take it from her hand. Mina raised her head to you and glared at you.

"Give me the phone, Y / N! It's not fair, that we kept telling Olivia that all people were equal and raised her up that way, just to get some kids to talk her out of it. And besides, imagine Olivia would have asked further questions, because women actually can't have children together, thats a fact. We would have had to explain the whole thing with the sperm donation to her right now, just because a couple of parents couldn't raise their children properly. This is unfair and you know that!", she scolded and clutched her cane tightly in both hands.

"Honey, let me call the children's parents...they are nice people, they will understand..." you tried to appease her and put your hands on hers after you put the phone on your desk.

"They told her, we weren't a real family .." she croaked hurt.

"I know, honey .." you mumbled sadly and rubbed the back of her hands with your thumbs. "But thats are children, they don't know any better ..".

"You know, when I was as old as Liv, I was bullied about my scoliosis. I don't want her to go through the same thing just because of us, her family. I dont want her to end like me.."

You looked confused into her injured eyes, in which tears glittered.

"To end like you, honey? What do you mean?"

"I mean my attitude towards people ..", she growled and looked away from you.

"Oh Mina .." you sighed and put a hand on her cheek to force her gaze back to you.

"In case you haven't noticed yet, Liv is already much more like you than you think.. And by that I mean your positive qualities. Olivia is just as smart as you and has the self-confidence that you have today, but that you didnt have, when you were 8. She can handle it and as long as we don't give her the feeling that something is wrong with our family, everything will be fine.

It will certainly not be the last time that we will be confronted with something like this, especially now when Benjamin arrives soon, but together we can do it.. "

Mina looked at you thoughtfully for a moment before slowly nodding.

"Maybe you're right .." she muttered and you smiled gently at her.

"I'm always right .." you teased her and before she could protest you pulled her close to kiss her.

[ialwaysgobacktoit]

Azriel surprises Gwyn for her birthday PART. 6

Guys just so you know i need to think of a better name for this bc like THIS IS GETTING BIIIIG (I have a playlist on spotify called "what would gwynriel sing" and i think i'll draw inspiration from there lol)

IT'S GWYN'S POV AGAIN (and this one's a little shorter lol i'm sorry... Rhys is in this chapter bc i honestly share the headcanon that Gwyn and Rhys would be close friends!)

MY GIRLS: @starbornsinger @madie2200 @katiebellf here it is!! And check out the Chapter List here

Gwyn couldn’t deny. She was nervous. That morning the words just rushed out about leaving the library, because she truly felt inspired by Diane’s words. She had spent the previous night awake, even if Emerie and Nesta had long fallen asleep, thinking about what she had to do next. She was feeling braver. Maybe it was because that was the best birthday she had since Sangravah, or perhaps ever, due to the circumstances. She still missed Catrin like crazy during the day, still felt that familiar ache in her chest when she worked at the library in the afternoon, or went training in the morning. But somehow, after everything that has happened in the evening, the lingering image of her sister started being more of a comfort, a companion, than the sorrow and guilt she was accustomed to.

Still, she was nervous.

She did really want to leave the library, and Clotho seemed happy, maybe even proud, to let her go. Merrill didn’t care as long as she kept working for her, at least a couple hours a day. One day, Gwyn thought that would change too. But for now, one step at a time. The night she went to the Town House and dined with the Inner Circle was one of many small steps Gwyn’s been giving these last few months towards more autonomy, independence, and strength. Towards the life she wanted for herself. And now, the day where she decided to move out of the library was the day she took another one.

And Azriel… Honestly, she thought she would be more scared about the prospect of having a mate than she actually did. Most of all, she was happy. She felt lucky and had the confidence that if anything were to happen between the two of them, they would take it slow, at her pace. She wouldn’t have it any other way. That if Azriel were to find out about the bond any time soon; or if she would summon enough courage to tell him. Because if he did know, he would’ve said something by now, wouldn’t he?

Yep. She was very nervous.

What she dreaded the most was the fact that Azriel, well, he may not feel the same once he found out. The Cauldron could be wrong, after all. And all these last months of getting closer to each other, training in companionable silence, laughing together, bantering… She was more than grateful for their friendship, but she knew that Azriel still had some things to figure out – about Elain. If he truly still felt something towards her, that was enough to strain Gwyn’s hopes for the moment. To maintain the quiet feeling to herself, and what it meant; that she was indeed worthy of happiness not only alone, but with another one.

She tried to push all those feelings aside as she was getting ready for dinner at the River House, the High Lady and Lord’s official estate. She looked at herself in the mirror, spinning side to side. It wasn’t much – after all, she didn’t have any clothes besides her robes, nightgowns and training leathers – but the outfit the House provided was more than enough. Her baggy turquoise linen pants and her white, loose crop top made her extremely comfortable, even if the latter was slightly shorter than what she was accustomed to.

She still wore the necklace Azriel re-gifted her. When he told her a few months back about the whole story, she truly understood him. He was in a bad place at the time, but so did she. And even if he had indeed made a mistake, she was glad to have it now. To know that someone gave it to her willingly, that was the thought she held on to. First person considered or not. And besides, it looked great against her freckled skin.

A gentle knock on the door of her new bedroom sounded. “Gwyn, you ready?”

“Yeah, come in”

Nesta opened the door and something sparked in her eyes as she stared at Gwyn through the mirror.

“You look beautiful, girl”

She spun on her heels and smiled at Nesta.

“I do, don’t I?”

They both laughed as they linked their arms and left the room.

“So” Nesta begun, as they walked towards the main entrance together “How are you settling in?”

“It’s very cozy, and I just love that view. The House is providing me everything I need at the moment. Thank you for inviting me to stay.” She gave her sister a grateful smile

“Well, I was serious; you can stay with us for as long as you want.”

“That means a lot.” Gwyn couldn’t contain her smile as she gently nudged her head against her sister’s.

“Don’t mention. I know you’d do the same for me.” And Nesta was right. Without thinking twice, Gwyn would have done the same for both of her newfound sisters. She was so grateful and thrilled their paths had crossed this way.

“By the way” Nesta mentioned innocently when they reached the common area “The room you chose, well, that’s three doors up from Azriel’s. If you have a problem with that, feel free to say it.”

And as she was summoning his presence, that was the moment the Shadowsinger came to vision, talking to Cassian in the balcony – waiting for them.

Gwyn drew on a breath, staring straight at him. When he caught her eye, she couldn’t help her smile. And when his eyes glittered, scanning her from head to toe, she answered quietly to her sister:

“No. I think that’ll be fine.”

*******

The River House was beautiful. Gwyn admired it as the four of them stood by the front door. It was big, but the decoration made it seem comfortable and cozy, despite its size. A true home, Gwyn thought.

Feyre opened the door, a warm smile instantly on her face.

“Come in!”

As soon as they stepped on the entrance hall, Gwyn marveled at the big painting on display. It was a portrait of Nesta as she held the line at the Pass of Enalius. Her cunning eyes seemed to look directly at anyone who came in, daring and challenging. “This is amazing.” She said, tearing her eyes from the image at last and looking at Feyre. Cassian and Nesta had already entered the living room and Azriel stood by the doorway, lingering.

Feyre was still smiling at her when she answered. “Thank you very much, Gwyn. I have others I can show you later, if you’d like.”

“I would love to. You have a beautiful home.” And she could barely conceal the emotion in her eyes as Feyre held her hand and sighed gratefully. She, maybe more than anyone, was well aware of how lucky she was to have such a family.

“We do.”

It was just when she reached the living room and beheld all of those who Feyre and Rhysand loved the most she felt Azriel’s presence still a few steps behind her, his eyes fixed upon her. A tendril of shadow curled up slightly at her wrist, as if saying We’re here. So she looked back for half a second before entering further into the room, only enough to meet his cryptic gaze and give him a half-smile. And couldn’t help the sparkling feeling in her chest when he gave her a reassuring nod.

*****

The night was going on peacefully. Gwyn didn’t say much, and it was rather content in observe. That way, she didn’t feel exposed, and also could get to know the Inner Circle better: their dynamics and bantering, how they acted around each other and discussed both serious and light topics. Elain, for example, was sitting in a chair in the corner, drink in hand. She only joined for dinner, ate quietly and then excused herself from the table for a long time. Rhys and Feyre took turns in watching Nyx, since this evening he went to sleep early. Emerie and Mor were having what seemed to be a very intimate conversation, knees touching and heads close, and Nesta and Cassian, well… They were being their usual selves.

And then she landed her eyes on the Shadowsinger. He was definitely the quietest of them all, even if during dinner he had participated in the more serious subjects of conversation and exchanged a few casual words with Gwyn. She could observe enough to notice he didn’t once glance at Elain, or her at him, and that they kept their distance. He actually seemed to have spent the evening doing the same thing Gwyn was, which was observing; except for him it was natural, a second skin. He certainly had enough time these hundred years to know well about the rest of his family, while she was doing that precisely to learn more about them. If it was easy for her to be like this, for him was instinct.

She couldn't stop but detain herself on the details of his face, though, as he now spoke to Mor, who had subtly approached him. He wore that inexpressive mask, but she could see the way his brows were slightly furrowed, his jaw set just slightly... There was something concerning him, making him uneasy. She wondered, maybe for the tenth time, when she would tell him. Or if she should let him find out by himself. And again, her heart fluttered as he put his hands in his pockets and nodded along, listening to Mor.

How could the Cauldron have chosen this? To have defined them as mates... He was the one who saved her, who’d seen her low, who helped her at the very worst moment of her life. And although she would be forever grateful for it, she was aware he had enough on his plate – to burden him with her feelings... She didn't know what to do. It was at that moment their eyes locked across the room. She didn't realize she had still been staring, and quickly darted her eyes away.

Only to meet with Rhysand’s staring at her from across the table.

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry.

Oh, shit. Shit. Gwyn contained her gasp. He heard her. She didn't know for how long, but he could read her thoughts.

I was just going to ask you if you were feeling okay.

She knew what he meant. But still...

"Please. Please don’t say a word". She managed to whisper to that presence in her mind.

He doesn't know? She could feel his curiosity. Although they were still staring at each other, his face yielded nothing.

"I don't think so. Please, just…"

Don't worry, Gwyn. I won't tell him.

She could've cried in relieve. "Thank you."

He only nodded at her and raised his glass, and she could feel his presence fading from her mind.

*****

When they arrived at the House of Wind, a few hours later, Gwyn was still a little uneasy. She needed to learn how to shield her mind properly; even if she felt she trusted Rhys’s word, she couldn’t feel relaxed at the thought that someone else knew about what she’d only recently discovered and were still trying to figure out.

She could barely stare at Azriel when they flew all the way back. They remained silent all the way to the House of Wind, and her gaze remained fixed on the city landscape below them, or on the skies above. Never on him or their closeness, even if she’d caught him glancing at her a few times. They landed just a few minutes after Nesta and Cassian. When she meant to let go of his hand, he held it just for a moment longer:

“Did you have fun tonight?”

She nodded, managing to bring a smile upon her face. She didn’t want him to see how nervous she was; they were never like that around each other.

“A lot. Your family is very…”

“Extravagant?”

“I was going to say kind. But they might be a little extravagant, too.”

The corner of his lips tugged upward, and she let out a quiet laugh. “Are you going to sleep now?”

“In a few hours, maybe. I think I’ll hit the training ring first.”

She nodded. His shadows swirled a little at his shoulders. She seemed to forget about her nervousness for a second as she noticed his slightly furrowed brows, as if he was concentrating: “You know you don’t have to restrain them, if it tires you.”

“They should behave better.” It was all he grunted back, slightly annoyed at his dancing shadows.

“Well, I don’t mind at all. I like them. So at least around me, you shouldn’t worry about it.”

The seconds her eyes held his stare were enough to make Gwyn feel like she could burst – or touch him, again. So she turned away and smiled over her shoulder. “Goodnight, Az.”

All she felt before reaching the stairway was a tendril of shadow gently curling around her arm.

[poptod]

Dusk and Dawn (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: A gardener and a prince look for the beauty in the world and end up finding it in each other.

Notes: This is mostly a drabble that came about after I played with the hose while watering my flowers, and also after I read some ancient Egyptian poetry. gender neutral. Word Count: 10.5k

AO3 Link: Dusk and Dawn

+

God, you loved to watch him. He didn't know about that, of course, but you still liked to look up every now and then. Your garden was right below his room, and he often sat in the open arches overlooking the city. A soft sigh fluttered through you – the sun set on your end of the palace, and the warm rays always glittered in the prince's golden robes. Surprisingly you actually had met him, though that was a long while ago and you doubted he remembered you. Still, you held the hopeful fantasy that maybe he was looking down, watching you tend the blue lotus pond.

For a long while you'd been tending to the western garden, bringing water for the plants, keeping the pond clean and making sure the turtles and geese were fed. There were a few birds who lived there, and those that did each had a name assigned by you. One had electrically orange tail feathers; that one's name was Abayomi. Another had black feathers surrounding her eyes – her name was Nuru. An ibis also stopped by every now and then, though you didn't have a name for it, as it usually roosted up in the treetops.

None of that really mattered, but tending the garden all day and living without many friends had set a special loneliness upon you, and with no visitors you could generally do as you wished. That's why you kept one of your prized possessions there amongst the flower bushes; a flower from China that grew in the shade. The Pharaoh was not aware of the flower, but you doubted he'd actually care anyway. After all, he barely glanced at the list of gardeners before hiring you, and he seemed to be doing it more to satisfy his wife's wishes than to fulfill a passion for the earth.

Either way, you were lucky to have the job you did – it paid well, was an easy enough, enjoyable job, and every now and then you could see the prince in his palace windows. The best times were when you could hear the jangled notes of him trying to play harp, though most times it was rather out of tune.

You circled the sandstone path of the garden once more, watching every flower and testing their sweet scent in the warm air. Once you checked the health of each vine, bush, and tree, you turned to the pool of water, the alabaster edge marking the lillies encircling a tiny, grass island in the center, where turtles liked to relax.

As the last vestiges of sunlight disappeared over the desert and oasis horizon, you stood from your knelt position against the white lip lining the water, looking up to a purple dusk above you. One glance at the open arches and he was not there. Slightly disappointed, you enjoyed the last few minutes of your job before you left. You didn't ever really like going home – your roommates didn't like you all that much (and to be fair, you didn't like them), and the gardens were much quieter. Unfortunately, you had to pack up your remaining tools, as your garden was the home of nesting animals and the few nobles who meandered the paths at night.

Tomorrow you would have to tend to the bushes. Their branches, while fruitful, had to be trimmed properly so as to keep a 'clean' look about the place. Another issue was the overcrowding of the date trees; you'd have to look into that, but you left that for tomorrow. As for tonight, you wandered on home, watching the stars appear in the sky like distant candles marking an oasis.

You awoke to the screech of birds outside your window, roosting in the tall trees even with your third-floor bedroom. Grumbling, you hid away from them, slowly acclimatizing yourself to the idea of standing up. When at last you did so, you turned to the small mirror in your name. Kneeling before it you tidied up your hair, making sure you looked even before reaching for your clothes. Normal clothes today, you thought – nothing special happening, just another day of tending.

Beneath the pile of cloth, something rattled, and as you pulled the folded clothes away you found a golden armband beneath them, clinking against the stone floor. You paused, curiosity consuming you until you set the clothes aside and picked up the band. Examining it, you admired the sun's reflection and the lapis beads dug into the shape of a scarab. Your brows knitted together; you had no recollection of seeing this, much less buying it. Maybe one of your roommates had gotten it for you, but it seemed improbable, as they often failed to pay rent. For a moment you contemplated wearing it, ultimately deciding it couldn't do any harm.

With a soft smile on your face you pulled on your sandals, tying up the leather laces before slinging your linen satchel over your shoulders. Running down the stairs, you made a quick stop to the pantry, taking one of the parts before you left out the front door. It would be a beautiful day, you thought, as the sun shone warm overhead, and in the distance you saw naught but a pale blue sky and faraway mountains. You passed by a couple birdsongs as you made your way to the palace, and though you made sure to appreciate them you also made sure not to be late. Not that you actually had to check in or anything – just a personal preference.

It didn't take too long before the palace stood in front of you, the tall, stone walls leering over the city. The sight unsettled people sometimes (mostly foreigners), but you found it familiar over all else. Another soft smile crossed you – if you could find time to stop by the kitchens, you could get leftover bread and scraps for the birds, which always helped in their amiability with you.

You passed by several people in the halls, none of which you knew, though silent nods were usually exchanged. Politeness was key when dealing with royalty and nobles, and your fear of them helped to keep you in check. You would never be able to find it within yourself to disobey nor befriend royalty.

Fortunately, you did stop by the kitchens, and the servants working there bid you a cheery hello and pleasant good bye as you came and went, stuffing day-old bread in your bag.

Continuing on your way, you came to the large archway leading into your garden. Sunlight shone through it and onto the stone you stood upon, lighting up the intricate detailing of the carved arch, and the bits of metal in your sandals. Warmth rolled up your body, comforting your skin as you continued forward. The sun had always been your friend, and you hoped it would remain that way, as you always smiled when the sun touched your face.

Setting your bag down on the stone floor you snuck behind the bushes, pulling out the box of various tools you needed. Shovels both big and small, shears, bags of earth direct from the Nile's shores, such and such – you dug through for a moment before reaching the large, metal clippers. Holding it with both hands you smiled, satisfied with the size before you stood. The bushes needed trimming; you'd do that first, and once you finished with that, you could climb up into the trees and harvest the dates, and later the figs nabk berries.

In the meantime, you listened to the faraway music of the temples, carefully snipping away at the loose leaves and branches. Out of habit you looked up to the sky, watching for both birds and the prince. When you found neither of them you let out a dissatisfied mumble, returning to the task at hand with a tinge of disappointment.

By around noon you finished off the bushes, and you excitedly prepared for your next task of the day. It was a tad harder than your previous work, but more worth it, and certainly more enjoyable.

Grabbing a wicker basket you set it beneath the date tree, looking up so as to carefully measure where the dates would fall. Date trees were tall, tall enough to need either a ladder or a rope, neither of which you had. You contemplated your various options before deciding you could probably climb up the trunk. Whether or not that was safe you didn't know, but it wasn't particularly important anyway. Climbing trees was fun.

Your first attempt ended up with you flopping onto your back as you fell. It wasn't a very long fall considering you only made it two feet into the air, but it still knocked the air out of you, which was an unpleasant feeling all around. Trying again, you kept your hands tight around the wood, using your shoeless feet to get a better grip. With a little more flailing you made it to the top, wrapping your legs around the trunk and releasing your hands. You floated midair, and with a wide, triumphant grin you began to pick at the branches heavy with dates, letting them fall into the basket far below.

Through the tree branches movement caught your eye, pausing your hands as curiosity once more overcame you. High above you, the prince stood at his golden arches, and for a second the two of you made eye contact. Reaching your hand out wide, you waved at him. He laughed – at least that's what you thought he was doing, and he waved back. Your own bright grin crossed you, but before you could think of something to yell, he returned to the safety of his room. You tried not to let it disappoint you and returned to the dates.

A few minutes later and the heavier branches were lifted of the bulk of their fruits, making the brush of the leaves much lighter in the breeze that passed by. You climbed carefully to the floor, jumping off when you could, and looking over the collected dates. It was a good batch – clean, well shaped, with little to no bruises. You had a special talent when it came to that, which you liked to believe made you a better gardener.

Lifting up the heavy basket you took it to the waterside, kneeling on the ledge and dipping the basket in. The design of the flax allowed water to pass through, and as you soaked the fruit the bugs and dirt washed away, fluttering to the bottom of the clear pond. With a grunt you lifted it out, the remaining water draining till all that was left was clean dates. You took one – just to taste, and within the first bite you knew the trees were having a wonderful spring.

As you made your way to the arch, ready to take the basket to the kitchen, you were stopped by nearly walking head-on into a man entering the garden. You fumbled only a moment, your grip on the basket tightening so as to not accidentally drop it on both your and the stranger's feet.

"Oh goodness," you breathed out as you stepped backwards, narrowly avoiding collision.

"I'm sorry, I – I didn't see you, sorry," he stammered, holding his hands out in front of him defensively.

Looking up to his face, your breath stopped, eyes widening imperceptibly. Immediately you dropped the basket, kneeling before him in a bow that pressed your forehead against the stone floor.

"My prince," you said, your voice weak from nerves.

"Oh, there's no need for that," he said quickly, helping you back up to your feet while you stared in awe and confusion. "I'm the one that almost ran into you, after all. You're the gardener, right?"

You nodded, heart pounding against your ribs.

"I see you from my room, sometimes," he said, and right away you recalled crystal clear memories of seeing him far above you that dated back years.

"I think I waved to you," you said softly.

"Yes," he said with a smile, "you did. I just... I thought I should introduce myself. I think we've seen quite a lot of each other, but I still don't know your name."

"I am Nedjem," you introduced yourself with a shallow bow.

"Ahkmen," he said, offering you his hand. Gingerly you took it, shaking his hand.

"I'm sorry to leave so shortly, but I need to take these to the kitchens," you said as you knelt, ignoring how close you were previously standing before him in favor of lifting up the heavy basket. He scooted to the side to allow passage.

"Will you be back?"

"Of course, my prince," you said with another short bow, this time bidding him a short good-bye.

A shiver ran through you – both from your encounter and the sudden shade in the chilled walls of the palace. Passing by the paintings adorning the hallways, you noticed your hastened step with bashfulness, and the ceaselessly happy smile creeping upon you. You couldn't control it, so instead you kept your head up and waved to the couple people you passed by.

It wasn't a long trip to the kitchens, and though the chefs wanted to discuss something with you, you quickly excused yourself with the excuse that the prince was waiting for you. They shut up pretty well after that.

The prince was just as nice as you thought he would be, something even you could tell from your brief meeting. A giddiness ran through you – he was so polite, especially considering his other family members. You'd only met his brother once, but you preferred it that way, considering in that one meeting that lasted exactly four minutes, he managed to find seven different ways to insult you. A creative lad for sure, but not kind.

You reentered the garden with the large, empty basket at your hip. Humming quietly to yourself, you stowed it away with the other tools, not bothering to look back at the pond.

"Is this where you keep your tools?" The voice of the prince said behind you, and before you could help it you jumped, whirling around to face him with quickened breath. At your reaction his eyes widened, and he said, "I'm so sorry, that's twice now I've made you jump. Oh dear."

"No, it's my fault, I should've noticed you standing there," you said quickly, trying to get your breathing under control. The prince didn't make it any easier – he was practically standing chest to chest with you, and with you backed up against the thick brush, you couldn't move anywhere. You could feel your cheeks boiling with a vibrant blush.

"I'm still sorry," he said with a weak chuckle, taking a few steps back so you could leave your little hole behind the bushes. You nodded your head gratefully, but you couldn't hold that long of a conversation with him, even if you wanted to. After all, you were still at work, and the fig trees needed to be plucked and trimmed.

As you took one of the smaller baskets to the northern row of fig trees, the prince followed behind you, looking over your shoulder as you worked away. With your bare knees dug into the soft earth, you ducked beneath the tree branches and reached for the more invisible of the fruits. There had to be a few visible for the King to pick, should he come through, so you took up the tendency of taking the bare minimum. The King hadn't said anything, so you assumed it was fine.

"Can I make it up to you?" The prince said in that mellowed, honey voice that you doubted you'd ever grow used to.

"What do you mean?" You asked, reluctant to turn away from your task, as any eye contact you held with the prince had your heartbeat picking up and your palms sweating.

"I frightened you terribly. You could've dropped your basket. Both times, too," he added, drawing a soft laugh out of you. Shaking your head, you tried to think up a response as you debated whether or not you actually wanted to spend time with him. He was kind, but you couldn't trust yourself to keep calm.

"That's really not necessary," you said.

"I know," he said as he knelt down beside you, dirtying his golden robes. Before you could say anything, he added, "I just want to."

"I would love to, but I'm busy with the garden most days," you said with a sigh, your heart sinking ever so gently into a pit of regret for something you hadn't even decided not to do.

"What about tonight? I can take you down to the river, we can sail for a little while," he offered, and though your immediate reaction was to turn him down, you paused before speaking. You could certainly use more flora and such for the garden (it was a little sparse around the walls), and one of the best, cheapest places to get it was in the wild.

"Can I collect plants?" You asked quietly, almost embarrassed to bring it up. But he just smiled, warm and comforting, as though what you said was not only special but worth hearing.

"Of course. When do you finish off here? I can meet you then," he said, and you answered with your usual time, which was around sunset.

He bowed curtly before he left, a hint of a smile tugging at the ends of his lips. You let out a heavy breath – he could be quite intense, but you looked forward to the day you could relax around him, should that day ever come. In the meantime you fantasized while you gardened, dreaming of picking figs beside him and wading in the shallow pools.

The sun set slow that afternoon, verging carefully into evening. You didn't notice, still caught up in your plants, and having yet to feed the geese circling the pond. The ibis hadn't come today, but you weren't worried – it could handle itself just fine. As for the domesticated ducks and turtles, not quite so much, and as one of the servants brought you a small basket of wide, crisps leaves, you thanked them with a short bow. They left quickly, and with that you turned to the animals gathered in the pond and on its' island.

Slipping off your sandals you kept the basket of leaves close to you, carefully readying yourself for dipping your feet into the water. It chilled against you, crawling slowly up your leg till you stood calf deep in the water, wading across the soft dirt floor towards the island. Several of the turtles looked up to you, but the rest didn't pay your presence any mind. Smiling softly, you pulled a few leaves out, holding them in your hand for the more hungry ones to bite into. The crisp of the leaf in a sharp beak snapped in the quiet air, bothered only by the soft giggles leaving you at the sight.

Ahkmen watched as the edge of your skirt dipped ever so slightly into the water, smiling to himself at your absolute concentration. He stood, leant against the arch while you hummed quietly, taking short pauses to speak to the many turtles now staring at you. It was a rather unfamiliar sight to him, but he still couldn't help the smile on his face.

"I've got to feed the others now," you told the turtles quietly, leaving the rest of the leaves on the center of the island before wading back to shore.

Setting down the now-empty basket, you reached for the bag of bread crumbs, only then catching Ahkmen out of the corner of your eye. You nearly jumped – again – but fortunately, you kept your composure this time.

"Do you often feed them?" He asked, his arms crossed over his chest, watching you with a lopsided smile.

"Feed them every day," you said with a nod. "They live here."

"Really? I thought they were wild," he said, stepping away from his place beneath the arch to join you at the side of the pond. Still dressed in his golden robes, though this time wearing neither his cape nor his crown, he sat down on the pond's ledge.

"Some of them are," you said, sprinkling crumbs over the water around the ducks, "but some understand the ease of life here a little better than others."

They began ducking their beaks underwater, fast movements allowing them to eat before it soaked too terribly. You watched with a distant smile, sprinkling more over as they ate quickly, the sound apparently amusing Ahkmen.

"Could I feed them?" He asked, his eye switching between the geese and you.

"Of course," you said, handing him the bag.

With a grin he grabbed a rather large handful, mimicking your sprinkling, but ultimately failing when a sizable chunk fell from his palm, sinking into the water. He frowned.

"Don't worry," you said, "they'll get it eventually. They always do."

The two of you stayed there a little while longer, you calf-deep in water, and Ahkmen sitting on the ledge, his skirt crumpled in his hands to avoid soaking it. As you fed the last bits of bread to the ducks, the sun fell behind the horizon. That familiar purple tinted the sky, making way for the first stars, and in the southern sky, the moon. Dusk settled itself upon the land, and with that you looked to Ahkmen who was already staring at you.

"Nice evening, isn't it?" He murmured, tracing his finger over the lily pads. You agreed with a hum. "Shall we go then?"

He stood before you answered, and wordlessly you followed him, wading carefully in the water before making it to the edge. Hauling yourself off, you wrung out the end of your skirt. You offered a small smile before taking your bag, slinging it over your shoulder before you left the garden, walking beside him like good friends. For a little while he led you through the palace corridors, into places you'd never been before and didn't really care to be. It didn't take too long, though – soon he was leading you down an outdoor path to a distant boathouse, sitting on the edge of the Nile with its' canoes brushing up against the dock in time with the gentle movement of the water.

The scent of the shore hit you all at once, enlivening your heart till you were practically giddy, your pace quickening to reach the river sooner. Beside you Ahkmen smiled at your excitement, fixing his steps to match yours.

"I don't get a lot of free time," you told him quietly, your eye never straying from the fertile shore. "My work takes a lot of... well, work."

"I feel the same way," he said with a chuckle, "with all the studies I've got to do."

"At least we have free time in the night," you said.

"Indeed. And I'm happy to spend it with you," he said, leaning forward to catch your reaction. He was quite a lot taller than you.

"You hardly know me," you mumbled as a blush began creeping up your cheeks.

"I know you care deeply about the earth. That tells me a lot about you already," he said.

"Like what?"

"You're kind and thoughtful," he said, pondering quietly for a moment before he continued. "You're also quite beautiful, though I didn't need to see your garden to know that."

You said nothing, instead staring at the ground while Ahkmen watched your growing blush with much interest. He had a soft blush of his own, invisible in the dark of night, and he preferred to keep it that way.

At last you stood beside the shore, following him into the boathouse where the skiffs were tied up. As he set about positioning oars and untying ropes, you sat on the end of one of the many wooden docks, your legs dangling off the edge, just barely skimming the surface of the water. Staring upwards, you watched the sky's movements in the approaching midnight. Soon it would become much harder to see, but you didn't mind all that much – night was a beautiful time to be alive, and the moon above would be able to mark the definitions of the plants along the Nile. You fidgeted thoughtlessly with the strings of your bag, only pulled away when Ahkmen tapped your shoulder.

"Ready?" He asked as you pulled yourself to your feet.

"Yes, my prince," you said with a smile.

"You don't need to call me that. Not when we're alone at least," he said, taking your hand and leading you to another dock, where a boat sat tethered by only one rope in a weak knot.

Helping you inside, he had you sit on the end before entering himself, untying the rope and taking an oar in hand.

"Do you want me to do that?" You asked, too aware of his royalty.

"Aren't I the one who invited you here?" He asked in reply, a questioning smirk on his face.

You huffed, but unfortunately couldn't stop your own smile from appearing. He clearly liked your compliance, though you felt nothing but restlessness as he rowed, taking the two of you far from the boathouse and the palace. Sighing, you tried to comfort yourself – the prince was perfectly safe, and you had nothing to worry about. The thought alone didn't rid you of your anxiousness, though blamed that chiefly on the way Ahkmen kept an expectant eye on you, smiling when you smiled and generally watching you with an innocent curiosity.

"By the way, if my father catches us, this trip is for your garden," he said, breaking the silence, followed by your laughter muffled by your hand.

"I'll keep that in mind," you said when you calmed down enough to form words.

He was beaming at your delight, his eyes shining even in the dim light of the moon. You hadn't taken the time to notice it before, but he had a childish curiosity for the world, something you often found in yourself as well. After all, you tended to the geese and turtles as though you could speak with them, a trait more commonly seen in children than adults.

The shore rolled slowly by, marked only by the soft sound of water rushing against Ahkmen's oar. Ripples ran from the droplets falling in by the oar, brushing against the fingers you dipped ever so slightly into the water, finding comfort in its' familiarity. There were no fish in the river, at least none you could see – it was a bit hard to look for fish at night. 

When at last you found your search fruitless you turned back to the shore, feeling nothing but your heart beating harsher every second you spent with the Prince. Not out of any logical anxiety, of course; just the need to be seen as good, as worth his time.

Out of the corner of your eye you caught a flower resting in the water, the petals white and the center pink. Your eyes widened.

"Could we stop here for a moment?" You asked, your eye never leaving the flower.

Wordlessly he followed your request, guiding the boat to shore, where you immediately jumped out. Water splashed up your leg, a few drops reaching him. You didn't watch, caught up in the search, though you still heard Ahkmen's quiet chuckle.

In the garden you tended, the lillies were blue – blue lotus to be exact, and though they were beautiful, blue was the only color they showed. Maybe it was just that specific strand of flower, but excitement still filled you as you reached the white lilly resting on a wide, dark green pad. Pulling the small knife out of your bag, you dipped your hands into the water, running your knife across both the pad and the flower's stem till it broke, allowing you to pick the two up as one.

"You know, people come to our gardens, and they always marvel over our blue lilies," you said, wading the short way back to the boat, "but I always find white lilies to be more worth the time. They grow everywhere in the rest of the world, but so rarely do you find one here. I think it'll make a good addition to your garden."

"I've always thought of it as a bland color," he admitted, taking your hand and helping you back into the skiff.

"It's purity, and it is silence," you said softly, still admiring the flower, even as you took your seat back in the boat, dripping river water on the floor. "Think of alabaster, and clouds, and the reflection of the sun – white isn't bland. Not when you look closer."

"Maybe you're right," he sighed, taking the oars back in hand and rowing you away from shore.

"It's also good to have more than one type of lily. Makes sure the colors don't clash," you said, bringing a soft chuckle out of him.

"That too," he said.

You turned to the stars, looking up with a distant smile as you admired their light. They had patterns – looking close enough, you could find anything, just like in summer clouds. Lions, trees, chariots, and all of it hidden in the heavens. You sighed softly, filling yourself up with a calm you rarely found while in the presence of someone else.

"I feel as though I already know you," he said, drawing your attention away from the light of the stars and to his light.

"How so?"

"Well, I... um, I've actually watched you for a while, from my room," he said, clearing his throat awkwardly. "I hope that doesn't make you think any less of me. I just... you're very nice to watch."

Despite him initiating the conversation, he wouldn't make eye contact with you, intent to concentrate on the oar that really didn't require all that much concentration. Reaching forward you stilled his hand, allowing the boat to come to a stop in the river as he looked to you.

"I already kind of knew that," you admitted. The two of you had made eye contact enough throughout the years for you to realize a pattern.

"Really?" He asked, a blush burning onto his cheeks as he gripped the oar tight, letting his knuckles turn white.

"I don't mind," you said softly, smiling gently as he met your eye. It brought a small comfort to him.

"It wouldn't've happened if I were allowed to leave the palace, mind you. I just... it gets terribly lonely, sometimes. I know I have to complete my studies since one day I might rule this land in my father's stead, but I am still young," he said, spilling out information you hadn't expected to hear anytime in the next month. You took a moment to contemplate your response.

"At least you're aware of it. Better than ignorance or anything of that like," you said.

"You're a very kind person, aren't you?" He asked, tilting his head slightly to the left.

"I don't think that's for me to decide, but thank you anyway," you said with a soft giggle, making him grin as well, dimples creasing into his blushing cheeks.

"I enjoy your company a lot more than I thought I would, and to be fair, I already thought I'd enjoy your company quite a lot," he admitted, making you laugh. Immediately you covered your mouth with your hand, unable to stop the giggling falling from you. His smile only grew.

"I enjoy your company quite a lot, too," you said in a posh voice.

He let his head hang from his shoulders as silent laughs shook his body. Delight filled you – from his smile, from your own comfort, from the gentle current of the river, from your flower, and ultimately just from him. You were expecting a polite man. Not a warm one, but the surprise was one you welcomed with open arms.

As you headed back up the Nile in search of the city, you watched the shore carefully for any other flowers. You didn't end up finding any more, but you did pause for a few fern leaves, and the root of a vine whose leaves splayed wide. Watching the water pass by, you leaned against the edge of the boat, your chin supported by your palm, watching the shadow of your reflection beneath you. She smiled, and your lips quirked up just slightly.

Soon the bottom of the river could be seen, making you raise your head away from the water and towards the prince. The boathouse sat ahead of you, and as Ahkmen rowed you back, you took the little time left to watch the muscles on his back move with every stroke of the oar. You hadn't noticed before, but he was actually rather muscular. Just another thing you realized about him that night along with a dozen other things.

He gently maneuvered the skiff back into its' place at the dock, tying up the rope on his end before tossing his oar onto the dock. Placing his hands on the wood he lifted himself out, tying the other end before lending you his hand, helping you out. You murmured a soft thank you, following behind him as he put away the oar.

"We can do this again, if you like," he offered quietly as the two of you headed back towards the palace. "Or we don't have to. Up to you."

"I'd like to," you said, "if only to get more seeds."

He grinned, shaking his head.

"Shall I find you at dusk again?"

"That sounds nice."

When I hear your voice, it's pomegranate wine

I live to hear it

And if I look at you, at each look,

it is purer than any honey or beer.

True to his word, he did take you on more short excursions, though he called them expeditions, something that always made you chuckle. Maybe it was just because you were bashful around him, but no matter the reason you both enjoyed calling them that. Expeditions or adventures – you still found yourself enjoying them, even if you took the same path through the Nile every time.

At sunset he appeared in the threshold of your garden, watching you silently as he always did. Sometimes you spied him out of the corner of your eye, but most times you didn't, leading to you jumping when he made a sound. The other times that you did see him you let him stand there, feeling the heat of his gaze on your back.

What exactly he was doing you didn't know, but you didn't mind all that much, as he'd never shown any cruelty to you. It was a polar opposite to his brother – at least, in your interactions with the two princes. Kahmuh didn't talk to you nearly as much as Ahkmen did, and you preferred to keep it that way.

"How's the garden today?" He asked, making you twist around to him. The moment you saw him a bright smile lit up your face, now an instinct whenever you met his eye.

"Doing quite well. I need to feed the geese less, though," you noted as you stood from your seat beside the pool, your feet dipped in the water.

"Why? Growing too domesticated?"

"No, just too fat," you said, pulling a laugh from the prince.

As you stepped out of the pond, the geese tried to follow you, honking at you demandingly. You turned around, scolding them quietly before you hurried over to Ahkmen.

"My prince," you greeted him with a bow of your head, a habit you made sure to keep. Just in case. He didn't like it, which was obvious from his knitted brow, but he would have to learn to like it.

"Want to go out on the river again?" He asked, mostly ignoring your greeting.

"Of course."

And you found yourself out on the water for the umpteenth time, staring at the same stars, watching the same shore pass you by, and yet every time you joined him it felt new. Just like the first time you watched the shore carefully, scanning for any flora you could add to the garden. You paused only to look to the sky, charting the stars with your imagination, drawing lines across the heavens to form the earth in the sky.

"I've finally started taking astronomy lessons," he said, his voice airy as he, too, looked up to the stars. "I've always loved the stars, but... never got around to learning much about them till now."

"Is it a difficult subject?" You asked, leaning forward.

"Not yet," he said with a chuckle, making you smile.

With the skiff resting the middle of the river, he set down the oar, moving to sit beside you. He took your hand and pressed your cheek against his, matching your eyes together as he pointed upwards.

"Up there," he said, "you can see Hathor's constellation, right by the brightest star."

"Oh, yeah," you mumbled, watching where he pointed and drew out the sacred cow.

"Over here is an eagle. The tail runs pretty far, but it connects through the southern star," he said, and in your concentration you almost forgot about his touch against yours, curling around your fingertips and pressed against your blushing cheek.

"It's beautiful," you murmured thoughtlessly, not even noticing when his finger dropped down, landing on your intertwined hands. He hummed in agreement, keeping at your side.

Only when silence encompassed you did you pay attention to his closeness, an anxious warmth crowding out your thoughts as he breathed against you. You could so easily rest your head on his shoulder, or stroke your fingers across his forearm, or kiss his cheek – you didn't do any of those things. Instead you enjoyed the softness of his hand while you could, letting your imagination run free as you stared up at the patterns of the stars.

You almost drifted off, almost – one moment you were almost leaning into him, your eyes just barely closing, and the next he once more stood on the other end of the boat, the long oar in his hand. He was humming, quietly enough that you had to strain to hear. As the seconds rolled by you stared back up at the stars, memorizing his thoughtless hum and teaching each note to the distant lights above you.

Upon your return to land your feet grew shaky, too used to being in the gentle rock of the tide. Like all the other times he offered you his hand, and you took it, lifting yourself out of the boat and pressing your side against his for support. He didn't seem to mind, so you stayed right where you were. With your heart thumping so harsh you were worried he could feel it, the two of you left the boathouse, heading up the path back to the palace.

"Have you got anywhere to be in the morning?" He asked.

"No," you answered.

"I'll walk you home, then," he said with a soft smile, and you looked at your feet, ashamed of the blush that so easily overtook you. "I haven't anywhere to be tonight or tomorrow."

"Is that rare for you?" You asked quietly, your shoulder bumping against his arm as you walked.

"Let's just say it doesn't happen often," he said, making you chuckle.

Soon you found yourself at the fork of the path, the well-trodden one leading to the palace, and the overgrown path leading into the city. He took you that way, adopting a slow stroll that you didn't mind in the least. Even if you did get subpar sleep, it would be worth it to spend more time with him, listening to crickets and the distant sound of music. Like most summer evenings, the city was alight with the life of several different parties. The scent of alcohol grew thick in the air, and the shouts of patrons louder, marking where solitude ended and unease began. The prince didn't seem to mind it, but he noticed your discomfort, and in a motion both exciting and familiar, he held your hand in his.

Behold, if I pass before him,

I shall tell him of my turnings;

Behold, I am yours, I shall say to him

And he will boast of my name.

On a late summer morning, you awoke before the sun, bringing yourself to life with a heavy sigh. The blankets across your body draped as you sat up, already awake from the rather disturbing dream you'd had. With the thought of sleep eradicated from your head, you stood, dressed yourself, and left your home without word or breakfast. You regretted the decision about five minutes into the walk to the palace, as you stomach began to grumble uncomfortably. Instead of stopping by anywhere, you thought of your Chinese flower, and how beautiful it would be to see it in the total dark of the hours before dawn. Surely it would be a marvel – and that was what led you away from your comfy bed and fresh food.

Slowly you climbed the steps of the palace, keeping quiet footsteps to keep the peace. Two soldiers were always stationed at each end of the staircase, and though you'd never said hello to any of them, you did wave, which earned you an odd look and confused wave in return. You almost stopped to laugh and initiate and genuine conversation, but the pull of your flower was strong enough to hurry your footsteps towards the garden.

As you reached the open hallway leading into the garden, you paused, already hearing a voice from inside. Silently you approached the arch, hiding behind the wall as you peeked inside.

Ahkmen sat on the pond's ledge, wearing naught but a loosely tied skirt that tugged down with every movement he made. For a moment you lingered on the soft skin of his waist, but your thoughts were torn from there when he spoke, and with one glance you found him talking to Nuru. She didn't look like she minded, but it was hard to pinpoint the emotions of a goose.

"You see Nedjem a lot," he said, his right hand curled around the fabric of his skirt, and the left petting Nuru's wing feathers. "Do you think they like poetry?"

You perked up slightly, though kept in mind it'd be best not to be seen.

"I hope they do," he hummed, a gentle smile on his face as the goose burrowed her neck into her fat body. You really needed to stop feeding them so much. "Lately I've written so much. Mostly on pottery shards, but still... maybe you'll have an opinion on them?"

He proceeded to dig into the small pocket sewn to the side of his skirt, shuffling around before pulling his hand back out, opening it to reveal shard upon shard of limestone. Your heart began to race, your grip on the marble arch tightening.

"I'm not a poet, mind you," he added, talking to the goose as though she were a person. "I can barely write. But..." he trailed off, sorting mindlessly through the collection before pulling one out, holding it up to read.

"Oh to be the artist – able to stare at you for as long as I please. To be the writer, capturing your essence, the sweet melody in your laugh. Oh, to be the musician, mimicking that melody, serenading you with the kindest words and softest tone, to be an artist – what an endearing form of love. How wonderful it must be to be an artist in love. Um..." he stuffed it back in his pocket, picking a new one. "When I touch you, I am love incarnate. I have found a home in the touch of your hand against mine. That one's... quite a bit shorter. Probably won't use that one. Oh, I shouldn't be too straightforward with it, either."

You almost giggled – you didn't, fortunately, managing to cover your mouth with your hand before any sound escaped. But the sight was so sweet, so endearing you could almost imagine him saying those things to you, looking you in the eye, and running his thumb across the curve of your lips. A lump grew in your throat, hurrying your breath as you watched him continue.

"There's only one more that's worth mentioning," he said, although there were a great deal many more shards than the last one he pulled. "I want to love you in so many ways. I want to love you as a servant, as a master, I would love you as a king and I would love you as a farmer. As long as it's you, I could be anything if I still loved you."

"That's a pretty poem," you finally said, leant against the arch and surprising him just like he'd done to you months ago. He immediately looked up, his expression softening when he recognized you.

"Nedjem," he said with a smile, a tinge of relief evident in his eye. "Gods, I thought you were my brother."

"Fortunately no," you said, walking to join him at the side of the pond.

"What are you doing here?"

"Well for one, this is where I work," you said, making both of you laugh. "Who are you writing these poems for?"

He stared at you a moment before answering, "someone very special."

"I'm sure she's quite happy to have your companionship, then," you said, ignoring your own feelings on the matter, as anything detrimental you could say would only worsen your own heart's decay. "And I do like poetry. You can show me them, if you'd like."

"I -"

"Ahkmen!" Came a voice from the hallway, shouting with terror-laced words. "There's a fire in the kitchen!!"

"Again?" He groaned quietly, moving to his feet and running towards the hall. "I'll be back in a moment," he promised you before he left, disappearing behind a corner.

You almost smiled, but instead you turned to Nuru, who was still mostly asleep.

"He's a nice man, isn't he?" You said.

I hear thy voice, O turtle dove-

The dawn is all aglow

Weary am I with love, with love, Oh whither shall I go?

The edge of the sun touched the horizon, casting a hazy, golden glow across the land. Your skin tingled beneath its' touch, warm and familiar as you sat on the docks of the boathouse. Ahkmen was God knows where – you hadn't seen him after the fire incident, and assumed he was busy with princely duties. He had a fair amount of those. You, on the other hand, had spent the last few days fixing up the array of new plants near the garden walls.

"He likes poetry," you murmured aloud to yourself, your concentration on the setting sun and its' peach clouds wavering as you thought on the prince.

He hadn't ever mentioned that about himself before, but it was obvious he enjoyed it quite a lot, and as you thought of his poetry in crystal clear memory, you wondered if perhaps you could write your own poetry. Of course, it wouldn't be written down – you didn't have any papyrus or clay, and you didn't even know how to write. No, you'd have to memorize the words you pieced together, and you imagined yourself serenading him as you closed your eyes, letting your feet drop into the river water below.

You thought and thought, racking your brain for ideas or clues as to what you could do. Compare his beauty to a rose – a tad too feminine, but you hadn't any idea what else to call him. He was sweet; like a rose, and his skin soft, like the red velvet petals. His humor was the scent of a rose's nectar that delighted the bees so, and when you caught him brandishing a spear in a spar against his teacher, he was the thorns of a dark green stem. His life was the roots and you were the water, happy to be something within him, be it a thought or a melody – and he kept you close, safe, like the leaves of a rose bush and the spike of thorns protected every wonderful thing that coexists to form pure life.

You closed your eyes and breathed. You would remember; you had to. Hopefully it would stay in your mind for a good long while, as you had no idea when you would see him next, much less be able to actually speak to him in that manner. It was rather daring, though – a lowly worker infatuated with a prince locked up in a high tower. A reverse fairy tale, and as you opened your eyes to see the quiet ripples of the water, you thought of nothing but him and the stars he drew in your eyes.

Slowly the sun set low, dying once more as the moon took its' place in the sky above you. Looking up, you found the moon as a sliver, smiling in the dark. A cool wind settled over you, making you curl up to avoid the chill. Another deep breath and you turned to the water, watching the reflection of the sky dance, rippling with every slight movement.

Hours passed by and you stayed right there, memorizing your image of him, trying to imprint it in your memory. It would have to be perfect; he deserved no less, especially from someone so low as you. Neither of you had remarked much on your class difference, but every now and then it did bother you – you'd be less than human if it didn't. Sometimes class didn't matter, but sometimes it did, and that but had you gripping the wood of the dock tight. He was a kind man, of voice, touch, and words, and you had no doubt he could love someone beneath him. Whether he could love you was something else entirely.

Soon the darkest hours of night overtook you, and in the dim glow of the moon you could hardly see your hands, only feeling the way you drew your fingers up your thigh to rest in your lap. The silence that surrounded you was broken only by the roll of the river against the wooden dock, a few of the boats clanking against each other. You breathed deep, relaxing in the familiar scent of the Nile, comforted by the breeze and the dissipation of every physical thing. Nothing but pitch black – it might as well have been a new moon, as the distant shore melded into the faraway mountains without hesitation.

A hand touched your shoulder and you jumped, feeling the fingers run a line down your upper arm before stopping and disappearing. You looked up, finding nothing but darkness, yet as the figure sat beside you, you could hear the even breaths and the creak of the wood beneath them.

"What are you doing here so late?" Ahkmen asked softly, worry evident in his tone.

"I needed some time to think," you answered honestly. "There's a lot on my mind as of late."

"Would you like to talk about it?" He said after a moment to let your words rest in the space between you.

"Not really," you said with a smile he couldn't see.

The two of you sat there for a couple minutes, your shoulder brushed against his, his thigh against yours, and the chill wind keeping you close to one another.

"I wrote something for you," you finally said, breaking away from the thought of holding it back. What was the use of memorizing if you weren't going to tell him? Besides, you were alone – just you, and just him.

"Really?" He said, sounding surprised.

"I didn't actually write it down. I just put together some words," you said, smiling when he chuckled. You were looking directly at him and you still couldn't see him, but your head replayed every time you saw him grin.

"How does it go?"

"I want you to close your eyes," you murmured, moving to cup your hand over his jawline, running your thumb over his now-closed eyes. "Imagine the garden. My garden." Your heart raced when you felt his breath on your skin.

Once assured he followed your command, you began your recitation, digging your nails into your palm to avoid slipping up.

"I am yours like this garden," you said, keeping your voice soft either out of love or fear. "Planted with flowers, and fragrant herbs. Its canal is pleasant –– dug by your hand, cooled by the north wind. A lovely place to wander hand in hand; my body satisfied, my heart rejoicing, walking together. When I hear your voice, it's pomegranate wine –– I live to hear it, and if I look at you, at each look, it is purer than any honey or beer."

He didn't speak, but he remained in your touch, melting into the way you caressed his cheek. Raising his hand ever so gently, he set his own hand on yours, pulling it away just enough for him to kiss your palm, just enough to send you into a blazing blush.

"You remind me of the moon flower," you mumbled, barely able to get the words out without stuttering.

"A moon flower?" He asked curiously.

"I keep it in the garden," you said as your hand fell back to your lap. "Would you like to see?"

"Of course," he said, and the two of you stood, taking that familiar path back to the palace.

Gravel crinkled beneath your sandals, and birds circled overhead, but none of that fully processed with him so close to you.

"That was a beautiful poem, by the way," he told you in a murmur, almost reluctant to compliment.

"Thank you," you said, a small smile spreading across your face. "I suppose you inspired me a little this morning. I've never heard poetry before."

"Really? I've heard it quite a lot," he said.

"That's probably because you can afford it," you said, and the both of you laughed, leaning imperceptibly closer together.

He snuck you into the palace, and in return you snuck him into the garden, taking his hand and leading him onto the sandstone path. With a distant torch lighting the outside hallway, you could see the shapes of the garden trees and the walls. Ahkmen, ever so helpful, pulled a rushlight from his pocket, lighting it to reveal the closed lilies and, in the corner, the blooming petals of the Chinese flower. Once more you took his hand, leading him to kneel before it.

The white color that previously coated it was replaced with a vibrant pink, a color you were sure you hadn't ever seen before. If you had, it certainly wasn't as vibrant, and it didn't have you quite as awestruck as the flower did. The stem reached your shoulder when you knelt, covered in tiny petals, each belonging to its own blooming flower, ruffling in the slow breeze.

"I got it from a trader in the markets at Tanis," you told him quietly, careful not to break the trance of its' beauty. Turning to him, you saw his amazed face lit by the flickering rushlight, glowing in the dim of the garden.

"Where's it from?" He asked, his lips still parted in curiosity.

"She said it was from China. I'm not sure where that is, but she told me it's far in the east," you said, watching his expression carefully. The curve of his nose, the crinkles around his eyes, the slightest dimple from his smile filled with wonderment.

"I... I want to show you something, too," he offered quietly, as though you could ever say no.

"As long as it isn't too far away. Dawn will come soon," you said, noting the slightest variation in the pitch black sky.

"I don't care about dawn," he admitted as he took your hand. "Will you come with me?"

"Of course, my prince."

He pulled you to your feet, leading you away from the garden and into the palace. You turned down twists, letting him take you up staircases and through empty rooms. For a moment you thought to ask him as to his destination, but as you watched his delight in your curiosity, you let it be. You'd find out soon enough anyway – the palace wasn't outrageously large, though you'd bet without a guide it was easy to get lost. Fortunately, you had him, and he never let go of your hand.

Through hallways painted from top to bottom, through unused servant's quarters and empty storage rooms, and at the end of it all a large, wooden door in an unassuming hallway.

"My parents moved me here after Kahmuh started fighting with me," he told you, looking up at the bolted door. "I used to live in a much more occupied hallway, but I like the solitude. It's nice to hear the quiet."

You agreed but said nothing, letting his touch drop from yours as he worked with the bolt, eventually unlocking it with a heavy click. The doors slowly rolled open, aided by his hand till the whole of his room stood before you. In the center, pressed against the far wall was his bed, a silk canopy hanging above it. To the left his desk, and against the nearest wall a bookcase. At last your eyes wandered to the right of his room, finding the arches you saw so often from below, the open alabaster viewing the whole of Memphis.

When you didn't move forward he intertwined his fingers in yours, pulling you gently closer till he closed the door behind the both of you.

"It's a beautiful sight, isn't it?" He said, noticing your stare past the arches and into the city. "On festival nights the buildings light up like fireflies. So many people, all with their own thoughts and agenda, and all so small from here. Doesn't stop the city from reeking of alcohol, though."

You giggled, pushing him away as a dopey grin overtook him. While he went to light the torches hanging off the wall, you made your way to the arches, sitting on the cold floor and letting your legs dangle in mid air. His room had to be five or six stories above the ground, and as you looked down an anxious shiver ran through your body. Your legs and arms tingled, excited and fearful of the garden fall below you. Soon he joined you, letting his legs dangle beside yours, placing his hand right next to yours, where his pinkie could touch yours in a hesitant grace.

"You can see the Nile from here too. Fleets of ships, their banners covered in vibrant colors right next to the boats of fishers, whose boats carry no sail at all," he said, pointing into the distance where you could just barely make out the river. "It gets incredibly crowded sometimes."

"I see where you get your poetry inspiration from," you murmured, your eyes still stuck on the sight before you.

"That's not where I get it from," he said, and you turned to him with a confused expression, wondering why he was smiling and wondering where he was going when he stood.

Looking down, you picked at the dust on the floor, fidgeting with your nails as you turned back to the city. There were no celebrations or festivals, but still there were lights scattered across the many houses. If you keened hard you could hear the laughter of dinner parties and the music of dances.

Soft, calming notes came from behind you, struck on a harp. Turning around, you found Ahkmen sitting on a blanket, his legs crossed and a harp against his chest, plucking the strings with careful, gentle fingers. You didn't move – you couldn't, caught up in his focused expression, unable to tear yourself from his melody for even a moment.

"I'm not very good at harp," he paused to tell you, allowing you to break from concentration and make your way over to him. "I had to teach myself, and I'm not a very good teacher."

You giggled, covering your mouth with your hand as you did so.

"Is this what you wanted to show me?" You asked quietly, tilting your head.

"I... well.. yes, I'm... I'm just nervous, I'm sorry. I've never played in front of anyone, and I know you like harp. That's sort of why I, um, picked it up," he admitted abashedly, hiding his face from your eye.

"When did you learn that?"

"On one of our expeditions on the river," he said, his lip quirking up into a half-smile. "You were half asleep at the time. I don't expect you to remember it."

"I don't," you said, pleasantly surprised that he would remember that.

"The point is, I've been trying to get better. I practiced a lot, so hopefully I don't.. slip up," he said as he reached beneath a nearby pile of blankets, pulling out a roll of papyrus which he set in front of him.

You watched in curiosity as he cleared his throat, cheeks blushing despite the fact he hadn't even started. First he poised his fingers above the strings, then, after double checking the papyrus, he began. A sweet melody in major, simple to remember, and easy on the heart.

He cleared his throat again before he opened his mouth, a song falling from his lips. In that moment everything in your body stopped – you hadn't expected him to be a good singer. Hell, you hadn't expected him to actually be able to even play the harp, but here you were, being serenaded by your prince, comforted by his words and his simple presence.

"I love you, O still heart," he sang, "I stand alongside your image. Rejoice in sacredness, strong of voice – you are everything, perfect and pure, you are the earth and you are the sky. The ways I have hidden myself in you; My soul, My throne, O still heart, is yours."

When he finished you finally breathed again, your chest blooming a warmth you hadn't ever felt before. There were moments that could be considered similar, but when he looked up at you, uncertainty lacing his expectant eyes, nothing could compare.

You leaned forward, and wordlessly you pressed your lips up against his, kissing him sweetly in a moment he happily reciprocated. Comfort in his presence, happiness in his word, and it was home in his touch.

My hand in your hand

I walk with you

in all the beautiful places.

[walker-journal]

Clocks and Cyrophoenix (Adam +Alfie- POTW)

Characters: Alfonzo Ramirez (Phoenix- Annie), Adam Walker (Hunter-Tapir)

Summary: The search for Nell continues in a frost dimension where Adam meets a grouchy charmander. 

Content Warnings: head trauma 

One minute Alfie was walking back to his apartment from a quick stop at the mailboxes, and the next he found himself at the edge of a cliff. His heart lurched into his throat as he reeled back in the nick of time, barely evading what was most certainly a fall to his death. Loose rocks beneath his feet tumbled over the precipice.

Wild eyes frantically took in his new surroundings; colossal pillars stretched beyond the void overhead. The air hummed menacingly along with the echoes of animalistic grunts — the source of which were out of sight. Frost covering the ground turned to sludge underneath his feet as condensation formed from his breath.

This wasn’t the elevator.

“Son of a bitch,” Alfie breathed, stumbling backwards as he shook the slush from his shoes. His day was going so well up until now. He turned slowly, trying to get his bearings on the unfamiliar environment. If there had been an outlet, it was long gone, leaving only a winding ravine behind him. He was left with no choice but to follow it in hopes of getting out of whatever hellscape he’d been thrust into.

He knew he should have taken the stairs today.

A figure dropped down from the edge of the ravine in a rush of white, beige, and glistening metal spikes. The assailant was dressed in the pale camo of arctic warfare gear, the darker colors of bandoliers and a goggled helmet were the only parts of their silhouette distinct from the surrounding snow. Black blood already drenched the tips of the two surgically sharp ice picks the attacker wielded in each hand. A shadow fell over Alfie as those brutal points descended towards his skull.

Yet the figure’s deadly blitz was broken by a sudden hesitation. The arctic soldier veered away from Alfie, sliding down onto the ravine bottom in an awkward stumbling gait as they tried to work off the momentum of the aborted assassination.

Two gloved hands reached up to lift opaque black goggles up from squinting brown eyes.

“Alfie?”

If Alfie thought his situation couldn’t get any worse, he was wrong. He hadn’t been travelling through the ravine for more than five — ten? fifteen? — minutes before being ambushed. He was completely unaware of anything lurking above until it was too late.

As the figure dropped into his field of vision, Alfie staggered backwards. With a piercing yelp, his back hit the ground and he scrambled to regain his footing. Not that it would have helped him any, but he was prepared to bolt away until the hulking silhouette gave pause and spoke his name.

He sat there, dumbfounded, as his eyes focused on the form of… a man? No — not just any man, but an irritatingly familiar one at that.

“Adam?!” Alfie questioned, incredulously.

What kind of fever dream was this? First, the elevator-turned-hell-dimension, and now Nell’s boyfriend was here? In all fairness, it could have been far worse. Still, he was floored.

“Uh, not to sound rude or anything,” Alfie said, pushing himself to his feet as the melting ice ferociously nipped at his skin. “But what the fuck?”

“The fuck today is that your ass is in Ice Hell,” Adam said, pointing one bloody ice pick up towards the sky.

  At first the sky appeared to be filled with moons, hundreds upon hundreds of pale lunar shapes, some of which loomed so large over the horizon that collision seemed possible. However more scrutiny revealed them to planet-sized icebergs floating in a frigid voice. Titanic ice bridges stretched across the emptiness between some of the colossus ice shapes in the sky, forming a glittering lattice which refracted light in dizzying refractions, casting everything in an eternal glittering twilight.

“Thought you might be another demon or one of the heat-drinker corpses when I picked up your vibes,” the Hunter explained. “But hey man! You're alive and not a chest burster alien! Sweet!”

“Ice Hell,” scoffed Alfie. That was just his luck, wasn’t it?

As he wiped his damp hands against his jeans, Alfie’s gaze followed Adam’s gesture to the sky above. He had been so preoccupied earlier by how he was going to get back home that he didn’t even notice the moons gleaming above. It was beautiful — or as beautiful as a hell dimension could be; not that Alfie had any experience with them.

His eyes fell back on Adam as he let out a disgruntled sigh. The palms of his hands ached as a result of the ice melting beneath his touch, but at least he still had his life. All things considered, it could have been much worse. Like being impaled with one of the Hunter’s menacing ice picks.

“Yeah, for now,” Alfie huffed. “Appreciate the whole… not killing me thing.” The same could have been said even in White Crest. Why Nell thought dating a Hunter was a good idea was beyond him, but at least she’d managed to keep the Ramirez family secret under wraps for this long. Still, Alfie didn’t trust Adam as far as he could throw him — which meant he didn’t trust him at all.

“You don’t happen to know how to get the hell out of here, do you?”

“Neat trick,” Adam observed with feigned casualness as he watched the snow melt at Alfie’s touch. “How’re you doin that? It’d definitely save on hand warmers.”

“No problem man,” the arctic soldier replied with a grin, meeting Alfie’s barbed sarcasm with the blunt force of supposed earnestness. Adam had learned that passive aggressiveness was best met by taking everything they said literally. It was one of those private little games the footballer liked to play under the guise of thuggish dull-wittedness.

“Sure thing dude.” Adam took a few steps back and pointed up...and up….and up behind Alfie.

Both men stood in the shadow of a mountainous glacier. From the center of the behemoth mass of ice rose Voorhees Clocktower, towering above the demon wastes as if it were the last visible landmark of White Crest remaining after the Earth succumbed to polar night. Whether the frozen clocktower were some kind of copy or somehow an extension of their world into this dimension Adam couldn’t really say.

“The exit of this nut-freezer locker is at the top of the clocktower,” Adam supplied.

Leave it to Adam to notice the ice turn to slush at Alfie’s touch. He knew he needed to be careful about what he said to the other man, but finding the balance between an acceptable excuse and being suspicious was a difficult thing to manage. For a moment, Alfie considered lying that he was a spellcaster. He knew enough about them to potentially fake it, but he also had a feeling that Adam knew just as much — if not more — about spellcasters than he did.

“Trust me, it’s not that great,” Alfie answered dismissively. Regulating his body temperature was a helluva lot more difficult when his skin screamed out in pain from the damage the snow inflicted. On the other hand, if he didn’t regain some kind of control over it, he’d have much bigger problems than rousing Adam’s suspicions.

Alfie’s jaw dropped when Adam drew his attention to the clock tower. No way in hell — no pun intended — was he going to make it up there on his own. Especially not if he had more than being mistaken for a demon to be worried about. He remembered the mention of “heat-drinker corpses” and swallowed hard. So much for being alive.

“I’m gonna take a wild guess and say there’s not a bridge or anything up there, huh?” Alfie quipped. Wishful thinking. “Say, Adam… You’re not busy by any chance, are ya? I could use a tour guide if—” His words were abruptly cut by a blood-curdling screech. Eyes wide, Alfie froze.

“What the hell was that?” sputtered Alfie; the words jumbling together and coming out almost incomprehensible.

“One those No-face-yetis,” surmised Adam, without much sign of surprise.

The ravine walls merely came up to the hips of the figure that stepped down into the gulch, tall enough to easily discern at a distance. It seemed both skeleton and insectoid, a vague humanoid shape whose exposed bones seemed as much chitinous  exoskeleton as they were ossein. As the Hunter had said, the ‘Yeti’ had no facial features of any kind, only a long toothless slit down the entire center length of its body that parted and closed in long rasping breaths. Its arms hung down nearly to its feet, all its cadaverously slender limbs tipped with long claws that seemed merely an extension of its chitinous bones. Dark hair clung to the patches not covered in exoskeleton, forming a black mane that rippled in the arctic wind.

“I named that one Jasper-Rasper,” Adam informed Alfie, as if this were the most important point as he frantically motioned for Leah’s nerd brother to run like hell.

“No-face-yetis,” Alfie repeated; testing out the words to see if that would help them make more sense. It didn’t. Seeing the beast in the flesh was just as surreal. But he had to admit, Adam’s description was upsettingly accurate.

Alfie was already worse for wear. There were blisters forming on his hands where he pushed himself off of the ice; his elbows, too, were inflamed from the contact during his fall. But he had no intentions of dying — especially not here.

“You gave it a pet name?” he asked incredulously, shooting the other man a look of disbelief. “I’m not sure if that helps,” Alfie quipped. Either way, he wasn’t about to stand around long enough to find out. The moment Adam gestured in the opposite direction of ‘Jasper-Rasper’, Alfie pivoted sharply. The soles of his shoes disagreed with the texture of the ground as he ran back down the ravine.

Just when he thought he was safely out of reach, the earth trembled beneath him. Bleary eyes did their level best to concentrate on the path ahead. The way was blocked. Not by one, but two menacing creatures, far smaller in stature than the burly yeti. Alfie’s heart leaped into his throat and he skidded to a halt. Curious heads rose from the center of precariously slumped shoulders. For a moment, they didn’t seem to notice him standing frozen in his tracks. A cloud of smoke formed as Alfie’s breath mixed with the frigid air. Suddenly, the figures bolted towards him.

Without thinking, Alfie allowed adrenaline to take control of him. His arms raised, palms facing the pair of demons charging down the ravine. Flames sprouted from his fingertips and spread to his wrists. Alfie braced himself, daring them to come any closer. He couldn’t rely on Adam to save him. He wouldn’t. He was going to get the hell out of here and pull his own weight doing so.

Apparently Alfie was a grouchy charmander, but death was approaching too quickly for Adam to question it.

“Uh oh, Mantis Dogs, watch out for the grabby claws, they’ll pull you under and rip you apart with the other legs.”

The ‘Mantis Dogs’ in question were demonic hexapods with a pair of raised forelimbs. Their bodies were covered in shaggy fur whose extremely pale shade of blue  blended in well with the glacial ice of the ravine. Although their six legs were vaguely canine, the bone spurs on the back of their limbs were long and hooked for snagging prey in a deadly grapple. Drool dripped from eager panting mouths surrounded by a ring of faceted sapphire eyes. Spined raptorial legs like those of a mantid extended from the lesser demon’s hairy shoulders, lunging out at Adam as the closest of the insectile canines came within grabbing range.

Conscious of the giant faceless approaching them from the rear, Adam dropped to his knees as the demon’s mantid claw thrashed at the thin air where his shoulders had been moments before. The Hunter swung one of his ice picks and lodged it in the demon’s side, carved a long furrow that seeped noxious white blood as the creature’s momentum sent it careening past him.

Alfie hated it here. He hated the cold. He hated the snow. He hated the various hell-beasts there were wandering around that wanted to kill him. Not to mention that there were evidently monsters running around that fed off heat and would surely suck him dry.

As Adam effortlessly tussled with one of the Mantis Dogs, Alfie concentrated on the other. Clearly, the flames weren’t keeping either of the creatures away. He flinched as the second Mantis Dog lurched forward with bared teeth. Reflexively, Alfie flicked his wrists and two orbs of fire hurdled towards the beast just as it launched itself into the air for its attack.

Alfie stumbled backwards with labored breaths, narrowly dodging the marred body whirring past. The world around him was a blur and his heart pounded in his chest. Putting out that much energy was draining enough in a normal environment. But here? With his hands and elbows already blistered by the ice water, he was already weaker than usual.

The screams of the hexapod intermingled with the ringing of his ears. Slowly, Alfie’s eyes focused on the scene unfurling before him; a thrashing heap of flame and fur as the creature screeched in agony. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he admitted. His eyes fell back on Adam before he glanced over his shoulder to the faceless yeti behind them.

“What now?” he asked shrilly.

“Into the caves Charmander,” Adam shouted as he buried an ice-pick hilt deep in one of the Mantis Dog’s forelimbs and twisted the weapon. There was a sickening crack as the mantid claw snapped, dangling from a few tendons as the insectile canine howled in agony.

But pain shuddered up through Adam’s leg as he drove the other pick deep into one of the Mantis-Dog’s pupil-less blue eyes and kicked the creature off him. He looked down to see one of the demon’s hooted leg spurs had gotten him on the thigh. It was just a graze, but with how sharp demonic claws were that’d been more than enough to slice a laceration down his leg and rip open his arctic gear to the cold.

Shit shit shit, not good.

But a huge shadow fell over the ravine and Adam didn’t have time to think about that. A rush of displaced air let the Hunter know what was coming without having to look up.

“Alfie heads up!” Adam ignored the agony in shooting up his leg as he sprinted towards Leah’s dumbass brother. With no time to explain, the footballer slammed into Alfie with a full bodied tackle, slamming him against the ravine’s ice wall.

Jasper the Rasper’s taloned hand slammed down where both men had been seconds before. The impact of the giant’s blow carved a deep fissure into the ravine’s floor. More jagged ruptures spiderwebbed outward from the broken crater and shuddering cracks wracked the ice walls. For a moment all Adam could see was Jasper’s silhouette looming against the sky of drifting icebergs. Even while kneeling down in the aftermath of pile-driving a hole in the ice, this No-Face Yeti was easily the size of a Harris Island mansion, a rolling hill of insectile chitin and black fur. Jasper’s body-length mouth yawned open sideways, each gasping breath turning the ravine into a wind tunnel.

“C’mon,” shouted Adam over the thunderous rasping. “We gotta head into the caves,” he claimed, pointing to gaps in the ice at the clocktower glacier’s base.

Before Alfie could even wrap his head around being called “Charmander”, a searing pain wracked his entire body. Adam was on top of him faster than he could force his legs to run. The ice burned cold against his skin as Alfie, wheezing, struggled to his feet. If he had to guess, one or more of his ribs were broken and he’d need several weeks to properly heal from the water damage. But it was better than the alternative. Dying wasn’t on his itinerary — granted, neither was being sucked into another dimension made to kill him.

This was the second near-death experience he’d had in the past few weeks; third in the last couple of months. But at least his life still made a little bit of sense then. At least back then he still had his friends. It was bullshit. All of it. "This is bullshit," Alfie thought aloud. Eddie. Nell. Dying in general. Dying in Ice Hell with no one but Adam there to know about it.

Rage boiled inside of him as Alfie staggered forward. For a moment, no amount of broken bones seemed to matter. Flames licked at his skin — patches missing where the ice bit into him. Fuck this dimension. Fuck this yeti-looking son of a bitch. He was losing control.

In one final blow, Alfie hurled a massive ball of fire towards the giant’s feet, immediately regretting it when he nearly collapsed onto Adam. Panting, he braced the Hunter’s shoulder, never minding his scorched clothes or Adam’s own mangled clothing. “C’mon,” he tried to encourage as his feet feebly carried him forward. His head was swimming. He was weaker now than moments before. “I’m not dying here. Clocktower, right?” He could make it. He had to.

Jasper the Rasper’s thunderous gasps echoed after Adam as he led the way towards the caves. The Mantis Dogs had regrouped and gave chase across the shattered obstacle course of the ravine. Pain shot up Adam’s leg as he vaulted over toppled  ice shelves and fissures. He tried to make sure Alfie followed after him, though it was hard to concentrate on anything as the No-Face Yeti wrenched itself free of the ice and began moving with a strange rolling after the tiny thing that'd burned it.

Adam ducked into a vertical crevice in the ice, beckoning Alfie in as he slashed at the pursuing Mantis Dogs with his picks.

“I’m going to die in here, aren’t I?” Alfie asked once he was (somewhat) safely tucked away in the ice behind Adam. He was trembling from head to toe; his battered side screamed its pain while his ice-kissed skin told its own blistering tale. If the monsters of this dimension didn’t kill him, it wouldn’t take much for the Hunter to piece together what he was and finish the job himself. By now, the other man had seen enough of Alfie’s powers to have some inclination, and his skin burning from the slush of ice wasn’t doing him any favors. He briefly wondered if it would be better this way. At least then he wouldn’t have to worry about the curse awaiting him in the real world. “Don’t… don’t answer that,” he feebly amended.

When his eyes fell on Adam’s leg, Alfie’s stomach sank. He could fix that. At the very least, saving Adam might bring Nell back. “You’re looking for her, aren’t you?” Alfie asked, not bothering to elaborate. “I’m… I don’t think I can be of much use in here anymore, but I can try. Just… tell me what I need to do. What can I do?”

“Nah your sister would kill me if I let you die here, like...its super rare that fire chickens get to live with their kind or something like that,” Adam assured as he backed further into the cave system, keeping an eye on the wounded Mantis Dogs prowling around just outside the cavern’s entrance.

Alfie’s correct surmise drew a sidelong look from Adam followed by a nod. “Yeah, I’m trying to track the thing that took her,” the Hunter confirmed. “It’s a longshot but ….” He took off his googled helmet and ran a hand through sweaty brown hair. “Fuck its all I’ve got.”

Adam took a moment to consider Alfie’s offer, looked up towards where the cavern systems led up to the frozen clocktower and out to where demonic canines and a titanic yeti were raising hell. “First we need to get you out up to the Portal in the clocktower.”

Adam reached beneath his environment suit and undershirt, to pulled out a key on a length of cord. Comprised of scarlet coral, the key filled the cavern with a red bioluminescence that gleamed off the slick ice walls. “Our clues to whats going on a giant velvet worm that can go through dimensions, these keys, and the portals. I’m gonna keep looking for Nell but it won’t mean much if we don’t figure out how to seal the rifts.”

Adam placed the coral key back around his neck and tucked it underneath his clothing. “Honestly? Thats where folks back home could use the most help.”

Fire chickens. Oh, so Adam already knew. Alfie wasn’t sure whether he was more relieved or concerned, but ultimately decided that he was grateful. At least he didn’t have to keep worrying about slipping up in front of the Hunter. Leave it to Leah to inadvertently save the day.

As Alfie trailed close behind Adam, a frown formed on his face. After the uncomfortable conversation with Luce about Nell’s disappearance, Alfie thought it was best to back off entirely, but it didn’t stop him from worrying. Nell had been his best friend for years, after all. They may have had their own separate lives now, but he would never stop caring for her. “What exactly happened, anyway?” he ventured to ask. “I mean… What took her? Why?”

His eyes followed Adam’s gaze, falling on the clocktower that seemed all too far away at this point. If the other man had kept him alive this long, then Alfie just had to trust he knew what he was doing. Even still, he couldn’t stop thinking about Nell. What horrors was she facing where she was? Was she even still alive? It wasn’t fair that Adam would save him first.

Alfie scoffed at the idea of him being able to help close any godforsaken rifts. Until now, everyone had made it clear enough that things were under control. But weeks had passed since then and Nell still wasn’t home. It seemed hopeless. At least, that’s how Alfie saw it. “Yeah, I’ll— I’ll talk to Leah about it, then.” It was becoming a recurring theme these days.

“But what about those things?” Alfie practically shrieked, gesturing to the hellscape presently waiting for them. “How the fuck am I— are we supposed to get through that?”

“We were on our goodbye-it's-armageddon date when this portal opened up and evil alien gribblies everywhere,” Adam explained before lunging forward to swing an ice pick down at the clawed forelimb of a Mantis Dog that’d gotten to close inside the cave entrance. “We fought them and got the civilians to safety but a giant Hell Worm grabbed Nell when she was trying to close the portal.”

Adam nodded to one of the safety lines stacked to the wall that he’d set up earlier to spelunk his way up through the tunnel system. “I’ve set up lines that we can us to pull ourselves up to the clocktower. We’ll have to make it past Grabby Gabby, but it’s probably the fastest way home.”

Alfie’s brow raised at the mention of an armageddon date — a goodbye one at that. It was almost as if they were expecting to get themselves killed. But what did he know? If given the chance, Alfie would probably take the opportunity to spend time with someone he loved in the midst of the world crumbling, too. “A giant Hell Worm,” he tittered, running his palm down the length of his face. Knowing the nitty-gritty details of Nell’s disappearance didn’t make him feel any better. If anything, he felt worse.

“That sounds… dangerous,” Alfie remarked once Adam took the opportunity to explain his emergency route to safety. He felt drained enough as it was and heaving himself up the side of a cliff made out of frozen water didn’t sound ideal. What other choice did he have at this point? “After you, I guess.”

Adam produced a flashlight and affixed it to his helmet. He offered a carabiner to Alfie so that he might latch himself onto the safety line before beginning to climb hand over hand up the slick incline. He led the way up ice shelves and hacked his way through the perpetual forests of icicles that formed strange silent forests in the tunnels. The expeditioners’ reflections were cast in dim distortions through the caves, and Adam occasionally raised a hand for a halt and flicked off the light as much larger shapes momentarily drifted across the ice, or even directly through it in some cases.

“So, have you and Leah always been together? Did you like, rule Rome or something back in the day,” Adam asked as he washed a massive many-limbed shape swim through the ice below them as if where a whale drifting in the ocean.

Hooking himself onto the line behind Adam, Alfie cautiously trailed behind him. As much as he tried to mirror Adam’s every move, he couldn’t help but envision a tragic death for the both of them when his eyes wandered for too long. His knees buckled underneath him, threatening to make his fears become a reality before Adam spoke up.

“Not always, no,” Alfie mindlessly replied. His eyes shot back up to Adam on the line ahead of him once he realized he’d said too much. As far as Alfie was aware, Leah wasn’t privy to this sort of information herself. “I mean… we’ve been around each other for as long as I can remember, but unless one of our parents has something to hide, I think it’s safe to say we’re not fully related.” Alfie wasn’t sure if this was making things better or worse for his case.

“Like you said before, it’s pretty rare for… people like us to stick together.” Despite the fact that Adam knew, Alfie still couldn’t bring himself to say the word ‘phoenix’ in front of him. “Definitely didn’t rule ancient Rome together, though. I don’t think either of us have been around that long.” As grateful as Alfie was for the distracting conversation, he wasn’t particularly keen on discussing the nitty-gritty details of his heritage. Partially because most of what he did know was from stolen property, but also because it only begged more questions about why he was fated to die sooner than the rest of his family.

“I am much disappoint,” pronounced Adam with false solemnity, “I was all ready to here the secret history of Emperor Phoeligula….Chickligula?...Spartunix?”

The spelunkers no longer how to crouch as they passed into a cave that abruptly expanded into a vaulted ceiling of  stalactites that glittered like crystal chandeliers in the lamplight.  The cavern’s sweeping floor was riven by jagged fissures tens of feet in width with the spider-webbing cracks of impact that expanded outward from the far side. It was as if something massive had exploded into this part of the glacier but time and relentless arctic conditions had frozen it over. At the far end of the cavern was an ornate door set in worked stone, a mirrored entrance to Voorhees Clocktower

“Well here we are….gotta see if Grabby Gaby is up.”

For a moment, Alfie stared at Adam incredulously before murmuring a soft, “Uhhh…” But as he heaved himself onto more solid ground, he chose to drop the subject altogether. “Trust me, if I remember anything like that, I’ll hit you up,” he stated instead.

With a quick look around, Alfie shirked away. He’d been so eager to get out of this hellscape the moment he arrived, yet even with the exit in sight, something felt off. The first time Adam mentioned ‘Grabby Gabby’, Alfie falsely assumed that it was yet another affectionate nickname for one of the beasts he’d already been introduced to. Now he was much less certain. “Let me guess,” he said, taking a few uncertain steps forward. “Gabby isn’t as social as Jasper? But still has a tendency to not let any houseguests leave?”

“Pretty much” Adam looked at the fissures for a time before turning back to Alfie. “Do you have any fireballs left in you?”

Great, Alfie thought. That was reassuring. “Maybe one or two,” he reluctantly replied. His palms turned upwards as he gave Adam a shrug. Better to save his energy for when it counted most. “Just tell me when.”

Adam motioned for Alfie to follow after re-bandaging his leg with some cloth from his bag, trying to staunch the wound enough to make the run.

Adam wove a precarious path among the ice fissures as black tentacles exploded upward. Each of the sinuous limbs were covered by electric blue fern-like structures instead that splayed out into delicate coils. The tentacles snaking after Adam, their bioluminescent fern hairs incandescently beautiful in the darkness. Soon they seemed to be running through a rubbery forest of black trees with glowing frond branches.

“If you have any fire left that’d be great,” shouted Adam as he sliced open tentacles with scything swings of his picks.

As soon as Adam kicked it into gear, hulking into the face of danger, Alfie followed suit. But nothing had prepared him for the mass of tendrils awaiting them. Had it not been for Adam’s exhortation, he would have frozen amongst the beast’s tentacles and met his fate. “Yeah, yep… workin’ on it!” he called back. Mustering whatever energy he had left in him, Alfie willed his hands to spark.

Alfie narrowly dodged a glittering pillar of black that whirred past him, just before releasing a fiery orb, striking further down the monster’s tentacle. There wasn’t much time for him to recoup. With the clock-tower well within his sights, he had to push himself. He might not be able to save Nell, but he could at least live another day to see her, and help get Adam to safety in the process.

Another ball of fire shot from the palm of his hand as he weaved through it, jumping over the beast’s appendages as needed. “What’s the situation over there?” Alfie croaked, trying his level best to keep his voice free of desperation.

“Go go go! She’s a c’moning oh shit!

Adam carved a path of blue blood through the forest of tentacles, ducking away from the impacts of Alfie’s fireballs before charging though the withered stumps to those closer to the door. But the cavern kept filled with more and more undulating coils and glowing cilia ferns as Grabby Gabby’s true horrific body began to emerge from the depths of the fissures.

“Don't look back, just go!”

Adam desperately beckoned Alfie through the door as tendrils slithered greedily after. He slammed it shut just as the cavern filled with a sound like the wind screaming as it was cut into pieces.

[brilliantt]

Mouse - part one 

Summary: Maggie Shelby isn’t like her brothers or sister, being quiet and studious she often struggles to fit in. When money gets stolen and she is accused will she stick around and continue to be outcast in her family?

A/N: this is my first fic ever and im nervouss! l love reading peaky blinder fics and thought i’d give it a go. I plan on this being a series loosely based between series 3 and 4, loosely because I haven’t watched the series in a while and it won’t follow every single event. In this chapter we can see her close relationship with John, my fave Shelby boy :))

It was undeniable that Maggie - or Mags, as kept John insisting- was in fact a Shelby. While Finn could perhaps be mistaken with his ginger hair, inherited from their mother’s side, Maggie could almost be Ada’s or Tommy’s twin with her dark curls and blue eyes. While her appearance screamed SHELBY, her attitude whispered it. Maggie wasn’t loud like Arthur or confident like John. Nor was she determined like Tommy nor rebellious like Ada. And she certainly couldn't have fun like her twin. Maggie was a mouse in the Shelby zoo: uninteresting and forgettable. The way she liked it. For Maggie, if she could spend the day in her room, reading books and being out of the way from her family’s ruckus below, it was a day well spent.  

Of course this never sat well with her family, least of all John who was no doubt the most outgoing brother. John was undeniably her favourite brother, but right now as he dragged Maggie around the market, the one they’ve spent hours at already, she couldn’t help but wonder why she favoured him. The sound of her feet stumbling were drowned out by the bustle of deals and bargaining. Her vision blocked by the numerous products shoved in her face by the vendors. The maze cleared finally when John stopped at another stall. 

His lips pursed, the toothpick that Maggie hated jutted out as his eyes scanned the products in front of him. It wasn’t long before he huffed and turned to Maggie who he noticed was distracted by a scuffle between two young boys. He flicked her neck and muttered “You gonna help me pick or what?” Maggie brought her fingers to ease the slight pain in her neck and frowned at John, “She’s your wife John, shouldn��t you know what she likes?” Her eyes flickered on the assortment of jewellery in front of her. She scrunched her nose up. The glitter of the jewels gave her no interest and it was clear John felt the same.

“I know fuck all, Mags, i just know Esme likes shiny shit, and it’s your job to pick something she likes enough to get me out of the doghouse, eh?” He wiped his brow. Maggie stared at her brother, feeling annoyed that he dragged her out here, from her very busy schedule of staying in her room to make this decision, something he could easily do.  “So if I pick something, I can go back to the house and you’ll leave me alone?” John smirked at her, raised one eyebrow and nodded once. With a new determination, Maggie took a closer look at the array in front of her, trying to decide if Esme would prefer a ring or a necklace. “What did you even do?” She asked her eyes stilling on one ring in particular, a thick gold band with a dull black stone- one of the simple ones among the shine of gems. When John didn’t answer she turned to him with the ring in her hand, “Doesn’t matter,” he shrugged, and Maggie rolled her eyes. He frowned at the ring she chose.“That’s fucking ugly.”

Her mouth opened with shock, “You asked me to pick, John!” She cried in defense. He took the ring from her and studied it closer, he smirked again before saying  “Fuck sake, Arthur would have been better at this!” This made Maggie frown further and cross her arms, she resisted stomping her feet, remembering his constant teasing when she did it the last time.

“Don’t get it then.” She huffed.

“Nope, I’m getting it,” John grinned,  “and when Esme hates it and kicks me out, I can come and annoy you all day because it's your fault that you picked such an ugly ring.” Maggie pouted as John handed it to the vendor, who in turn placed it in a paper bag and accepted the coins handed to her. While she was annoyed that John bought it, she couldn't help but feel relief that they would now leave the market. 

As John led her away through the stalls, this time letting her walk without his hand gripping her arm, Maggie couldn’t help lingering by a stall selling beautiful leather journals. She watched the seller show one off to a smartly dressed man- something hard to come by in Small Heath- flicking through the blank pages and letting him feel the luxurious cover. Maggie sighed dreamily, while the jewellery didn’t hold her attention, these books certainly did, wishing she owned one since her last birthday, although she was too scared to ask due to the impressive price tag attached. 

“You want anything Mags?” The hand John placed on her back made her jump, she looked at him and shook her head to say no, letting John to guide her in the direction of the house, allowing herself one last glance at the stall. 

----

Maggie had managed to avoid everyone the next day, in favour of finishing her latest novel and studying from her school books. The sandwich that her Aunt Polly had made her for lunch stayed half eaten and forgotten next to her on her desk as the afternoon turned to evening. Maggie was so engrossed in her arithmetic book- the subject she favoured and excelled at- that she didn’t hear her door open behind her, with footsteps following. “I think you’re the only Shelby who’d rather fucking do schoolwork than drink a whiskey with the rest of us, Mags.” She jumped in her seat and gasped at the interruption, huffing at the ink she spilled on the page. “Well, I don’t like whiskey John.” Her brother stumbled back, placing one hand on his chest, the other hidden behind his back. “Fuck’s sake, you might as well rip my heart out and stomp on it.” Maggie rolled her eyes at her brother's antics and tried to hide the smile that only John could rise from her. 

“Did Esme kick you out? Is that why you’re bothering me again?” Maggie smirked cheekily at John. “Oi, watch yourself,” He pointed his finger at her, “actually Esme loved the ring and she was soo happy that she jumped right on top of me and-”

“Ah!” Maggie quickly put her hands to her ears, knowing the direction of the conversation, “Stop John! Stop talking right now!” Her brother grinned widely. He reached one hand to put her arms back down, “Since you picked the ring so well, I thought I’d get you a little reward.” Maggie eyed him skeptically, it wasn't often John gave thoughtful gifts. Normally the only ‘gifts’ he gave her were spiders on her bed or salt in her water. John’s other hand appeared from behind his back and he shoved a rectangular shaped package into Maggie’s lap. “What is it?” Her tone held only suspicion. Her fingers smoothed over the paper wrapping. At John’s nod of encouragement she carefully pulled at the wrapping until it came apart. The paper crinkled as she pushed it away to reveal a leather book she immediately recognised. Her mouth parted, fingers dancing over the high quality of the pages. “You know, most people would be saying thank you by now…” John knew when he saw Maggie ogling the book stall that this gift would be appreciated, however, what he didn’t expect was his sister to bound into him for the tightest hug he thought he’d ever receIved. It wasn’t a common occurrence for Maggie to initiate any sort of affection- leaving him and Arthur to treat her as if she was a doll and they were little five-year old girls. Knowing this, he quickly returned the embrace with an equal amount of force. “You like it then Mags?” 

“Like it? John this is the best thing I’ve ever been given...thank you!” John chuckled and couldn’t wait the gloat to the rest of his brothers. “But, it.. It must have cost a fortune John.” John pulled back from the hug and saw the worry in his sister’s eyes. “Yeah, well we don’t have to worry about that anymore, eh? The Shelby’s can afford to buy a hundred of them books and then a hundred more.” He put a gentle hand on her shoulder, “You want something you just gotta ask, right?” She nodded but John rolled his eyes knowing she wouldn’t ask for anything. He removed his hands and went to leave her room. 

“You know what this means though?” Maggie looked up from the new book at John who stood by the door. She frowned in confusion and shook her head, “No, what does this mean?”

John grinned. “It means that since I bought you this very nice present, I’m allowed to bother you as much as I like and you have to do exactly what I tell you until.. Well, until forever.” John left the room before Maggie could even comprehend what he said.

“What?” She said in disbelief, “That is not what that means!” She called out and when John did not respond her eyes widened, “John? That’s not what it means!” 

John chuckled to himself and finished walking down the stairs, looking forward to bugging his sister again tomorrow to find another apology gift for Esme. 

-NEXT-

[tyunniverse]

TXT x DISNEY Halloween Shorts 🎃 (4/5)

pairing: ot5 x reader

genre: fluff, crack, college au

warnings: light swearing

synopsis: there's a halloween event at your uni and a few students are in the mood for misfit.

yeonjun | soobin | beomgyu | taehyun | hueningkai

TAEHYUN | Sleeping Beauty (2.5k)

The sky had turned dark, not a single star in sight, covered by ominous looking clouds that helped set the atmosphere for tonight's grandeur. Sunset came about an hour ago. Everyone was scattered around enjoying the festivities, trying out different booths and events that were held by the different departments. But Taehyun wanted none of that.

The bags under his eyes and the ever present frown on his face made it obvious enough. He'd been working his ass off for days for their department's event— delegating tasks, going back and forth for supplies, decorating their venue, advertising, assisting a few students with their script— Taehyun could go on and on. He looks up at the venue from where he sat, frowning as he reads the sign he made and put up at the entrance: FRIGHT MANSION. He wasn't too fond of the name but everyone else thought otherwise.

The walls of the building had aged with time, sporting numerous cracks and holes. Amateur graffiti lined the entrance up until the doors that were previously barred shut. Taehyun figured there was probably more at the back but didn't care much to actually check. Moss and overgrown weed poked out of the ground, adding to the dilapidated building's charm. The place had a reputation of being haunted but Taehyun never believed in that, but it did turn out to be quite the efficient marketing scheme, drawing in daring students like moths to a flame. He'd wondered whose brilliant idea it was to get permission to use the old Nursing Department building. Oh, right. It was his.

The old wooden bench creaks as Taehyun lies down, propping his head up his backpack that he'd turn into a makeshift pillow. The leaves above his head sway with the breeze. The rustling of the trees made the chattering and screams from the inside almost inaudible. Almost.

Taehyun made full use of the bench that's situated farthest from the venue, taking the time to get some well-deserved shuteye before someone comes and ruins his beauty sleep over something stupid like someone's costume catching fire. The thought rings in his mind, the likelihood of that scenario was far too plausible for his liking. His eyes flutter shut, shuffling from side to side to find a better sleeping position before settling on the one he first had earlier.

A strong breeze sneaks up on Taehyun, making him wrap his arms around himself as he shivered. He recalls fumbling to wear anything he got his hands on before rushing back to school. A little thought would've been nice while putting on his outfit, by then he would've settled on a few layers of clothing rather than a simple loose sweater. Another blow of a breeze makes him frown.

No matter. He's slept under worse conditions.

"Sure is cold tonight, huh." You say, adjusting the box of glitter containers in your hands as you rush to catch up with your friend, Yugyeom, who was carrying less than you were. You curse the difference in length between your legs and his— Yugyeom's being longer than yours, allowing him to take larger steps. It didn't help that he was a fast walker too.

"Yup, sure is." He says, sparing you a glance. "Which is why we should hurry this up. I don't want to get scolded twice for being late with the delivery because of your tiny legs." And with a snort, he speeds up. You roll your eyes.

The crunching sound of dead leaves beneath your feet alerts the two of you that you're nearing the old Nursing Department building. A cool breeze rolls in, somehow cooler now that you were in an area with lots of trees. You've been here before, once, with Yugyeom. It was for a stupid college party dare he'd made with his friends, and he forced you to come with.

The two of you pass the wide opening, the path towards the building showing up in your peripheral vision. From where you were, you could see the brught graffiti plastered around the walls. A quick scan and you spot the one Yugyeom had made for the dare— a simple sign saying: GYEOM WAS HERE, huge enough for his friends to spot from afar the next day to see if he really did it.

You chuckle, remembering how dumb he looked when he accidentally sprayed some paint over his shirt. "Hey, Yugyeom, remember when—" A stronger breeze blows by before you could finish, whipping your hair in front of your eyes. This wouldn't have been a problem if your hands were free to remove the obstacle from your face.

"Shit." You curse under your breath when you stumble against something hard. You feel a little light-headed as your feet move to regain your balance, unfortunately the attempt doesn't do much for you as the contents of the box spills, the containers of glitter rolling away from you faster than you could catch up to Yugyeom. Speaking of your friend.

"Yugyeom, wait!" You let the empty box fall, your hands rushing up to brush the hair out of your face as you whipped around. The familiar clown outfit you'd been following since the beginning of the night was long gone. You almost felt a little betrayed if you hadn't remembered how he got chewed out the last time he was late because of you. "You're not even gonna help me pick these up?!" You yell, hands slowly rubbing against each other to combat the cold wind. As you expected, you're greeted with silence. Well, almost silence. You jump as you hear a blood-curdling scream coming from inside the building, your balled fists immediately shooting up in self defense. Not like it mattered. Punching a ghost in the face didn't seem possible in the first place.

The rustling trees greet you as you slowly flutter your eyes open, taking the time to adjust to the darkness before you can start to make out the form of the building, and on the second floor, light. You breathe a sigh of relief, a smile forming on your face as you remembered that there was a Haunted house event going on right here and now. Definitely made the place seem a lot less creepy, you thought.

A few sparkling dusts in the air catches your attention and you're immediately brought back to reality— the harsh reality of you getting yelled at by a fuming Jinyoung when he finds out that half of the glitter he had you buy was now spread all over the mossy landscape of an abandoned building rather than the cute little treat shop your class had worked hard to build. Yeah, good luck to you.

You feel the grass prick against your knees as you bent down to pick up the containers that still had most of their glitter on, taking two trips from where they spilled to the box that you'd left behind at the opening. There was no way you'd start carrying that thing around while you cleaned up. If any of the glitter spills again, you wouldn't know what to do. Well, you would, but it would be too much of a hassle to clean up after yourself all over again.

Lastly, you settle for the piles of glitter scattered around the area. Some were spread around in bundles, some were tedious to scoop up since they were scattered too far apart, and some were sticking to the moss and mud, to which you've decided to leave alone. You've never had a good relationship with moss and you tried your best to keep your hands and feet away from it as much as possible. Just the thought of feeling the nasty thing with your own hands had your skin crawl. So that's that, no touching glitter covered moss for tonight.

You continue your endeavors, following the sparkling trail until it led you to one if the benches. Specifically, the person lying down on the said bench. Even more specific, that person's face— his face that's covered with a pile glitter.

Another breeze comes swooping in and hold your hands close together. Your eyes widen when the pile of glitter that was resting comfortably on his cheek was now spread throughout his face. At this point, trying to get the glitter back wasn't even an option. You frown, crouching down to take a closer look at your poor accidental victim.

His hair was sticking out on different angles, his lips dry from the cold, his outfit loose and thin, completely inappropriate for the weather and arguably the spirit of Halloween. You couldn't help but compare your matching clown costume with Yugyeom to this guy's sorry excuse of a Halloween getup. But upon closer inspection, you recognize who this was.

You didn't know his name, just that he was the one in charge of the Haunted house event going on behind you. You'd run into him a couple of times while purchasing supplies downtown. He looked even more tired after each encounter. Looking at his peaceful resting face and how underdressed he was, you figured he must've reached his limit. He was tired, understandably so, and you just spilled glitter over his face. He wasn't going to be happy when he wakes up and gets some of this stuff in his eyes.

Another gust of wind blows past you and an idea sparks in your head. "Just gotta be careful."

There's a tingling sensation on Taehyun's face and it's certainly not welcome. For one, it broke his beauty nap. And two, there is no number two— irritation taking over his mind as he finds himself shifting his full focus on number one. At first, he decides to ignore it, trying to go back to sleep despite the uncomfortable feeling on his face. But then he notices something strange.

He tries his best to stay still, refusing to move and open his eyes. He realizes that the tingling sensation was quite similar to the breeze that kept passing by, except that it's smaller and somehow warm? He couldn't really explain. He just knows that it's uncomfortable and roaming all over his face. And that's when it hits him.

This place was rumored to be haunted.

Goosebumps spread all over his body. The sensation almost felt like there's someone breathing on his face. No, not breathing. Something stronger. The thought alone was enough for Taehyun's eyes to shoot open, quickly prompting him to get up until halfway, his lips brush against something soft and warm.

"HOLY SHIT." was the first thing he heard after being pushed back down on the bench.

His body stiffens, completely stunned. And he wasn't the only one. In front of him was a complete stranger in an unflattering clown suit, staring back at him with equal shock and terror as their hands cupped their mouth. Taehyun isn't quite sure, but he swore he saw a pink blush spread across your cheeks.

He eyes how your hands are still covering half of your face, slightly shaking. A breeze passes by, seemingly reminding you two that it was the main villain for tonight. Taehyun shivers in the cold and is then briefly reminded of the sensation earlier, a warm blowing. "You," He looks up at you, a concerned look on his face. "Why are you here? What were you doing to me earlier?"

"GLITTER." You scramble to your knees, trying to gather any left over glitter from before to show as proof. Managing to get a few, you quickly hold it up to his face. "I— well, you see. Glitter. Yes, glitter." You wanted to slap yourself for failing to be coherent during the time you needed it most. "I accidentally spilled glitter all over the place and some happened to land on your face so, yeah, I don't really know why I even did it in the first place but yeah.. I started blowing on your face to get the glitter off and— oh!" You grin once you realized that his face was now glitter free, well, except for his lips. "Looks like it worked out fine anyway."

Taehyun couldn't help but look at you as if you were crazy. Here you were dressed up as a clown and reacting to your own explanation. He sighs, the bench creaking when he moves to sit up properly. "So, you were behind that weird sensation on my face earlier?"

"Weird sensation?" Your brows raise. "Oh, the blowing? Pretty much, yeah."

"And the soft feeling.." Taehyun stops himself after piecing things together. His hand shoots up to his lips on instinct, his cheeks flushed as he watched you slowly stand up. "Did we?"

"Yeah."

"When I—"

"When you tried getting up."

The leaves rustle and one falls off its branch and lands straight on Taehyun's head. He brushes it off. "Sorry for that."

"No, no! I should be the one saying sorry. I accidentally spilled glitter all over you and even ruined your sleep. Your reaction was totally normal and it just happened coincidentally."

Taehyun could only nod. He had to admit, his mind wasn't 100% present at the moment but he could at least process what had just happened. He looks down, noticing the containers of glitter by your side. "Do you still need help?"

"With that?"

"Gathering the glitter."

"Oh, no. I'm actually done."

"Well, then what d—"

"Taehyun!"

Both of your attention shifts towards one of the windows on the second floor. There, a group of students were frantically waiving at Taehyun. He could sense it. The panic in their movements, how some of the staff were running around aimlessly in the hallway— he'd predicted it all earlier. He just thought nobody was careless enough to actually set their costume on fire in a venue that's only filled with fake candles, but they keep proving him wrong.

"I think they need you." You say, feeling sorry that he had to go back to his duties after everything that went on.

"More than I need them." Taehyun sighs, getting up from his seat. He doesn't bother to pack up his belongings, merely stretching out his body before turning back to you. He notices your eyes on his bag and he reassures you that no one's going to want to approach a shady looking bag in front of a creepy building at night. At least, not while he's around.

"Sorry again." You say as he slowly made his way to the building. "I'll make it up to you somehow."

Taehyun pauses. "What's the glitter for?"

"Oh, it's for our Halloween treat shop."

You blink as Taehyun turns to face you. You half expected him to smile or something, but he only continued to look at you with the same tired eyes from earlier. "If you want to make it up to me for ruining my sleep, then wait for me here."

"Huh?"

"We'll go to your little shop together once I'm done." He says, now smiling. "And you're going to treat me to everything I want."

[ruensroad]

Kissing Snowflakes

I’m glad I’m not the only RenCheng/QiCheng fan <3

Part one here.

In Lan Qiren’s office, in a place of honor above his desk, was a small fountain. Ornately crafted from jade and painstakingly repaired with gold, it stood as a testament to many things: Lan Qiren’s affections for Jiang Fengmian, the long standing respect between their sects, the destruction and rebuilding of the Jiang and, in many ways, Jiang Cheng’s own affections given right back.

He hadn’t had to give it back. It had been a wedding gift from Lan Qiren to his parents, and Jiang Fengmian had cherished it. Even broken jade had been valuable to the Wens, who’d stored it away in their treasure trove. Jiang Cheng had taken it back with the rest of his home. It was a part of Lotus Pier as much as he was. Had been there even longer than he had been. 

But he’d repaired it and given it back. Had seen the way Lan Qiren’s eyes had shown with unspoken tears and a thousand words. Jiang Cheng had pledged himself as the new Jiang Sect leader before him, pledged his loyalty to the Lan clan, and that enduring friendship carried over by generations before. He knew it’d been the right move and the softness that had captured Lan Qiren, the sorrow and gratitude, was forever seared in Jiang Cheng’s mind.

He hadn’t known it at the time, but that was the beginning of all his problems.

The fountain was there each time they met for tea and go, sitting on the shelf always polished to perfection. Even if Lan Qiren were the kind  of man to allow dust to collect, Jiang Cheng was certain it would be the only artifact up there utterly spotless. Lan Qiren was a meticulous man, clean and tidy, a study of restraint, and yet Jiang Cheng would argue that the fountain seemed almost over polished, too clean. He didn’t have the heart to ask why.

Because, in truth, he was scared of the answer.

Scared, and overthinking. Gusu was cold always, but in winter it was like walking into a sheet of ice. Very beautiful ice, to be sure, but still. Fuck. 

Jiang Cheng shivered as he walked the veranda around the guest house he’d been given to use. It was large and spacious, with a wonderful heater and soft bed - a match made in heaven for someone that had a demanding five year old to put to bed. Jin Ling had fallen asleep in a cocoon of blankets on a daybed near the fire and Jiang Cheng’s sharp hearing could still hear his childish snores. The night was calm and silent, with fluffy flakes of falling snow dotting the night like stars. Given the stars were covered with clouds, it gave the effect of stardust, and he breathed in the peace that thought brought him.

Jin Ling’s snore cut out as the boy shifted, and Jiang Cheng tensed, waiting to be called in to fight nightmares, but the boy simply fussed in his blankets for a moment, then his tiny noises started up again. Jiang Chen breathed out with him, the gentlest, most secret of smiles on his lips, and he resumed his patrol around the rooms, taking in the snow and the silence of the night.

He was aware of Lan Qiren before Lan Qiren realized he’d seen him, given the elder still cleared his throat to announce himself. Jiang Cheng was surprised to see him awake, given there was a rule about that, and off the beaten path under a persimmon tree behind the guest house, his hair unadorned and loosely tied, and there was certainly a rule about that too. One Jiang Cheng’s own lack of finery and his simple braid had broken.

“Old Master,” he greeted, sending one last look towards the rooms before stepping down from the veranda. It was strange, approaching the man like this, like it was a secret meeting and not just two men awake too late meeting off chance. Perhaps it was because Lan Qiren, for once, was not harsh in his ornate robes, every line of him perfect and in place. His robes were fine and the fur soft, but it was, without a doubt, the least put together he’d ever seen Lan Qiren, and he’d known the man on the battlefield.

Jiang Cheng was far less dressed, in a mere few layers for sleeping, but with a single spark of Zidian, his core ignited with fire and electricity to warm him, every breath he took glittering with misted qi. Lan Qiren stared at him a long moment, and he wondered if, perhaps, the man’s teacher senses were tingling, that somehow he knew Jiang Cheng had been breaking rules and had come to lecture him. The thought was more amusing than anything and he felt himself soften, especially when Lan Qiren didn’t bother with a bow of greeting. 

Somewhere in all their meetings, they’d lost that stiff formality and titles had warmed into fond jokes. Jiang Cheng could say he didn’t have many by way of true friends, but he counted Lan Qiren amongst the ones he did have. There was a warmth in him that grew each time they were together, and it was worryingly insistent now seeing the snowflakes dotting the older man’s hair.

“Sect Leader.” There was something wry in the way Lan Qiren said it, voice low and proper. He held up a persimmon like it wasn’t breaking two other rules to do so and Jiang Cheng took it gladly.

“So, what brings Old Master out on this fine day?” Jiang Cheng asked, as close to teasing as he ever got, and bit into the fruit. It was partially frozen, which added a delightful texture and coolness to the bite he took. He closed his eyes a moment to savor how it tasted, then refocused on the man, who was looking at him with that same, almost bewildered sort of fondness in his eyes. “With the sun so bright.”

The moon was nearly full, which added to the joke. It was bright enough, even with the fog of snow, to light up Lan Qiren clearly, even if it was more of a blur, like the way light played through tears. It made him almost ethereal in the way Lan Qiren never was, and Jiang Cheng found himself staring at the way the moonlight gleamed on his forehead ribbon, shiny with melted snow.

There were snowflakes on the man’s lashes, he realized, and felt his heart skip. Worrying, that.

“I was about to ask Sect Leader Jiang the same,” Lan Qiren said, huffing in his usual way and reaching up for another persimmon. He was a tall, lean man, taller than Jiang Cheng, but the persimmons were higher. With a flick of his wrist, one fell neatly into his palm and Jiang Cheng’s breath caught. 

Lan Qiren had long, slender fingers and they wrapped around the fruit with ease. His thumb moved a slow circle on the frosted, waxy surface. Jiang Cheng’s mind whirled with each thoughtful revolution back to the too polished fountain with its too polished golden cracks, and looked down at his bitten persimmon with heat in his neck.

Overthinking, for sure. He wanted to kick himself. Of all the people to feel warm for, Lan Qiren had never even been on the list. And now here he was, feeling like a caught schoolboy with a crush. He had to concentrate hard from clenching his fist around the fruit and ruining it. He bit into it instead.

“Thinking too much, and I do like snow, for all I complain about the cold. What’s your excuse?” Jiang Cheng told him easily and fell into step with him at the barest tilt of Lan Qiren’s head. He was led down a faint path between the trees where the snow was more like a blur now, simplifying the world into shapes and colors. White, black, purple. Persimmon orange and red. 

He had to step closer to Lan Qiren to see him clearly and felt their sleeves brush. Lan Qiren paused in the snow and Jiang Cheng matched him, watching him through the veil of white.

“Thinking too much,” Lan Qiren echoed him, and Jiang Cheng was certain there was a smile on the man’s face that wasn’t just a trick of shadows and snow. “I enjoy the snow as well, including the cold. Gege and I spent many wayward nights like this stealing fruit.”

The fondness in the man’s voice did things to Jiang Cheng’s heart he had no right to feel, or so he told himself. He took a final bite of the persimmon and let the leafy top fall to the ground. In the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of orange touch Lan Qiren’s lips and wondered of impossible things. 

He reached for another persimmon to district himself and reached out with his core to Jin Ling, feeling the soothing ease of the boy’s body in sleep. It made him brave, as only a child’s love could, and he found himself smiling.

The persimmon twisted free in his fingers and he considered it, as well as Lan Qiren’s words. To his dismay, the thought of a tiny Lan Qiren running amok and breaking rules only furthered the warmth in his heart, and as he took a bite of his persimmon, he prayed the feelings would flee, lest they kill him.

“Old Teacher admits to rule breaking?” he asked, amused, and to his surprise he was scoffed at, coupled with the barest bump of an elbow against his own. 

“And no one will believe you,” Lan Qiren said to that, smug, and of course he had the right of it. Jiang Cheng couldn’t help but laugh.

It was a low chuckle, the best he could do, but still it got him a chuckle in return. Once more his heart wished for impossible things and once more he smashed the hope into obedient silence. It was not for him to want more than what he already cherished with Lan Qiren, so he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

But it was there, in each fallen flake in the man’s hair, the kiss of fruit sliding against lips, the warmth and trust between them that spoke of respect and everything Jiang Cheng had fought to have in the world. Who was he to want more?

Loving Lan Qiren was like kissing snowflakes. Romantic in ideal, but impossible in practice. He was not nearly worthy enough to try. It would be too strange, too ruinous to what they had, and Jiang Cheng had ruined enough in his life. He wasn’t about to throw away such a good thing.

Even if it killed him, to keep even this was worth it. It had to be.

[jengajives]

The Fëanorians are very lacking in social skills.

“Nelyo!”

The voice was about the last one he wanted to hear, and he immediately stiffened as a panic tore through him like wildfire. He fumbled for a moment before practically ripping his hair out of its braids, letting it fall loose to hopefully cover up his neck. He spun, leaning back against the silvery anvil, hands behind him and trying hard to look casual.

“Father!” Maedhros squeaked, then cleared his throat and tried again. “Father! I thought you were at the feast. What are you-“

“I saw that bright-eyed rat slinking out of here,” Fëanor seethed as he stepped down into the forge. He was dressed in his ceremonial clothing and glittered with the rubies sewn into his robe; the array of dazzling gems set in his headdress might it very difficult to look at him directly in the eyes. Not that Maedhros wanted to do that at the moment. Fëanor glanced around warily, and then fixed his eldest in his gaze. “I think he was trying to steal something. You didn’t see him, did you?”

“Who?” Maedhros squeaked again, and cursed his voice for being so easily worn.

“The Valar’s pet snake,” Fëanor answered hotly. “That Melkor creature. Was he here?”

Maedhros’s gaze slid to the sword his father had taken to wearing, and he swallowed.

“Melkor? Oh, no. I haven’t seen him.”

Fëanor huffed haughtily, and started to walk around the workshop examining all his projects to ensure that nothing had been touched. “That slime is getting far too comfortable around here. I think it’s Fingolfin giving him ear, making him feel like he has the right to slink around like one of our own.”

“You really think Uncle would do that?” Maedhros asked, trying hard to sound casual, though he’d started sweating. “We all know how much you hate Melkor. I don’t think anyone in Tirion would indulge him, Uncle least of all.” A bead of sweat dripped off the tip of his nose but he caught it before it could plink on the floor.

“You have too much faith in him,” Fëanor spat. Once he finished examining all his works, he finally turned to focus on his son- exactly what Maedhros had been dreading.

He swallowed hard and tried not to look guilty, but Fëanor’s gaze was like a beam he couldn’t squirm away from, slowly peeling the skin away from him until his heart was open and exposed.

A frown crossed his father’s grim face.

“What’s this?”

He motioned directly to where Maedhros knew there had to be bruises blossoming dark alongside his throat, and everything went very dry.

“What do you mean?” he choked. Fëanor narrowed his eyes, then spoke slowly.

“You’re seeing someone.”

“N-No!”

“Don’t lie, Nelyo. Everyone knows you’ve been acting strange lately. Sneaking off all the time, daydreaming, now this...” He shook his head and a flicker of flame lit behind his pale silver eyes. “Who is it?”

“F-Father...” Maedhros stumbled over an excuse, mind desperately trying to conjure any explanation, anything that wasn’t “I’ve been sleeping with Melkor, the creature you hate most out of all existence, Father. Sorry!” Nothing would come to mind. Nothing he could say to avert this crisis.

“I-I was going to tell you,” he finally choked, but his pathetic sob was stoppered as his father unexpectedly clapped him on the back.

“Ingwion is very lucky,” Fëanor was saying. “You know he talks about you all the time. It’s really not much of a secret.”

“Ingwion?” Maedhros repeated, then abruptly collected himself and began to nod heartily. “Yes. Yes! Ingwion. I’ve been seeing him, but we’ve kept it secret. I just... I don’t want the others to know. I don’t think Curufin would like it very much if he knew. You understand though, don’t you, Father?”

“You are a silly boy,” Fëanor said scoldingly. “It’s a smart match. Anyone would approve. Though I have to warn you to be cautious with the golden-hairs; don’t let him go telling you lies about the Valar.”

“Of course, Father,” Maedhros choked, head spinning. He got another clap on the shoulder that made his whole body flinch.

“Good lad. Your mother is going to be very proud.”

“My mother,” he repeated numbly. “Yes. Of course everyone will want to know...”

Oh, dear.

“I’m very happy for you, Nelyo,” called Fëanor as he mounted the stairs again. “And keep an eye out for the rat, won’t you?”

Just like that he was gone, and Maedhros was left there utterly hollow and his mind too tired chasing itself in circles to race anymore.

He couldn’t shake the feeling he’d just made things infinitely worse.

Melkor was going to think this was very funny. He didn’t particularly relish the thought.

“I always have time for you, Maitimo.”

Ingwion said with a smile as Maedhros stood shifting awkwardly foot to foot before him. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Well,” Maedhros said in a notably strangled voice, “yes, I... I’m afraid I must ask... I must ask you a favor, friend, but it’s... Well, it’s very strange. Very strange indeed, I just...” Again he shifted, unable to settle, restless and completely terrified to go on.

Ingwion liked him. Ingwion had never been anything but kind. This was too much to ask.

“Maitimo?” asked the prince in a voice that was way too approachable to be fair. “What troubles you?”

He was handsome, and that was irritating. Never Maedhros’s type, but certainly handsome. He had his people’s gleaming golden hair and a kindly face with brown skin that seemed to glow. It was inconsiderate of him to be so... so considerate. He had no right.

“I may have... mentioned to my father that we two are...” He stumbled, fingers twisting together, then just squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to finished. “I might have implied that the two of us are seeing each other.”

Ingwion stared at him for a long time before he seemingly remembered to react and said “Oh!”

“Which is bad,” Maedhros went on without glancing up, “because I’m... I’m seeing someone else. Someone my father really doesn’t like. But now he’s going to tell everyone that the two of us are... involved, so I’m a bit... I’m a bit stuck.”

There was an awful silence. Finally Ingwion spoke, cautiously.

“I didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

“No one can know. My family would disown me if they-“

“It’s Melkor, isn’t it?”

Maedhros went stiff. Panic raced through him.

“How did you-“

“Let’s see.” Ingwion counted on his fingers. “Father hates him. Family would disown you. Bad enough to lie about, and then come to me looking for help. You would have told the truth if it was anyone else, Maitimo. You love your father more than that.”

“He can’t know,” Maedhros choked. “Ingwion, if he finds out-“

“I’ll make you a deal.” Ingwion smiled sadly at him. “If it was anyone else, I would be ringing the wedding bells for you too and feigning to be your betrothed if you needed me too. But I love the Valar too much and I do not trust Melkor for a second, especially when he pretends to be fair and kindly. He has nothing but suffering in mind for you and all your people, Maitimo. So I offer this. I will act the part of your beloved and keep your honor intact, if you swear never to see Melkor again. You must leave him, before he twists you up and destroys you. I won’t see it happen, and I can’t stand by and be complicit if you won’t try to stop it.”

“Never see him again?” Maedhros repeated in a choked voice.

“I want to help,” Ingwion said instead of a direct answer.

His stomach turned.

“But I-“

Ingwion held up a hand.

“Think on it, my friend. My offer stands.”

Maedhros nodded numbly. Without even thinking he turned to go, and behind him heard Ingwion’s gentle voice.

“I just want you to be safe...”

The words wouldn’t click, and he walked out of the hall in a daze and a daydream.

[curiosity-killed]

bitter wine

word count: 2094 cw: mentions of desecration of corpses, brief/implied self-harm, descriptions of violence just some noodling on a potential solution for the trouble of tcp’s saggy, plotless middle. in which Reimon gets mean when he’s mad and Callebero just. honestly. babe’s having the shittiest fucking birthday

“If it were Dameron before me, I would rip out his throat,” the prince said, sharp and savage. His lip curled back a little, disgust in the way it pulled from his teeth and fury in the dark slash of his brows. Leaning back slightly, Reimon raised his eyebrows and didn’t bother looking to his empty hands or many injuries. “Oh?” he asked. “With what weapon?” The last time he’d met him, the imperator princep had been a child with a vicious blade held to their throats. Now, he stood before Reimon clothed in servants’ spares and enough injuries that he should have bled out before even making it here. Fine tremors seized through his legs sporadically; with the lashes on his back still raw, he wouldn’t be able to stand upright much longer without support. There were other chairs in the room, but Reimon did not offer a seat. “My teeth, if necessary,” the prince still spat.

He said it with such conviction that Reimon could nearly picture it—the barbarous emperor tearing out his half-brother’s throat with the same mindless bloodlust of a wild dog set loose on a goat. He’d heard more savage stories of the Aeridians and their mercenary past. An empire founded by highwaymen maintained little squeamishness around spilt blood. “And me?” Reimon asked, interlacing his fingers lazily so they caught at the first knuckles. “I have no weapon, as you can see, and the guards are beyond a closed door. Will you kill me as well?” The prince’s jaw tightened, chin lifting even as his gaze dipped low and to the side. His lips pressed together in a way that must have made the ragged cut through them sting. “Jisel cares for you,” he said after a moment. “You are not worth betraying her trust.” He stared, struck silent. A low rage flickered, licking up into incandescent flames in the cage of his chest. This murderer, this monster, thought he deserved to know his sister so well? A dog draped in silk robes was still a beast, a low and base distortion of man. “How noble,” Reimon said slowly, holding his voice steady in the same way his mother did around the pushier members of court. “Should I laud you for your mercy, Your Eminence? Title you a saint and crown you with speedwell and bow at your feet?” The prince met his gaze, chin lifting slightly and dark eyes hooding. His hand had folded into a fist at his side, but he didn’t flinch from the taunts, not visibly. Reimon canted his head to one side, looking pointedly up and down his frame. Aeridians were so tightly laced, wrapping themselves in layer upon layer as if it could hide the sins that were written on their skin. Dressed now in commoners’ clothes, the black tattoos of the prince’s arms and lower legs were bared to the world, and a fat, dark scar peeked out from under the short hem of his tunic. “The Bloodletter holding back—such a miraculous trick might rival a talking bear,” Reimon continued. “We could put a collar on you and parade you around the capital. What do you think—would your knights and generals recognize their prince then?” A muscle bunched at the back of the prince’s jaw, his lips working briefly as if to spit out words. Reimon smiled, polite and thin as a garrote. There. “Those knights who died for you,” he said thoughtfully, “would they be honored by a prince like you? What a shame, to have all their throats cut only so you could bow down as a side amusement in our court.” The tremors had increased, become fine shakes running through the prince’s whole body, even as his breath picked up. His broken hand curled together now to join the other, surely a painful reflex. Loosening his own hands, Reimon reached over to pluck his cup from the table with his fingertips. He took a long sip, not bothering to look at the prince. “It’s a shame they’re already dead,” he mused as he lowered the cup to fit precisely in the water ring left on the wood, “or we could have had a whole troupe to dance for us. The Bloodletter and his loyal guards, muzzled and leashed. Do you think we could train them to beg on command?” “Do not speak of them,” the prince snapped finally. It was funny, how he thought he had any command here. Turning toward him, Reimon tilted his head as if in thought. “I’m sorry, what part do you not enjoy?” he asked pleasantly. “The reminder that your loyal knights are all dead in a wood none of your saints could ever find or that they died for nothing but a pathetic, broken husk who has so little to offer their memory?” Some part of the prince must have held Jisel’s concern in high regard—or else, more likely, his injuries were too grave to even try attacking: the hate in his eyes was a living, snarling thing as toothed as the dragons that guarded the deepest seas. Reimon held his gaze, unflinching. For all his conquests and all his glory, the prince was nothing more than a prisoner here. A plaything or a servant or a sacrifice, all depending on Reimon’s own whims. He’d never thought himself a vengeful man, but now, with the architect of his family’s downfall trapped before him, Reimon suddenly understood why cats toyed with their prey for so long before biting through their necks. “Your mother died at my father’s blade,” he said, and a jolt ran through the prince. “Perhaps when you’ve worn out your novelty, I will add you to the collection. Two imperators princep killed by the same bloodline would certainly be an accomplishment.” Despite the surprise that had snapped through the prince like a taut bowstring at mention of his dead mother, there didn’t seem to be much impact in theorizing on his own death. Reimon supposed that it was to be expected. From what he’d heard, Aeridians were raised bowing to Death itself and kissing its bony hands. Mortality might not be so fearful a thing in the face of such customs. “We could even be generous,” he offered, turning his tone light and almost friendly. “If both your heads were stored in the same chest, wouldn’t it be a touching reunion?” “You—” the prince started, taking a single step forward. He froze, fists still clenched and breath coming in rapid hitches through his chest. With his shoulders squared and hands tight, he looked a single step away from swinging a punch. Reimon really didn’t have a weapon around him, and he hadn’t trained in martial skills since the doctors determined his body too fragile for such exertion. If the prince decided to kill him, if the goading snapped his surely thin restraint, then Reimon had no plan in place. And yet—

Above the braced shoulders and clenched jaw, his eyes were too bright. No tears fell, but they glistened, precarious along the edge of his eyes. Reimon stared, gaze caught on the glitter of them. The imperator princep, the Bloodletter prince of Arradine, didn’t weep. Hell, Reimon would half expect him to dance over his enemies’ corpses like a fleet-footed nightmare. “Fuck. You,” the prince enunciated, the words rolling and crisp in Aeridian. Reimon had learned most Aeridian curses in secret, stealing books off the shelf to share with his younger brothers and the closest of his personal guard. Learned in laughter and conspiracy, they didn’t carry half the weight that Capallan curses did. If he wanted to hurt someone, if he wanted to be sure they knew how much he hated them, he would always use his native tongue. The prince met his gaze with a furious stillness, eyes bright and hands clenched, and for the first time in the hour he’d stood here, he spoke in the language of his home. Reimon smiled. “How unfilial,” he remarked, as if chiding a younger sibling. “Of course, I imagine it would be a disappointment for her to see you now. Your mother was a hero, wasn’t she? She died nobly, holding the line so her own knights could escape, and you—you just left them to die along a dusty road while you grovel at the feet of her killers.” He’d been sixteen when Aliras died on his father’s sword, barred from the battlefield for the sake of succession. They hadn’t known, then, that it didn’t matter whether he died on the field or in the comfort of the palace—he would never sit on the throne. At the time, the streets had filled with clamors for Aliras’ body, commoners and courtiers alike frothing at the mouth at the thought of ripping her into five pieces and waving each of them above the parapets like bloody banners. Yet when the king returned with his soldiers, there was no head on a pike, no arms ripped out of their sockets. When Reimon asked, once, what became of the body, his father had frowned down at him and said she was given a proper burial, in an unmarked grave. No one knew where the grave was, and no one outside of a select few knew that she had even been afforded one. Her son was not among them. “It’s a shame what happened to her,” he lied easily. “My father the king respected her as a valiant opponent, but the armies were so furious after what she’d done, there was no stopping them once they got hold of her body.” The prince’s eyes widened, horror smoothing the lines of anger from his face and making him look completely taken by surprise. The knuckles of his fists had started to bleed white, cracks of red lining the tendons where they stretch over the bones. “I’m sure you’ve seen street dogs with a carcass,” Reimon continued pleasantly. “I assure you that looks domestic in comparison.” Shaking his head slightly, as if in disbelief, the prince swallowed. A tear slipped to trail down his bruised cheek, but he didn’t seem to notice. Smiling indulgently, Reimon gave a slight nod. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Did you really think we would honor someone who killed so many Capallans?”

“No,” the prince said. “No, you—” His voice came out small, almost fragile. He made no effort to wipe away the tears that curved sluggishly down his cheeks, just scoured Reimon’s face as if searching for the lie in his words. Meeting his gaze, Reimon kept his expression perfectly even and amiable. The prince’s brow furrowed, his lips parting slightly. Reimon raised his eyebrows, waiting. “What,” he asked, “do you think you’re the only one who would want revenge? You may have my father’s crown locked away in your palace, but your mother greeted the afterlife in so many pieces the finest tailor couldn’t have sewn them together.” He’d been pressing for a reason, needling to prick the prince’s skin a thousand times over for his offenses. This was the man who cut through their armies until he snatched the crown from his father’s head. He took Jisel, kept her from them for years. He deserved every slice Reimon landed. But—as the prince stared at him with cracked-open horror in his eyes, his lips trembling with the tears that slipped one by one from his eyes, no satisfaction welled in Reimon’s chest. His stomach twisted instead, reminded too much of fights in his childhood when his words grew too sharp and Laisa or Adamil’s eyes would grow glassy with tears. “Guards,” he called, raising his voice to be heard beyond the study’s walls. The door opened promptly, and Reimon flicked his hand in a gesture for them to take the prince from his sight. The prince offered no resistance as each of them took one of his arms and tugged him from the room.

Left in the sudden quiet, Reimon reached for his wine and then paused with his fingertips resting along the rim of the glass. The prince deserved every blow that landed. It should be a victory to have the imperator princep weeping before him. His fingers pressed tighter against the glass, until a dull ache bit into the bones. Jisel cared about this prince, for whatever reason. She called him her close friend, dear. Biting the inside of his lip, Reimon slid his hand down to cup the goblet’s belly. The wine didn’t wash the sour taste from his mouth.