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shiny-jr · 4 years

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❝ ᴛ ʜ ɪ ɴ ᴋ ᴀ ʙ ᴏ ᴜ ᴛ ɪ ᴛ ❞

➼ 𝕐𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕃𝕖𝕖𝕔𝕙 𝕋𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕤

The ocean was unpredictable, but they still loved it.

Everyday in their youth, (Y/n) would travel to the beach, a private little area hidden by rocks and the tide. Playing there by themself for hours upon hours. Making sandcastles for the crabs, collecting seashells to share with their friends and family, practicing and teaching themself how to play a kalimba, until when it was dark a relative would come to drag them back home. For years, the beach became their safe spot where they retreated to get away from it all, but as life moved on so did (Y/n).

Soon, (Y/n)’s time was swallowed up by the problems and turmoil of everyday life, as they spent less and less time in their safe haven, now stuck in land. Eventually, they stopped going to the beach altogether, only occasionally taking a stroll there every month or so. It was still as peaceful and calming as they remembered. However, not everything could remain the same-- peace was never meant to last.

Those deep waters that held the unknown-- were wild and terrifying, so when fishermen and whole ships began to go missing, everyone assumed it was a tragic accident: a shipwreck, a terrible storm, or somehow becoming lost at sea. That is, until these so called accidents were becoming all the more frequent. It seemed like every week a poor fisherman went missing, every month a ship never to be seen again. Bodies of the dead lost at sea often found their way to shore, limbs missing or twisted and bent in impossible angles, visible signs they had been in a struggle.

Rumors began to float about, all ranging from a curse being placed on the town to the possibility of sea monsters lurking in the waters that caused these accidents to occur. Of course, in their paranoia and terror, the townspeople would believe anything, all except one person. They refused to believe in the rumors without proof, not allowing fear to get the best of them.

Everyday, (Y/n) continued to roam the now empty beaches in search of trinkets and treasures buried in the sand. And everyday, their family’s worries grew. Was it really wise to continue going to the beaches when there was an unknown threat in the waters? Still, no matter how hard they attempted to persuade them to stop and find a job further inland, (Y/n) always refused. As long as they stay away from the deep water, they will be fine, right?

Well, they were correct in a sense that they themself would not be harmed, but that didn’t mean that danger would stop from befalling on others.

It was a normal day, the salty breeze was warm and delightful, the clouds provided just enough cover from the hot sun. The waters were calm, steadily washing up to the shore. (Y/n) walked along the land, stepping along the warm sand and cool tides. In their hand they held an instrument, a wooden board with metal tines, a kalimba handmade and gifted by their parents. Aimlessly they tapped the metal, creating soft chimes that matched the clanging of freshly discovered treasures collected in their satchel that sounded with every stride they took.

They barely paid any attention to the lone fisherman out at sea, not too far from where they stood on the shore. The middle-aged man appeared to be too occupied with his work to even notice their presence as well. Using his nimble fingers to prepare the end of his rod with a hook and bait.

(Y/n) looked up with interest as they heard a splash in the waters. Had the man caught something so quickly? Their eyes widened as they saw the tip of a teal-colored tail emerge from the waters, the fisherman noticing it as well.

Think about it, think about it.

The fisherman placed down his rod, looking over the side of his boat that the person on the shore was unable to see. In an instant, two webbed hands grabbed the man by his shirt, dragging him underneath the waves and successfully stopping his scream from alerting any others in the vicinity, but (Y/n) had watched the whole thing unfold with growing horror.

What felt like hours were mere seconds they spent waiting, hoping to see the man reemerge safely. What should they do? Should they try to help somehow? But they couldn’t risk going further into the water! Should they run and get help? It might be too late if they came with help. Before they could make a decision, the man’s hat appeared and floated on the waves, but there was no sign of the fisherman-- until the blue waters began to turn a crimson red, blood making its way to the surface.

Think about when you were there.

(Y/n) stifled a shriek, quickly shoving the kalimba back into their satchel and switching out their sandals. Struggling to put them on as quickly as possible, they would run back to town and inform authorities about what they had witnessed. As they nearly fell and tried to slide on their sandals, another splash emitted from behind the boat, a voice making their blood run cold.

We know it.

“Eeeeh, what a weakling. There wasn’t much to squeeze! Didn’t you hear something earlier, Jade?”

“Indeed, Floyd, I did. Perhaps there’s another human in the area?”

Finally clipping their sandals on their feet securely, they bolted. Running as fast as their feet could carry them on the sand, too afraid to look back. Failing to notice their musical instrument fall out of their satchel and into the waters. (Y/n) was far too focused on getting away as quickly as possible, only one destination was in mind: the town. They had to get to town and report what they witnessed. Behind them, they were just able to make out the words being said by whatever creatures remained in the waters.

We already know it.

“Aah, there they go! They’re running away like a scared little shrimp!”

“That’s a shame. It seems humans are quick to flee.”

❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂

The twins had occasionally swam to the surface when in their youth, and while mischievous and troublesome, they had never attacked a human. They had been children at the time, just two little eels. However, their visits soon became frequent upon discovering a hidden rocky beach behind a cliff, and while they played with the crabs and watched the seagulls, they spotted the first human they ever saw.

Jade and Floyd nearly submerged themselves fully in the waters, poking the top of their heads out. From the darkness behind some rocks jutting out of the waters, they watched with fascination as the land creature played all alone by themselves.

Floyd stared with wide eyes before looking at his twin, “Hey, hey, isn’t that sad? That little human is lonely. I have you, but they’re all alone!”

Jade nodded, watching the human with a tilt of his head, “Yes, that is sad. But they don’t look lonely.”

On the contrary, (Y/n) appeared delighted despite the lack of company. They laughed and chased away those pesky seagulls, making shapes and small structures from the sand that amazed the twins, and even played a strange musical instrument. They had to wonder, were all young humans like this?

Think about it, think about it.

“Jade, that small shrimpy is pretty funny.”

“Yes, Floyd, they are very interesting.”

It soon became habit for the young Leech twins to venture to that secret beach in search of that amusing little human. As the years went by, the human’s trips to the beach became infrequent until it stopped completely. However, the two never forgot about the human named (Y/n), the memory of watching them play constantly lingering in the back of their mind.

It disappears in three days, and fills up again.

After years of not visiting the surface, their return meant chaos and misfortune for the land dwellers. What better fun was there than humans? Oh to see them struggle in their tail’s grip, gulp and gasped for air only to get a mouthful of water, and how they struggled was all so much fun! It was a shame they never lasted long, a single squeeze was all it took to break any unfortunate human they came across.

“Save me! I’m scared!” All day long.

❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂

I knew it.

(Y/n) retreated away from the ocean, as far as they could go, not wanting to be reminded of what they witnessed. Those recent memories engraved in the front of their mind, the terrified faces of the authorities they reported the accident to, the grief-stricken family of the fisherman, and the incident itself with the blood and those creatures that continued to lurk in the salty waters.

I saw it.

They had run to the forest, hoping they could calm themself and find peace of mind here. The forest, lakes, and rivers should be safe, right? The beach was miles away, they were safest here, right?

Think about it, think about it.

The sound of running waterfalls and the chirp of birds filled the silence, slowly providing them a sense of calm. It’s as if the gentle flowing water extinguished the flames of their fear and guilt, leaving them at peace. Softly the wooden path they walked on creaked, the healthy green leaves from branches overhead provided shade, the water of the river was a clear emerald green. Their eyes admired the many waterfalls, taking a shaky breath, Reaching for their satchel, they cursed underneath their breath upon realizing their musical instrument was gone. Instead, they opted for humming, singing softly in this space where they believed they were alone.

We worry all day long.

Two particular sea creatures stopped from exploring this new strip of water, perking up at the distant humming and soft singing. They stopped swimming, looking towards the direction it came from.

We worry about what we’re going to eat when the night comes.

Jade listened to the distant voice, smiling at the lovely melody and soft voice. Slowly a grin appeared on his lips, revealing his sharp teeth. “Hm… Are my ears deceiving me, or do you hear that as well?”

“Yeahhh! It sounds like a merfolk’s song!” Lowering the little wooden musical instrument he had discovered on the shore earlier, Floyd shook his head. “Eh, but merfolk are too wimpy to come inland!”

“That is true… Considering that, it must be another human.”

“This is getting boring here… I know! Let’s find that little human!”

To win is to survive.

(Y/n) hopped along the smooth stones, kicking the water running along by their feet. Parting their lips, their dulcet voice flowed out and rang through the air, partially disrupted by the waterfalls. “Now’s your moment. Floating in a blue lagoon~” Aimlessly spinning along the stone, careful not to misstep and accidentally fall in the water. “Boy, you better do it soon! No time will be better~”

The Leech twins neared at a slow pace, taking cover under the darkest shadows that covered the river. However, before they could zoom forward and drag them underneath to have their fun, the duo stopped upon catching a proper glimpse at the human’s face. Their olive colored eyes soaking up the familiar features while their golden eyes glowed dimly. In that instant, like a lightbulb switching on, they both recognized the human as the same one from the morning, the same human they used to watch years ago.

Think about it, think about it.

“Aaah~~~! It’s Shrimpy~~!!!”

(Y/n) jumped at the shrill shriek, eyes going wide as they recognized the voice as one from this morning. Freezing in place, they looked up and nearly fainted on the spot as they spotted a figure in the waters coming straight towards them at unbelievable speed. A mix between a terrified whimper and a yelp escaped their lips.

The small wooden dock behind them leading into the forest was too far, they’d never make it before that thing would snatch them up. Sprinting along the stone, they approached the waterfalls where the wall curved in to reveal a sizable cave safe from the water.

“Hey, hey, wait up~!”

Seeing no other option, they dove inside, scratching their skin against the rocks and slamming against the wall in the process, just as they heard a loud splash behind them.

(Y/n) stumbled up, ignoring the aching pain on their back and the scratches littering their arms. Eyeing the sea monster before taking slow steps back, nearly screaming as a second one popped out of the water beside the other, nearly identical to the first one.

Your riddle will make us happy, free, and alive.

Both of the sea creatures had human-like faces but with gills; their upper bodies were shaped like a human’s but their lower-halves were long tails resembling that of an eel. Their skin tone was almost entirely teal, with portions of their chest and face white. The only difference between the two was their eye color: The first had a right eye that was olive color while his left was a golden hue, in comparison, the second had a right eye that was a golden hue while his left was an olive color.

“Shrimpyyy, come here! Let me squeeze you~!” The first creature whined as he stretched out his arms, but (Y/n) was too far to grab. When they showed no sign of approaching him, he pouted while his sharp nails scratched the rocky floor. “I have to greet you with a hug, come on!”

“Hehehe, it appears we’ve frightened them.” The second creature chimed in, chuckling at their fear. “I like observing people, but I am not the best at it. We couldn’t even refrain ourselves from seeing you again.”

Images of the gruesome sight from earlier that day flashed in mind. Reeling away as they felt their stomach churn. (Y/n) managed to find their voice, barely squeaking out, “A-Again…? You m-mean f-from earlier…?”

“You’re not completely correct. My, my… I seem to have gotten ahead of myself and acted rather unsightly this morning. Heheh… Forgive us for what you had to witness. But unfortunately, you wouldn’t recognize us. We haven’t properly met yet.” Holding up his hand, he held the musical instrument they left behind at the beach. Extending it out to them, he offered a charming smile, “I believe this is yours, is it not?”

Silently (Y/n) nodded, gulping as they hesitantly stepped forward, cautiously watching the duo that seemed amused with them. Shakily the human snatched up their kalimba--

“Baaam~!”

They flinched and jumped back, clutching the kalimba close to their chest. Stumbling back away from them until their back pressed against a stone. Frantically their eyes searched for a way out, there was only the stone rocks to hop on but those twin sea creatures could easily grab them if they chose that path. This small cave was a deadend, however, if they could somehow climb upwards until they reached the top of the waterfall, they could escape that way…

“Just kidding!” The first creature let out an unevenly-pitched laugh at their reaction, grinning as the tip of his tail poked out of the waters, “Little Shrimp is funny, look at them tremble!”

“Certainly very amusing.” The second creature hummed, eyes glimmering with mischief as he admitted. “It’s strange, isn’t it? For the longest time I believed humans were dull, but you’re not very dull, (Y/n).”

(Y/n) felt their heartbeat stop. Softly they asked, unable to stop from stuttering and tripping over their words, “H-How do you k-know m-my name…?”

“Allow us to properly introduce ourselves firstly.” The second creature placed a webbed hand to his chest and began, “I am Jade Leech. This is my twin, Floyd.”

The first creature, Floyd, grinned and folded an arm behind his head as he sang, “Hello, I’m Floyd! I’m sooo happy to see you again, Shrimpy!”

Your riddle will erase the shadow of death and we’ll live in a dream world!

“We’ve seen you many times before, years ago. Our favorite pastime was watching our beloved little human play on the beach.” Jade feigned a sad frown, as if the mere thought of it wounded him. “So I’m certain you can imagine how heartbroken we were when you stopped coming by!”

“Ooh, we were sooo sad when Shrimpy left! We wanted to play with you and swim with you!” Floyd explained eagerly, a toothy grin growing steadily with every word he said, “Now, we can talk to Shrimpy and we’ll have all the time in the world to have fun together! Hey, hey, you should play us a song like you used to!”

(Y/n) backed away slowly, shivering under the watchful gazes as they stuffed the kalimba in their satchel. Approaching the wall of the cave, their fingers gripped the moist stone surface. Slowly attempting to climb the slippery surface, careful to avoid getting too close to the twin sea creatures and cautious to avoid the water from the waterfall to avoid being drenched or pushed down.

Jade’s charming smile faltered, watching their feeble pathetic attempts to climb higher and higher to land away from their grip. “Now where do you think you’re going?”

The human paused before slowly continuing, responding carefully, “Look, I-I have to get home… T-Thank you kindly for not killing me, but I r-really have to get goin--”

Splash!

Floyd jumped out of the water, his wet and firm webbed hand gripping their ankle, weighing them down and dragging them back down to the water. “Heheh, why did you think you could win and leave~?”

Unable to flail about or fight back, two long slippery tails curled around their entire body. Every movement in resistance threatened to squeeze tighter until they wouldn’t be able to breath. They felt so small in their grip, left to stare in terror at the creature's wide toothy grins. Specks of blood staining and bits of flesh stuck between their shark-like teeth, making the human even more afraid. The duo kept (Y/n) afloat as they pleaded fearfully, “P-Please… let m-me go--”

“It’s been some time since we’ve seen you. Why not stay and keep us company? After all, we have a lot of catching up to do, my little anemone~”

“When Shrimpy is here it’s so much fun, I just can’t get enough! You won’t even think about leaving again, right, Shrimpy~?”

Think about it, think about it.

- You might like this!

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yandere-wishes · 4 years

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💔Rotten Love💔 //Twisted Wonderland Yandere Idia Shroud X Yandere Eliza X Reader// Part 1

GIF made by the amazing @flowerofthemoonworld. Okay, so this story is really going to have a Persephone x Reader x Hades vibe to it. If we can get this to 160 likes before July 12 than I’ll release part 2. For now, my goal is to make it a 4 part story with a bonus 5th fluff chapter. Also for this story reader will be GENDER NEUTRAL.

WARNING: Gore, Angst

💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙

There was always a cold, nostalgic air in the Ignihyde dormitory, a sort of homey sensation that made Eliza's heart skip a beat. Sure the dorm was quiet and secluded, unlike the ghost kingdom, there was barely anyone to talk to. Most may have even described it as "lonesome" and "boring". But to princess Eliza who had waited more than five hundred years to be with her prince charming, it was unadulterated, homespun bliss. Of course, there was still something missing, a tiny puzzle piece that refused to fit in with the rest of its kind, a stubborn little piece it was, yet all too important to paint the picture of her perfect life. That mulish fragment came in the form of her newly wedded husband, Idia Shroud.

"Idia~"

The "young" princess sang as she skipped over to where her "husband" was sitting, his posture crooked, like that of a scrunched up cat's. His long slender fingers where typing rapidly on that bizarre rectangular device that he all too attached to. Way too attached to, for Eliza's liking.

Eliza nuzzled her visage into the crook of the bleached-skinned boy's neck, taking in his smokey, ash-like sent. Her icy colored arms wafted over his shoulders, enclosing them his a tight embrace. Her fingers dangled over where his heart was, feeling tiny fast-paced pulses that sent a pleased blush to her face. "Idia let's go for a walk near that river. Please, my love! You haven't left this room since the reception!"

The taller male barely turned to look at her, preferring to instead to keep his eyes locked on his glowing blue screen. "Still busy Eliza" his cold dead voice was always so sharp and monotone whenever he spoke to her. It felt like someone was reaching into her rib cage and squeezing her decaying heart. Her voice cracked into a thousand tiny shards, as she tried to form a comprehensible answer. He might as well have told her to die again and rot in the deepest parts of hell. He doesn't love me....he'll never love me. The relation was like a heavy chronic toxic gas levitating overhead. Easy to overlook but still there, always there. Idia didn't move, if Eliza's arms weren't wrapped around his shoulders feeling every breath he took, she might have mistaken him for a statue. No, not a statue, she thought, some sort of sculpture of an ancient Greek God. A divine being set in stone resting in an altar, waiting for reparations and benedictions. 'I'd gladly pray at your feet every day. I'd sacrifice everything I had just for you to smile that charming smile at me'. The ghost thought to herself.

For an endless minute, the darkroom fell into a thick, suffocating silence. Neither Eliza nor Idia moved both too scared of breaking some invisible glass wall they had put up around them. However, no amount of serenity could dispose of the awkwardness, and annoyance Idia was beginning to feel. "You know" the lord of the dead began "maybe you should talk to the principle about join the school full time. It would give you more to do than breathing over my shoulder" despite Idia's tone harboring no malice, Eliza still flinched in shock. Her body going rigid, stiffening as if she was going into Rigor Mortis again.

HE DOESN'T WANT YOU HERE!

The voice in her head screamed,

HE HATES YOU!

Louder...

WHY CANT YOU LEAVE HIM ALONE

"Please stop" she whispered

YOU DON’T DESERVE YOUR PRINCE!

"If that's what you want" she finally replied in a broken voice.

"I'm... I'm only saying it for your sake," he muttered in a coaxing tone.

Deep down a delusional part of her wanted to scream that he was only saying all those harsh things for her own well-being. But she was still lucid enough to not believe those fallacies, imaginary words...Eliza perceived that her beloved prince Idia saw her as nothing more than a nuisance. One that he was far too eager to get rid of.

She couldn't bear the conversation any farther. Painfully slowly she peeled her arms off from around her so-called lover. In that taunting minute, Eliza swore she could feel billions upon billions of sharp needles piercing every piece of her dead body. She lingered in place staring at Idia's glowing, blazing hair. She didn't want to leave, she wanted to spend every second of her dead life with him! Touching him, kissing him, loving him! But he wouldn't love her! Why didn't he love her!! Without a customary goodbye or any form of acknowledgment, Eliza flew to the door. Swinging it open just a crack, wishing to slam it so hard that the whole underworld dorm would feel it. But alas she was still royalty and there was a politeness beaten into her every action. In the end after much debating, she closed the damn door quieter than a mouse. With a broken heart and eyes full of tears, princess Eliza began to hover up onto the surface of the school grounds.

WHY DOESN'T THAT SELFISH BASTARD LOVE ME!

A simple blaring thought that reverberated through Eliza's nonexistent skull as she marched through the glowing green halls of Night Raven College. Unlike Ignihyde, the rest of the school still felt rather alien and terrifying to the girl. She'd only been in the cafeteria for a short amount of time. Only to finish up her official marriage to Idia. After the marriage -and much persuasion from his friend with grey hair and glasses- Idia had carried Eliza in the traditional manner a groom must carry a bride, to the hall of mirrors and straight to Ignyhde. Neither of them had left Idia's room since then.

It was a rather short memory but one that always placed a smile on Eliza's face. Rather than remembering the halls, Eliza had been all too bewitched by Idia's shy golden gaze, his bloody red face, and his kissable thin blue lips. Such a darling memory that she would always cherish within her rotten heart.

But as the minutes ticked away and Eliza passed hallway after hallway all identical to one another, she soon began to wish that she'd paid more attention to the whereabouts of the school's rooms and offices. The headmaster's office seemed to be missing from this endless maze. Behind every corner was the same tiled floor, candles lit by a mystical green light and windows so large they put the countless classroom doors to shame. Every few minutes a crowd of students would pass by, disappearing behind another wall withing second. No one noticed her, which was rather odd considering she was the only female in an all-boys school, her purple dress and feminine curves were proof enough of that. "I guess this is the result of being a ghost, wandering the land of the living" She whispered hopelessly to herself. "You're invisible when you're me..."

The eighth turn that Eliza took brought her to a small cluster of peculiar students. Some donning ears and tails like those of wild beasts, while the other had odd features resembling Ortho's limps. Metallic and reflective. They were laughing at something, attentions enclosed within their small groups. A measly thought flew into Eliza's head, why not speak up? Raise your voice and ask where she could locate the headmaster of this complex establishment.

"Excuse me."

“....”

Silence

None of the boys turned to her, they just continued with there chatter. Eliza opened her mouth to speak once more when she -rather unwillingly- picked up stray words from their conversation.

"It's not fair!" A tall lanky one with striped ears and tail whined

"Yeah! How come that useless shut-in gets to get married to a cute girl !" the second one was even taller, with thick furry grey ears that reminded Eliza of a wolf.

"Look man I don't know what Idia has that makes him so damn lucky! He's a useless wimp..." A Bold statement made by the one with metallic features.

Eliza was sure they continued bashing Idia but the phantom pain of blood coursing through her ears droned them out. How dare such hooligans speak ill of her beloved husband! Her fingers flexed in a robotic-like movement, stretching open than closing once more. Around her tiny flame-like spirits began to materialize, cute and cheery with big eyes and smiling mouths...until they noticed the distress of their mistress. the tiny things took a look around, grasping the situation from the loud words of the boys as well as Eliza's grim expression. Slowly the little flames began to merge with one another. Fusing into a large ax with a burning end. The weapon floated down to her hand, positioning itself smugly between her ghostly digits.

Eliza's eyes locked with the backs of the boys, she didn't know how this would work, could the ax could even harm the living? It may just phase through them as if nothing had happened....or it may price through there flesh and bones, tearing them in two. Hosting the ax up over her shoulder with both hands and taking a shaky step forward, Eliza lunged towards the first boy. In a swift flick of her wrist, the blade of the ax was pushing through the Ignihyde student's back. Splitting ceaselessly at the skin and urging past muscles until it reached the creamy colored bones. Eliza didn't stop there, her arms still pushing forward trying to get the heavy ax to break those pesky osseins. He had to pay for what he said! No one was permitted to speak ill of her one true love! A satisfying crack filled the air followed by a choir of screams. Only when the ax had finally resurfaced on the other side, covered in plasma and the remnants of organs, did Eliza turned her attention to the other two students. There eyes where enormous staring at her in disgust and fear...and something else. Something that -although it revolted her to her very core- she wished Idia would look at her with that same look in his eyes. A look of want, a look of need, pure lust, yet the welcoming sort ONLY if it was coming from the person you adored so much.

The blue-haired ghost didn't move, her semi existent body felt overworked. Everything hurt! Or at least she thought what she was feeling was the ghost equivalent to human pain. "Why.." her voice glitched at every syllable, like a broken cassette player. The two boys didn't answer instead taking shall strides backward. "WHY DID YOU SAY SUCH AWFUL THINGS ABOUT HIM!" in a split second, anger over ran Eliza's boy once more, dragging her and the ax forward until the blade came in contact with one of the animal eared men's neck. Slicing it so it flung backward, crashing onto the ground with loud "thud" then rolling around in its own gore. The last man stand, the one with monochrome ears pushed his palms forward, a pathetic attempt of shielding himself from her wrath. "W-we..we d-d-did...didn't-t mean...mean any..offense...honest!" His voice creaked as tears gushed from the corners of his eyes. "You're...you're just so...so...pretty...beautiful even...and...and...Shroud well...we...well, he's a loser who w-w-wouldn't kno--" his words were left half-finished, as Eiza's ax severed through him diagonally.

Her heart was pounding much too fast, that it was beginning to make her feel sick. Her legs finally gave up, sending her crashing onto the blood coated floor. Her bare knees dug into the red liquidy substance, finding an odd comfort in the warm human ichor. Eliza didn't know what to do, or even where to go. If she went back to Idia like this he would surely use it against her, Ortho was too young to be introduced to such a carnage...and she didn't know anyone else! "I'm all so very doomed" she sobbed as transparent tears trailed down her eyes.

"Hey" A distant voice spoke up. "What's wrong with her?" another voice, this one more high pitch and raspy. Eliza tore her face from her hands looking up at a group of three strangers and a cat...no, not strangers, she recognized the orange and blacked haired boy. They both had tried to crash her wedding. But the other person was new, they had a gentle look in their eyes, a welcoming stare that the princess longed for. "Hey ghost bride," The orange-haired boy spoke up, "need some help with your mess?" Eliza nodded meekly. Her body still limp and voice still too frail to speak. The last person, the one that had unexpectedly piqued Eliza's interest extended a hand towards her. And with only a scrap of hesitation, Eliza gripped it.

"Come on, we'll help you out!"

💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙

Tags: @yandere-romanticaa @ghostiebabey @lovee-infected @mermaid-painter @firemelody4 also tagging @twstpasta and @delusional-obsessions cause I know they're huge Eliza fans.

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softomi · 3 years

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Meet the Slayer and her Crew

Life wasn’t always peachy, sunshine, and rainbows; yours was filled with blood, gore, and constant running. Born in a bloodline of slayers, you were part of the few living lineages left. Raised with a tight collar, your free time was spent training to defend yourself. Your after school extracurriculars were mythology literature, weaponry, witch craft, and some days cooking.

“How come she gets to leave right after school?” Many watched you, the last bell ringing signaling class over and while the rest of the students linger for club activities, you entered the car that pulled up to the school gates.

“I heard her parents came and blew up a storm saying that she didn’t need club activities; she’s going to take over her family business or something.”

It was true, as the only daughter, you were to carry the lineage. You needed practice and training to pass on the knowledge.

You always found it lonely and because you were lonely, the world decided to bestow onto you, three losers.

You weren’t intending on running into anyone that night and if you did, you could always play it as a nightly running exercise; but how could you explain this. The pesky vampire’s fangs were mere centimeters from your skin, it drew blood and just as you think that maybe this would be the last time you would breathe; the vampire is thrusted off.

Your hands tightening on the crossbow, the vampire starts running; the aim is dead on, the arrow penetrating him in the heart, and he falls to ashes.

The knot in your shoulder tightens and you’re stretching it out as you turn with a grin, “You’re incredibly late.” You expected to see one of your family friends, they insisted on going out with you that night but what you’re met with is three pairs of eyes bulging out of their sockets.

“What the fuck was that?!” Atsumu falls to the ground, having been the one to touch the thing he suddenly feels infected.

Osamu is taking a step back, oddly aware of the crossbow in your hand, “What?”

The third, still and quiet, Suna almost passes as calm but his eyes show a sudden panic. He isn’t even saying anything, an awkward laugh coming from his mouth.

“I can totally explain!” You drop the crossbow, waving your hands in front of you.

“Explain what?!” Suna shouts.

“Why? The ashes? The crossbow?” Osamu is stuttering.

Atsumu has his hands in his hair, “I touched it. I touched it. I touched it.”

It makes you wonder some days, just how the three losers were so quick to adapt to your lifestyle. It was a secret at first, reluctantly, you let them follow you on your nightly adventures. They would watch in awe and fear at the way you’d handle the monsters. Monsters, that’s what they would constantly call them at first.

Three months, you spent three months with them trailing behind you; constantly bickering with them to stand down. Three months saving their asses as they ran from anything and anyone. They were so quick to act big but then shrink away when a newly turned vampire crawls from the grave.

But then it happened, you dreamed something that shook you to the core. You dreamed of their blood on your hands, sadness in their eyes as they looked at you. The moment your eyes opened; a chill ran down your spine.

So you did something you had never done before, you were going to fight for what you wanted.

“Let them join me.” You weren’t going to back down. The first time you asked, your parents responded with a harsh no. You jabbed the knife into your father’s desk, a cold stare into his eyes, “I am the future head of the household. I am only one person; I need people. I need people who are properly trained.”

“You’re asking us to train amateurs.” Your father speaks, “Little boys.”

“They’ve survived longer than most. I want them.”

And you got them. It was surprising just how quick they were to accept the ‘private tutoring’ as was listed in their formal invitations.

It was just as surprising how well they did in training. Atsumu competed with you in both combat and weaponry, you two have a little rivalry; but who’s keeping count on who knocks down the other the most. Atsumu is. You were a still a few points ahead, but he insists that the first few months don’t count; he was just getting the hang of it.

Suna seemed to fair better in mythology and demonology lessons. It was the one subject you still struggled with but it was one in which he soared in. You began to secretly think that he had been reading up during the three months they were following you. He’d snort seeing your latest grade on the quiz, his perfect hundred made your face red and you swore vengeance on the next quiz.

You weren’t surprised at how well Osamu excelled in witchcraft as well as cooking. He liked to think of the two as going hand in hand; something your mother noted as an excellent point. She hit your head when he made that comment, muttering about how at least someone understands.

“I take it back, I don’t want any of you here anymore!” You shouted one day when Atsumu landed you on the ground, “I used to be star student.”

“That was when you were the only student.” Suna remarks.

Atsumu leans over your body, a grin on his lips as his head blocks the sun from shining down on you, “Looks like we reached a tie sweetheart.”

“Guys, I think I finally did it. A potion that gives you extra speed.” Osamu appears from the house with glasses on a tray.

“Not it!” Suna and Atsumu shout in unison and you groan.

Osamu gives you a grin as you take the drink, the smell was wretched, “Couldn’t you have added vanilla into this?” You take a small sip, spitting it out immediately, “I swear to god Samu, if this gives me a tail again, I’ll bite you.”

Extras:

Miya Atsumu

“You need to cut off its head.” Suna’s voice was drowned out, the earbud in which is voice was coming from had fallen out of Atsumu’s ear.

“What!” Atsumu screamed as he struggled to keep the creature off, his shielded sword pressing against its neck, but it didn’t stop it from dripping drool on Atsumu, “The fuck this thing drooling so much for.”

“You need to cut off its head!” Suna was practically waking the whole neighborhood.

The creature hissed when a silver bullet penetrated its skin. It snarled, turning its body to you. Your own earbud had already fallen out at the front door when its sister creature had tackled you through a wall. You had told Suna the earbud idea was dumb. You continued to shoot the shotgun, your silver bullets running out as he neared you.

“Atsumu!” You’re calling out, “It’s your turn!”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” Atsumu was too distracted wiping the saliva off his face, picking up the earbud and shoving it in his ear, “I’m going to kill you Suna!”

“Cut off the head!” Suna shouts in his ear.

The slime splattered across your face, green coated your skin. You spat out what reached your mouth, the thing fell and behind it Atsumu stood with heavy breaths. Atsumu tossed the earbud onto the ground, stumbling to you. His footsteps are heavy, the sword clattering to the ground, he rests his head onto your shoulder.

“It drooled on me.” Atsumu whines.

You shove him off, “Yeah well you got slime in my mouth, we’re even.”

Miya Osamu

“Uh, Samu!” You were currently backed into a wall, your eyes looking all around, “It’s gone!”

“Just give me a second!” He’s calling from the first floor of the library.

You heard scuffles, you’re trying your hardest to listen keenly. The light footsteps to your left make you turn and throw a fist; you’re not sure if it makes a dent into what you’ve hit; but they’re definitely angry. It lifts you by the waist, your body hoisted into the air, your back colliding with one of the shelves.

You’re groaning loudly, “Samu! Any minute now!”

“What’s taking so damn long!” Atsumu barges into the room.

“Got it!” Osamu starts reading the literature, dusts of light grow from his palms; when he finishes the last line, he blows the dust. It spreads quickly, it disappears when it touches plain surfaces but the creature screeches as the dust paints its body.

“Catch!” Osamu throws a gun to you, it bounces off the railing and back to the first floor, “Sorry!”

You’re sighing deeply, hands gripping a chair to break its wooden legs. You use one of the legs as a stake, driving it into the heart of the creature. It falls to the ground, lying limp as the twins finally make their way up to the second floor.

Osamu presses a hand to your shoulder, “That was a close one right.”

You punch him in the gut, “Suna would know it off the top of his head!”

Suna Rintarou

“What’s it look like?!” Suna calls within the forest.

“Ugly!” You’re calling back as it knocks you down, it’s long arms reaching to pull you by the leg. Your foot meets its face, its teeth snarling when it’s kicked back.

“You gotta be a bit more specific!” The fog is frustrating Suna, even the twins have found themselves lost, you were the only one who called out to him.

“Suna!” Your yelling more as it cuts you with its nails across your stomach, “It’s shape shifting! What the fuck are you!” Your hands shake as the bullets do nothing to it, “Four legs! It’s torso is flipped backwards, fucking looks like Slenderman on meth.”

It pops into Suna’s head, “Oh! You’re not supposed to look at its face!”

“Well, it’s too late now!” You’re staring directly at it. You’re on your feet, the silver dagger in your hand as you hold its gaze, “How am I supposed to kill you!”

“You need to take out its heart!” Suna sees you, through the foggy air, he’s finally reached you, “Hey. I’m here.” You shiver at his touch, “If you give me a second, I can clear the fog. The twins can come.”

“No.” Your own blood drips from your skin, you strike the dagger sharp into the air; it extends tenfold, “I’m finishing this.”

You rip the heart out from its chest, its blood dripping through your fingers. Your foot atop its lying body; the fog settles and the twins appear not far. Suna stares at the way you’re waving the heart in the air.

“Can you not.” He states.

“Suna! Take a picture!”

“No.”

#Halloween special #haikyuu x reader #atsumu x reader #suna x reader #osamu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu #atsumu #suna #osamu

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secretly-a-cold-blooded-murderer · 4 years

Text

Good News...? (Harry Styles x Reader)

Warning: Angst

A/N: It would be nice to hear your views on the fic :-)

Summary: Harry wants a baby, you don’t. Angst ensues.

“So, when are we hearing the good news?” Your husband’s aunt asked you excitedly. You barely stopped yourself from retorting something that would most certainly tarnish your reputation amongst your in-laws.

This was not the first time someone had asked the two of you about having a baby and you knew this would definitely not be the last.

“Hopefully sometime soon, auntie.” Your husband let out a little laugh.

You turned your head towards him, your eyebrows furrowed as if asking him a question; one that he didn’t seem to catch as he continued talking to his relative.

You left his side to look for something other than champagne to drink, murmuring a little excuse me and passing a smile to his aunt who had now moved on to tell your spouse about her friend who recently had a miscarriage because she and her husband got pregnant too late.

You walked towards the kitchen, swiftly passing by all the other guests before they got the chance to say hello. You had lost all your cheery mood, and could not be bothered to act more proper.

The kitchen seemed to be the only place in the entire house which was somewhat empty. You beelined towards the fridge, champagne was too light to help you go through this evening, you needed something heavier.

Opening the fridge, your eyes immediately fell upon the lonesome bottle of vodka sitting in the back. You looked around the kitchen, making sure no one was paying attention to you and pulled out your soon-to-be lifeline.

“Rough night?” You turned around at the sudden voice, only to find your mother in law staring back at you, her foot lightly tapping against the floor.

You made a sound of frustration, “Why the only thing they have to talk about is babies?”

Anne’s face softened at your complaint like she understood your concerns, she was there once.

“They are just intrusive people who have nothing better to do, your eyes raised at Anne’s blunt statement; noticing your expression she raised her hands, “You know it’s true, they did the same when I first got married, seems like they found a new target in you.”

Anne took the bottle of vodka from you and poured it in two shot glasses, sliding one to you.

“So, what do I do?”

“Just smile and nod, occasionally let out a little laugh, that’s really all you can do. Anne’s advice didn’t help to ease your mind but at least now you knew she was on your side. The truth is it wasn’t the relatives’ words that were bothering you, it was Harry’s.

You tipped your head back and drank the shot, feeling the burn run down your throat. That definitely helped.

“Thanks, mum now I guess I have to go find my hubby.” You left the kitchen, a little more prepared to take on your inquisitive relatives.

“Y/n where were you? I was looking all around.” Harry clasped your elbows and pulled you aside.

“I was just in the kitchen looking for a drink, then I started talking to mum.” Harry started to say something—

— “Hey lovebirds, what are you doing here hiding in a corner?” Harry and you moved apart a bit and found Harry’s other aunt grinning at both of you.

You both looked around the room and almost everyone was now turned towards the lot of you.

“Honey, I think we all know when a married couple is hiding in a corner there can only be two things they must be doing,” uncle Matthews claimed loudly, a slight slur in his voice, but face lit up with excitement.

Aunt Matilda’s forehead wrinkled in confusion as she tilted her head to the side, figuring out the meaning of her husband’s implications, her expression soon morphed into a big smile, “They can either be fighting or be doing the complete opposite,” she waggled her eyebrows in suggestion, “Which one is it, dearies?”

Uncle Dan tilted his head back and let out a boisterous laugh, which prompted everyone else to join him, some people even started cheering.

You plastered a big smile on your face, nodding a little; you made sure to chuckle occasionally, and then kept your head downwards, not even meeting eyes with Harry until everybody went back to mingling with each other.

But Aunt Matilda remained by your side the entire evening, thankfully now indulging in and asking you about your work, and you were extremely happy to oblige.

“So you’re now the head at your office?

“Yeah, I got a promotion only a few months ago. The hours have definitely increased but we make it work, right Baby?” Your eyes met Harry’s green ones. Your mind was a lot more calm, even with a shot of vodka running through your bloodstream.

“Of course. I am so proud of her,” his dimples more prominent than it had been the whole evening.

“Aww look at the two of you, so cute,” she reached forward and grabbed each of your and Harry’s hand, “Have you both decided on getting pregnant yet? don’t you think it's time?"

You almost rolled your eyes, no matter where you went, it seemed impossible to escape the baby question.

You pressed your lips together and left the question for Harry to answer, “Yeah, hopefully, we'll have good news real soon," the dimples didn't leave Harry's face at all.

She turned towards you, as if to confirm Harry's statement, you pulled your cheeks back in a smile and nodded lightly.

Her eyebrows raised a little in surprise, a big smile graced her lips, "Well that's lovely," She brought her hands up to cover her mouth, "Oh, can you imagine a little Harry running around the house?"

Harry, still smiling, nodded along. While you cast your eyes sideways and around the room until they landed on Anne.

Anne tossed her head backwards in greeting and you passed her a pleading look, directing her eyes to the still talking Aunt Matilda.

Anne shook in silent laughter, relating to your situation a little too much. She nodded her head and walked away.

Your parted your lips, unsure of Anne's plan. But guessed she had experienced pesky relatives enough times to learn how to deal with them.

Your guesses were confirmed when Anne's voice called out to everyone that dinner was set up. You lifted your head upwards and thanked your stars but most importantly, your mother in law.

Aunt Matilda left to join the rest of the family.

Harry offered his elbow to you, his back completely straight, "Shall we go for dinner m'lady?" He asked in a posh accent.

You laughed at the goofball but declined the dinner, you couldn't take any more of his family.

His forehead crinkled, "But why?"

You hated lying, especially to your husband, "I am not feeling well, I guess" you shrugged your shoulders, guilt slowly creeping up on you.

His eyes softened as he brought his hand closer to the side of your face and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, "Okay, you go rest upstairs, I'll deal with the fam."

You pressed your lips tightly to not make a noise, but you were still shaking, trying not to burst out laughing, "fam?"

Harry moved his lips into a pout, a red tint making an appearance on his cheeks, shut up.

You placed a kiss on his left cheek and made your way up the stairs, leaving him standing in the middle of the room.

You were still smiling when you entered the second room to the left and were instantly met with all the posters from when Harry was a kid. You glanced at each one by one, your attention then taken by his old Manchester United t-shirt hung on the wall.

You opened the window and sat down on the bed, finally away from all the people. You loved this room the best out of all in the entire house. It showed Harry's true essence; he still had his old model cars lined neatly on the shelf, along with pictures of his old mates.

The room was filled up to the brim with silence and the smell of Chinese food from next door lingered in the air. You felt calm.

The door opened with a little creak, you turned to see Harry entering his room. He placed himself next to you and lied down, taking you with him. Together you both laid on a single bed surrounded with trinkets from Harry's childhood.

It was probably very late in the night and you were still awake. Harry's breath tickled your neck, but you didn't want to disturb him. His statements from earlier this evening came back to you.

You were wondering if Harry had been wanting a child but didn't say anything. You also got worried imagining why he didn't tell you. But most importantly, were you ready for a child?

Before you realised, sunlight filtered through the room and Harry was up. As he was getting dressed, you feared for the conversation you were about to bring up.

"Wake up, sweetie. It's almost time for breakfast," Harry whispered by your ear. You couldn't wait any longer.

"H, Do you want to have a kid?"

Absolute silence surrounded you.

"Harry talk to me. Please." You were on the verge of begging to get him to say something, anything. But you were with nothing.

Harry let out a sigh and sat down on the bed. You got up from your lying position and brought yourself next to him.

"Yes, I do. I really do." A lone tear ran down his left cheek. He immediately wiped it away.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" You didn't know why you asked this question, you both knew the answer.

"Because I wasn't sure if you were ready," he turned his body towards you, you could see he was holding his breath and his eyes were slightly widened, "Are you?"

You closed your eyes, you were turning in your bed the whole night thinking exactly about this. You then met his eyes, they were waiting eagerly for your answer, "No."

Harry let out the breath he was holding, and looked down for a moment before rejoining your previously held eye contact, "Why? I remember very clearly that we talked about kids before getting married, why are you refusing now?"

His voice was increasing in volume with every word, "I didn't say anything for the longest while, hoping maybe one day you will, and now you are saying that you don't want to have kids." He stood up from the bed and you could see his hands were now clenched into a fist.

You were really nervous, you didn't expect this reaction from Harry, he was usually such a calm person, "I am not saying that I don't want to have kids ever, but you have to understand Harry, things have changed. I am the head of my firm now and you are away on tour for months on end,"

You stood up as well, your volume was now matching his, " How are we supposed to raise a kid when we are not there to raise the goddamn kid?" You took deep breaths to calm yourself and made a mental note to not raise your voice moving forward, shouting at each other wouldn't help anybody.

"Every couple in the world figures it out, we will as well. I want to have my own baby, Y/n, what am I supposed to do?" his voice was barely audible now, his shoulders slumped and he sat back down on his bed, "What am I supposed to do?"

You didn't have an answer so you just stood there, hoping for a miracle to happen while the silence once again engulfed you two.

"Harry, Y/n breakfast is ready," Anne's voice interrupted the uncomfortable silence between you. You thanked her in your mind, she had lately become a saviour for you.

Harry and you walked down the stairs to join Anne in the dining room, the silent tension following you.

During the entirety of breakfast, Anne was the only one talking. There was no chance she hadn't heard your fight. This was a small house and you both were being pretty loud.

She filled in you two about the events of last night's dinner, which weren’t in the least bit interesting and she ended up just describing what each member of the family was eating.

You two were eager for this temporary distraction and let her go on and on about essentially nothing, "You know how Mike is allergic to mushrooms? So, when he started removing them from his chicken, Aunt Matilda scolded him to finish his dinner as if he were a kid," Anne laughed.

You stopped eating your pancakes for a moment to fake a laugh for her sake. she was helping you get through the breakfast, the least you could do was meet her halfway as she was bullshitting through a story.

Soon after breakfast, it was time for you both to return to your place in London. Frankly, you were dreading the trip back home. You would rather live in your husband's childhood home for a few more days than suffer through a 3-hour journey in your current situation.

Unfortunately, you had a life to get back to, so an uncomfortable long drive was the only option.

Harry stood up to prepare for the trip back home. Anne stopped you before you could leave as well, "You okay?" her eyes were soft and full of concern for you, "I heard the fight, will you be okay going back home right now?"

Your heart filled up with love for the woman you now called mum, she didn't ask for an explanation of your fight, all she cared about was you.

"I'll be okay. Thanks, mum," you nodded your head, staring straight into her eyes. You were almost sure yours were glistening.

Harry came into the room, "Y/n, we should go or we'll be late," he stood there for a moment before nodding his head towards his mum and then left through the front door to wait in his car. His voice held little emotion, which made you more anxious about the journey ahead.

You wished your mother in law goodbye and exited the house.

Harry was in the car, wearing his shades when you sat down in the passenger's seat. You realised you had forgotten your weekend bags and opened your mouth to inform Harry, who pointed to the backseat where he had placed them.

The car ride had been one of the most awkward 3 hours you had spent with your husband. It was eerily quiet, which was something new to both of you. You two were never silent, either you would be talking or Harry would be singing a song under his breath or some noise, never complete silence. Even when you were fighting, you would argue each other's heads off.

This was new territory, this fight wouldn't be solved with make-up sex. You had to have an adult conversation about it. You just weren't sure what it would entail. What was the middle ground here?

When you entered your place, before Harry could walk away, you held his elbow, "H, I don't know what to do, but I know that this silence is killing me. Please say something." Your voice was hoarse for some reason and you were barely holding yourself together.

"I need some space," he removed his elbow from your hold and went out the door, leaving you feeling stranded in your own home.

It felt like a dam broke, with the way the tears were falling down your cheeks. You didn't have the time to go up to your room or sit down somewhere before you broke down, so you were currently sat on the floor, arms around your knees which were pressed against your chest.

It was a horrible sight to walk onto, which was exactly the first thing Harry saw when he entered the house after a few hours. You were rolled into a ball in the middle of the room, shaking as the tears flowed freely.

Harry rushed towards you and kneeled down in front of you. He held your face in his hands, making you face him. You could hardly see with the tears obstructing your view and still noticed his glistened eyes. They were swollen and red covered his entire face. He was crying too.

"Please don't cry baby, I am so so sorry. I am an idiot." He took your hands in each of his and made you slap him repeatedly, "I am an idiot, I made a mistake. I am sorry." He started trembling and sobbing at this point.

You couldn't bear to see Harry like this, you stopped him and removed your hands from his grasp. You were frantically shaking your head, "Stop H, please stop it." Your eyes were staring into his.

You both took deep breaths together, slowly calming each other down. You two were on your knees, holding each other, regaining your composure.

Harry spoke first, "What was I thinking, forcing you into having kids? I am so so sorry I acted like a dick Y/n. I don't know what came over me. I promise to never ever act like this again," he shook his head, his eyes moistening again.

You wiped his tears with your thumb, "I want to have kids. I wasn’t lying when I first told you that I wanted kids. You were right, we'll figure something out." You noticed Harry's expression turning uncertain, "But not right now, I need time."

Harry started nodding slowly, "However much you want."

”A year, H, I need one year for us to figure out how we'll handle having a baby and so we can be completely ready before we start trying."

Harry cupped your cheeks and rested his forehead on yours, exhaling lightly, "Absolutely. I'll cut back my time on the road to take care of you and the baby, our mums can help us babysit anytime we need the extra help."

You bit your bottom lip, letting out a small smile, "They'll fucking jump on that opportunity."

You both started chuckling, and before you realised, you were sprawled on the floor, in each other's embrace, laughing.

"I love you, baby."

"I love you too, H.”

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagines #harry styles angst #angst

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reogou · 4 years

Text

Promise || bakugou.k

→ pairing: merman!bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

→ genre: fluff

→ warning/s: swear words

→ word count: 5K+

→ A/N: This is my contribution to the Just Add Water || Mermay Event of @bnhabookclub . Lmao I think this is the longest fic I’ve ever written asdfsdggk. Was really frustrated at this cuz I was taking way too long to finish this. And this went to so many edits ajfjfjg. A very big thank you to @writeiolite @clauclaustar @b0kuto and @lcaita for beta reading and for helping me edit this! Credits for @dailydoseofanimescenery for permitting me to edit their gif! Anyways, I hope you liked this! Enjoy!

→ prompts: “I’m trying really hard not to freak out right now.”

“That’s just an urban legend.”

→ tagging: @pretty-settersquad @t-amajiki

The full moon was in a full view as you sat by the shore of the beach, the calming sounds of the sea clearing your mind for a bit. The wind was somewhat cold, but it didn't faze you as you sat by the seashore, feet buried in the sand as you played with them. You could say that today was a great day to relax from all the stress and problems in your life. Your family decided to go on a trip to the Philippines, which was the reason why you're here. It was a great trip, you could say. The people were welcoming and the food here was great. One of your favorites was a street food delicacy called 'Isaw'. It's a barbecued pig or chicken intestines. At first you really didn’t want to try it, but after your mother encouraged you to eat it, you were surprised at how tasty it was.

The tourist spots were also majestic and beautiful. The beach was clean. You get to visit the falls too, which was one of the tourist spots you loved. The view was breathtaking, almost magical. Even though you didn't get to swim in the falls, the place itself was enough to astonish you. You also enjoyed singing karaoke together with the locals. It never bored you since they were all so lovely and always engaged in conversations with you.

This trip was not so bad, you enjoyed it. Really. It's just that something felt like a piece was missing. Something that’s somehow stuck in your head. Or rather, someone. Particularly Bakugou. The ash-blonde had always been in your mind for the past days, lingering and distracting you. You just missed him, very much.

Bakugou had been your crush ever since middle school. Though you only got to hang out with Izuku, the angry boy had always captured your attention. Ever since you had started attending UA, you had been given the chance to become closer to him. Despite his aggressive stance and obnoxious behavior, you never backed out and had always reached out to him. Now that you two had finally become friends, it filled your heart with joy.

Hanging out with Bakugou and the squad was one of the highlights in your week. But being away from them now, the sense of longing had built up inside you, making your heart feel like it had been longing for a particular emotion. You missed them so much. Not just Bakugou, but the whole class.

You trembled as a chill crawled down your spine. Perhaps it was the cold breeze, or the muted eeriness in the vicinity, but you felt like someone was watching your every move. You gripped your jacket close to your body to protect you from the cold, but the unsettling/disturbing feeling had remained; as if it had a diverse intent to make you feel anxious with your situation right now. You were certain that someone was staring at you. Fear crept inside you, but you merely shrugged it off. There's no way that an intruder could be here, lurking in the shadows. The resort was private and your family had exclusive access to it. Maybe it was just some workers or the night guards and maybe it was only your thoughts that had been bothering you to no ends.

Just as your nerves began to calm down, you almost jumped when a hand appeared in front of you making you scream. A loud laugh filled your ears. You turned around, glaring at Sero who was laughing at your reaction. He only laughed harder when you slapped his shoulders.

"Sero! I'm gonna fucking kill you! I almost had a heart attack because of you!" Your dark haired cousin just continued cackling, annoying you even more. How dare he ridicule you when you were genuinely scared by the unnerving feeling you felt just now?! It didn't even help when he surprised you like that! If you were holding a knife right now, you would've stabbed him already!

Out of annoyance, you gripped onto his hair. Sero immediately shouted out in pain but he was still laughing. Goodness, he even had the audacity to cry out of laughter!

"Ouch! Ouch!" He chuckled again, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I promise I won't do it again! Just please let go of my hair!"

You growled at him, still annoyed at his actions. "Stop laughing, you idiot! Or I will really pull your hair out!"

You gave him another slap on the shoulders before letting go of his hair. Sero massaged his aching scalp before chuckling again. He was quick to jump out of your reach before you could lunge at him again. You returned your attention back to the calming sea and hugged your knees, turning away from the pesky prick behind you. Of course, Sero had to annoy you more by sitting beside you. In retaliation, you found yourself admiring the moon from above in hopes of regaining your own composure.

"You're really scary when you get angry you know," he snorted, making you glare at his direction. "You always get so violent. I'm starting to think that Bakugou's attitude have influenced you."

You tensed, just a mention of the ash-blonde made you miss him even more. Sero noticed your change of attitude from earlier.

"You okay?" The dark-haired boy stared at you with curious eyes, his features softening. It was not a secret from the Bakusquad that you had feelings for that angry boy. Not because you were open about it, but your actions were enough for them to know who it is.

Your gaze shifted to your toes. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just missing someone."

Sero gave out a sigh and looked over the moon in front of you. "I miss them too."

You turned your head towards the black-haired boy, resting your cheeks on your knees.

"By now, we should be going back to the dorms after a drink in the bar. We would probably be dragging a drunk Kaminari while Bakugou would lecture him for being a dumbass and drinking too much even though Aizawa-sensei will check on us in the morning."

You chuckled at his words, already imagining the scenario. It's not far from reality, though, but you wouldn’t be sober enough to remember the details since you would be a drunken mess too.

"Yup. It would happen."

As you two talked about the Bakusquad, your memories of UA and Class A crossed your mind. You tried to shake off those thoughts and forget all the problems you left in Japan, just for today. You wanted to break free from all that chaos right now. Someone might question your decisions because you were aiming to be a hero, but then all you did was run away from your problems. But you couldn’t help it. If you let it get to your mind, you will surely lose control of yourself. And you don’t want that.

"Well, enough of that. We'll only miss them more." Sero looked over to you, a glint of excitement slowly flashing in his eyes. "Have you heard of the legend about the Mermaids?"

A mischievous grin was plastered on his face, making you roll your eyes. “That’s just an urban legend.”

"But what if it's true? They say that mermaids of the modern era hide in the deepest part of the sea, some also hide amongst the people to protect their identity. Since they bring fortune and luck, pirates and yakuzas always hunt them down and capture them, the reason why numerous numbers of them are killed due to pain and from the tortures."

"Sero, you're too old for that crap. Do you really believe that mermaids are still alive nowadays? They're probably extinct already."

"You never know! Besides, I also learned from the locals that mermaids often gather in the oceans of the Philippines because they're one of the few countries who don't kill mermaids."

You scoffed at him, not buying his theories. "Even if the Filipinos didn't kill them, they would probably be killed by other countries already."

"But-" Just when Sero was about to defend his theory, your grandmother called you back for dinner, interrupting your conversation. As you walked back towards the resort's lounge, both of you were oblivious of the vermilion eyes gleaming in the dark, staring at your figure.

The sounds of crashing waves filled your ears as you stared at the sea in front of you. The waves were a little rougher today. The moon was still in view, but partially hidden by the clouds. Nevertheless, gazing at the moon could always calm you down. Regardless of where you were, or whether the moon could be seen that night, you always took comfort in knowing that the moon was there to guide you.

You were dragged out of your thoughts when soft murmurs reached your ears. Out of curiosity, you peeked at the other side of the rock formations. The whispers were still a little indistinguishable, so you decided to inch closer. You knew you shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but there's just something inside you telling you to find out who was behind those rocks.

“...shouting, Y/N wouldn't notice us! If we ever get caught, it's your damn fault!"

Your eyes widened at the mention of your name. Your heartbeat halted momentarily as you felt your mind go blank. Why were you being mentioned? And more importantly, who the hell were they? Determined to find out, you tip-toed towards them, only to find a familiar head of ash blonde hair in front of you.

Katsuki?

Katsuki scoffed under his breath as he swam towards the shore of Palawan, a Filipino beach that doubled as their hideout. He just came back from Japan after a mission to send some supplies to the western groups. The trip was pretty short since mermaids and mermen were able to swim faster than any other sea creature.

If anyone knew of Bakugou being a merman, they would've laughed their asses off and think that the idea was ridiculous and impossible. But the world is filled with surprises, and one of those is Bakugou being a merman. If Shitty Hair and the other's were to see him in his merman form, they would most likely freak out.

"Bakugou, have you already sent the supplies to the western groups?" One of the leaders of the eastern group greeted him. With a face void of emotions, Bakugou stopped swimming and nodded at the leader, his ash-blonde hair floating with the waters. The leader looked at him in the eyes, examining his expression.

"You know you don't have to do this, Bakugou." The leader spoke, his expression softening. Bakugou only scoffed and turned away, clicking his tongue in the insides of his cheeks.

"Shut up." The leader heaved out a sigh. Bakugou growled as the leader patted his shoulders. He only chuckled at Bakugou's reaction and smiled warmly at the young merman.

"If you really want to see her, she's just by your reach. She's the reason why you're here at the headquarters, right? You did that again yesterday. What's the difference if you do it again?"

Bakugou clicked his tongue once more and glared at the man in front of him. "The hell are you saying, old man?"

Shaking his head, the leader just let the rudeness of the young merman go. After all, the whole clan was used to Bakugou’s attitude ever since he was a child. Even though Bakugou always made snarky comments and pushed them away, they know what he's going through on the lands, and still understand where he's coming from.

"Anyways, I'm gonna head out. You can visit her again if you want. She's at The Coast right now." Bakugou's body tensed after realizing that you were so near. Just a few miles from his reach.

Although he doesn't openly portray his feelings well, he does miss you. A lot. His world just doesn't feel the same when you’re gone. Every time he has to go back to the ocean and leave you, the feeling of loneliness clung to him. It felt like he couldn't live without you in his reach. And it was painful. So painful that all he wants is to come back and be with you, even though you don't know his feelings for you.

"Good luck, young man." Was the leader's last words before he swam away, the pressure from his tail and speed making Bakugou lose balance. He clicked his tongue in exasperation and began to swim towards the headquarters. But it felt like something was pulling him off course, tugging him towards the direction of The Coast, where you were. He tried to ignore it and continue his way towards the headquarters, but the force was too powerful to fight with. The more he struggled, the more he was being dragged towards you. Shutting his eyes closed in frustration, Bakugou heaved out a sigh.

"Ah...fuck it."

As soon as Bakugou's head emerged from the waters, the calming lights from the resort greeted him. He scanned his surroundings, searching for your silhouette. And there you were, sitting by the rocks, your serene face gazing at the moon above you. His eyes softened at your appearance, but he immediately shook his head to empty his thoughts. Careful to not alert your sense, he started swimming towards your direction slowly. Just when he was about a few inches from you, a hand shot out and pulled his arm down the ocean. Bakugou’s brows immediately furrowed at the sudden tug, and he turned around to glare at the culprit, Awase, who was scowling at Bakugou as well.

"What the fuck, Bakugou? Do you want to get caught or something? What the hell was that?"

"Oi, what the fuck, extra?! Who the hell told you to drag me down so easily, huh?! You wanna fight?!" Bakugou's deep voice echoed in the waters, making Awase's eyes widened in fear.

"Shut the hell up man! She could hear you!" Awase hissed at him, tightening his grip on Bakugou's shoulders.

"Let go of me, you asshole!" Bakugou shrugged the other merman's arms off of him, growling.

"Bakugou, this is not the right time to fight! Let's get out of here before she notices us!" Awase tried to pull him away from the rock formations, but Bakugou was persistent and refused to leave, glaring at the merman.

"No fucking way, asshole. You don't have the right to boss me around. And stop following me, will you?!" Before Awase could stop Bakugou, but the ash-blonde was already swimming back to the surface. When Bakugou emerged from the waters, he noticed that you were still staring at the sky above. Bakugou attempted to swim closer towards you, but Awase had already caught up and tried to stop Bakugou yet again. Out of irritation, Bakugou growled at him, making Awase flinch a little.

"Bakugou, I swear to god, let's go before she sees us!" Awase was getting more and more desperate. Why can't Bakugou understand him? If Bakugou got caught, he would face grave consequences. Why was Bakugou acting so reckless?

"What the fuck are you even fussing about?" Bakugou was boiling with anger, and his fury was evident on his face. "If you just stop shouting, Y/N wouldn't notice us! It would be your damn fault if we got caught!"

Suddenly, a small yelp interrupted their heated argument. Awase flinched at the unexpected noise; horror could be seen on his face as he slowly looked at the young girl behind him, who was trying to peek at the two mermen. In shock, you smiled nervously at them, subtly shifting backward for fear that they would harm you.

"Uh... hi?"

"What the fuck?!"

Out of panic, you lost your balance, a loud shriek escaping your lips as you fell into the water. While underwater, you saw their tails as you struggled to reach for air. Thankfully, Bakugou immediately caught you and brought you back to the surface. Your heart was beating erratically as you caught your breath. Preventing yourself from falling again, you grabbed onto Bakugou’s shoulders for support, your florid face buried in the crook of his neck as you desperately reinforced yourself to regain your composure. Once your breathing became steady, you came face-to-face with Bakugou.

What the heck? Your eyes widened as you took in the view in front of you. Why does this man have to be so hot? You watched as the water cascaded down from his soft hair onto his nose, to his plump lips, and to his chiseled jaw. You couldn’t help but gulp at his appearance - he looked like the Greek God of the ocean, Poseidon. While checking him out, your gaze lowered to his biceps, onto his exposed chest and abs. Ohlala~ Can someone bring in some coffee? The bread is already here.

"Done checking me out, Shitty woman?" His sharp words caught you by surprise, as you blushed at the realization that you were checking him out so openly. Out of embarrassment, you buried your head on his shoulders again to hide the blush painted on your cheeks. You wished the waters below you would cut you in half and swallow you alive.

"Now, don't be shy. You can stare all you want." Bakugou chuckled, making you whine and punch him playfully on the chest.

"Shut up."

“I’m trying really hard not to freak out right now.”

Bakugou sighed. Getting caught was not part of his plan. But there's nothing he could do about it. You already found out his secret.

"Y/N." Bakugou started, his voice a lot gentler than usual, causing you to flinch when he called out your attention. Not only is Bakugou a lot softer than he usually is, this was also the first time he addressed you with your real name, and not those stupid nicknames of his. Something inside you tingled at how your name rolled out of his tongue. You never thought that Bakugou calling your name would have an effect on you.

"Oi, are you listening?" Bakugou frowned.

"Oh, sorry." You chuckled awkwardly and scratched the back of your head. "I was not listening. What did you say again?"

Bakugou heaved out a sigh. "I said, now that you already know what I am, you should not tell anyone about this. You understand that?"

You nodded in his direction, understanding his words.

There was a long silence as both of you stared at the moon, sitting on the rock formations once again. Bakugou had moved you here, after the incident a while ago. Awase excused himself after informing Bakugou that he has to take care of this mess before the leaders find out. You couldn't comprehend what was happening even until now. Seeing him sitting beside you, his gorgeous, golden tail in full view, all this felt like a dream. Not to mention the fact that you and Sero were just arguing yesterday about how mermaids and mermen are not real. But here you are, coming face-to-face with one of them. And out of all the mermen out there, Bakugou was one of them.

"Hey, Bakugou. I wanna ask something." You locked eyes with him, your eyes full of curiosity as they stared into his vermilion orbs. Bakugou raised both of his brows in your direction, awaiting your next words.

"What?" The unsettling feeling of anticipation and fear slowly crept up on Bakugou. He may not have shown it, but he was terrified for your reaction when he saw you staring at him with eyes wide in shock. What if you freak out and get scared of him? And now that you're starting to question him, all the emotions that he felt before unwillingly came crashing back. What were you gonna say? Would you ask him about being a merman? Would you ask him to stay away from you? Would you-

"What shampoo do you use?" You felt Bakugou freeze on the spot, an unexplainable expression plastered in his face.

"Hah?!" Out of all the things he was expecting you to ask, the shampoo that he uses was not one of them. Heck, it didn't even cross his mind!

"What did you say?!" You flinched at his shouting, starting to regret that you asked him about his shampoo.

"Is it...is it a secret?" As you spit out the words from your lips, your voice got smaller and smaller too. You backed out slightly, scared of what he might do to you. At this rate, you looked like a puppy who was about to get beat by it’s master. A Chihuahua, on that note.

"What?!" The ash-blonde merman stared dumbfounded at you. In disbelief, he couldn’t help but laugh at your ridiculous question. Meanwhile, you stared at him in awe. His face while laughing was so ethereal that it almost made you cry. Why the fuck does he have to be so beautiful?! Why? Shortly after, Bakugou stopped laughing but was still holding his stomach while wiping the tears away from his eyes.

"Ahh… that was a good laugh after ages." He chuckled at himself and looked over your direction. "This is why I admire you."

At this point, it was your turn to be frozen in place as his words slowly sank down your brain. Seems like Bakugou also realized what he said and froze too. Oh god. He gulped. A blush started to emerge on his cheeks as your face became red too. Trying to hide his embarrassment, Bakugou cleared his throat and focused on the moon hanging above the both of you, hiding his face from your line of sight.

"W-what I mean is that I-I just like your personality. It's not like I l-like you in a romantic way or whatever crap."

You snickered at his pathetic excuse. Even though Bakugou tries to hide it, the redness on his neck and ears didn't go unnoticed by you. You bet that if he turned around right now, his face would be as red as a tomato. You chuckled at that thought which made Bakugou glare at you.

"Stop laughing!" Ignoring his complaints, your laugh got louder when he turned to face you. Your assumptions was correct - Bakugou’s looks did resemble a tomato due to the intense redness on his face.

"You're so cute!" You were laughing so hard, your stomach started to hurt and tears started to well up at the corner of your eyes. The ash-blonde man hissed at you once more, the scowl on his face making it obvious of how annoyed he is right now.

"I said stop laughing! If you don't stop right now, I'm gonna throw you to the water." Despite his threatening words, Bakugou was actually enjoying this moment, seeing your cheerful face in front of him. All of this is just perfect. You're actually cute when you laugh, but there's no way in hell would he say that to your face.

"Ok, ok! I'm gonna stop now." However, you couldn’t stop chuckling. No matter how hard you tried, stopping was not an option right now. Bakugou clicked his tongue in irritation but didn't say anything. Once you've calmed down, you grinned at him, eyes shining with happiness.

"Bakugou…" You started, "I'm happy to see you right now."

Your words struck through Bakugou's heart. He was glad to know that you were content about seeing him. His heart skipped a beat at that thought and the blush on his face was tinted with a shade of crimson yet again. At this point, he was already sure of his feelings for you.

"Y-you should be, Shitty woman." He clicked his tongue again, hiding the smile that started to form. Chuckling, you gazed up at the moon, the stars surrounding it making the scenery even more beautiful. You could just sit here with him all day and you wouldn’t get bored. After all, this was what you wanted, to be with him even for just a bit.

"By the way..." Your brows shot up when Bakugou spoke, his eyes still glued at the moon. When he felt you staring at him, he turned towards you, brows arched.

"Aren't you cold?"

Now that he mentioned it, you were practically freezing right on your spot. The cold gust of wind didn’t help either and only added on to the chilly sensation.

"You should go and change first before you catch a cold." His calloused hands ran through his damp hair, the tiny droplets of water only made him look more handsome to the eye.

"I don't want to…"

"Huh? Why? Aren't you freezing? You wanna die or something?"

You grinned, a small giggle escaping your lips. Heaving out a sigh, you looked back at the moon above you, stars twinkling around the celestial body. You pulled your knees up to your chest as you gazed back at Bakugou, who was eyeing your every movement.

"I don't want this to end."

"What?"

"This," You pointed at him. "You and me." And then to your chest. "Us, conversing peacefully. I don't wanna stop or ruin this perfect moment by going back to my room to change, while knowing that by the time I'm done, you'll be gone."

Bakugou’s heart broke into pieces when he noticed the pain that crossed your crystalline eyes. He knows that you have feelings for him. And he knows he feels the same. He knows what you want, what you need. But he can’t give it to you right now. All he can give you now is assurance. That one day, after all of this comes to an end, he will come back to you.

A heavy sigh came out from his own lips as he shifted his weight to his arms and placed them behind him. There was an emotion that was plastered on his face you couldn’t name. "Go. Change. I won't be leaving." Bakugou glanced over his shoulders, eyes lingering on your face with that soft look of his, his vermilion eyes mirroring your own.

"I'll stay. Just trust me.”

Two sentences. Those five words were enough for your tears to drop one by one, your heart filling with joy and love for the man in front of you. You could genuinely feel the emotion behind his words. The assurance. The promise. His feelings. All of them embraced you as Bakugou stared at you with that emotion close to yours, an emotion you can finally name. The emotion called love.

"...wait."

A splash startled you when Bakugou jumped towards the waters. You waited for him to appear from the waters. You waited. And waited. But nothing. Minutes have passed but there was still no sign from him. Disappointment filled your heart at the thought that he already left. Didn’t he promised to stay? He didn't even wait for you to leave. You tried to think if it as a logical explanation. Maybe he had some errands to do. But would it hurt to say a simple goodbye to you? Was that really hard to do? A sigh escaped your lips as you fumbled with your fingers, distracting yourself from the aching pain growing in your heart. You thought that maybe, your relationship with him somewhat grew. You were certain, so sure that he feels the same way about you too. It may not be the same level as your feelings, but you know that he’s starting to like you too. The blush on his face, the stark emotions on his face, and his softness a while ago were enough clues for you to connect the dots. Bakugou was never that soft to anyone, only to you.

"Hey." You looked over your shoulders when you heard a voice coming from behind you. Seeing the familiar smooth ash-blonde hair of his, the feeling of euphoria and excitement filled your heart when you saw Bakugou below you, hair damp from the waters. He was holding a plastic bag with jeans inside it. You closed your eyes when a light appeared around his body, hurting you a bit. As soon as the blinding light disappeared, you came face-to-face with Bakugou's chest. You shrieked out of shock and moved backwards, your face turning red once more at the realization that the ash-blonde male was naked in front of you.

"What the hell, Bakugou!" You immediately shielded your eyes to prevent seeing something you will regret. “Get dressed!”

Bakugou snorted at your reaction, amusement dancing in his red orbs. “It’s not like you don’t want to see my body.”

“Bakugou!” Bakugou only laughed and got dressed. When he was done, you felt a piece of warm cloth placed around your shoulders, the comfort making you purr a little. He pulled your hands away from your face and handed you a white, glowing pearl. It was so beautiful you couldn’t take your eyes off of it.

You looked up at him with your eyes filled with curiosity, “What’s this?”

“It’s a pearl, dumbass.” His cheeks started growing red and he averted his eyes from you. “It’s a...a p-promise pearl for us...mermen…”

“Oh…” Your cheeks heated up, as a tinge of red hue began to dust it as you blinked at the information he gave, gripping at the blanket wrapped around you. What does he mean by that? Is he...giving you hints? Or what?

"Uh...why would you give this to me?"

"Don't you understand, dumbass? I'm giving that to you as a promise that I will claim you when the day comes. So take that shit and put it in your forehead."

"Huh?!" You felt like your world was spinning. You don't understand why Bakugou was saying this all to you. You felt utterly bewildered by all that’s happening right now.

"Bakugou-," Bakugou clicked his tongue before snatching the white pearl from you. He kissed the pearl and placed it on your lips. Your cheeks burned even more when you realized that you had just kissed Bakugou indirectly. His calloused pads grazed on your soft cheeks as he pulled the pearl away from you, the pearl now flat on his hands. You were amazed at how he did that, but the pain on your forehead distracted you.

"Ouch! Bakugou, it hurts!" You tried to back away from him, but Bakugou placed his hands firmly on the back of your head to stop your struggling.

"Shhh...don't worry, just endure it a little bit more. The pain will go away." He cooed, his hot breath fanning the top of your head, sending butterflies into your stomach. When the pain subsided, you stared at Bakugou's features.

"Bakugou..." He arched his brows while still looking at the pearl on your forehead.

"What?"

"Why are you so...I don't know, soft right now?"

Bakugou stilled at your words. "W-what? I'm not, idiot."

You just smiled at him.

"You promised, ok?"

A long silence fell between the both of you. You thought Bakugou wouldn't answer, but his hands dropped on your shoulders, his grip tightening as he raised your chin up, making you look directly at his eyes.

"I know." He whispered, just enough to reach your ears. "But I wouldn't call that as a promise. I don't want to break that. So I will do all of my best to make you mine. You understand? So don't let any other man get close to you. Especially Tape Face." He gritted his teeth at the memory of you and Sero talking last night.

"What? But he's just my cousin!" You laughed.

"I don't care. Tsk. Now go and change your clothes or you'll catch a cold."

"Ok." You stood up and placed a chaste kiss on his cheeks before running away from him, giggling at yourself. "I'll be back, Bakugou!" You couldn't believe that you just kissed Bakugou on the cheeks. You felt like a highschool teenager at that moment, gushing over her crush.

"Y/N!" You stopped on your tracks and turned around, facing Bakugou whose face was once again red.

"It's Katsuki."

Your heartbeat raced 10 times faster. It was like you ran 3 kilometers in just a minute at how fast your heart raced inside your ribcage. A genuine smile appeared on your lips, smiling cheerfully at the ash blonde just a few meters away from you. At that moment, everything felt so right, everything felt so surreal. Like a happy ending in a disney movie, with the two main characters starting a new journey together. A new chapter in a book, the book that contains the story of you and Bakugou's. Of you and Katsuki's.

"Okay, Katsuki."

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cilly-the-writer · 3 years

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SHADOWS OF SORCERY | Part 1 | Shadow of Doubt | 582 words

"You don't really like having all those pesky firelights around all the time, do you?" Kaden said, a sly smile on his face. He let the silence linger a little bit. He knew he wasn’t getting an answer. "I know what your plan is. You’re just waiting to make enough friends before you kill them. I know you want their core magic. You only bother with them for their magic in the first place.”

"No," Elora let her frown deepen. “I’d never do that to them.”

Her firelights floated around her, hovering from side to side like hummingbirds. They had wings like dragonflies, with a mesmerizing iridescent sheen to them—especially as they flapped at such fast speeds. Some of the firelights glowed soft blues and reds. Some glowed soft purples and greens. There were a couple dozen of them altogether, floating high and low around her. Maybe they were a bit obnoxious and intrusive, always hovering in and out of her personal space. They were clueless little creatures. Well intentioned, but clueless.

But more importantly, innocent.

"Yes, you would.” Kaden spoke with a resolute look on his face. “You're taking their core magic and getting rid of them."

"I said,” her voice got lower, “I'd never do that to them."

“But you were poisoned, weren’t you?” Kaden said. He waited for a response.

What could she say?

It was true.

But firelights were hypersensitive to conflict. To harsh tones of voice. To fear. They were already picking up at frantic speeds, some of them flying in anxious circles around her. The thought of being killed was too much for them.

She knew where Kaden was going with this.

Then came the punch:

“You wouldn’t last much longer without them.”

That’s when a flurry of her firelights took off, zipping into the forest in different directions. Disappearing almost instantly. Only about five of them remained, still speeding around Elora like panicked bumblebees.

But Elora crashed to the ground before she could even think to count them. She crashed to her hands and knees, and a feeling of heaviness and wooziness anchored her down. She pushed herself to get up. To at least pick her head up. But her arms trembled. She felt sick.

She managed another glimpse of Kaden, just as he took another step toward her with a convincing sad look in his eyes. It was a good act. For the firelights, at least.

“You really want to stay?” he spoke, but not to Elora. He was talking to the firelights. His tone was calm and gentle to them. “Look at what a poor state she’s in. She can’t really be hanging on to you for your ambient magic. She’s just like every other sorcerer. She wants her own magic. You really don’t think she wouldn’t kill you for it?”

He paused, letting the sentiment fester in their thoughts.

“She really has no other option.”

The firelights zipped and circled around Elora even faster. They were in such a frenzy now, bumping into each other and shrinking away from Kaden. Trying so hard not to believe him. But his words were getting to them.

Elora glared at him, breathing hard. She couldn’t speak through her shakiness. But the rage and helplessness coursing through her veins was numbing. He hadn’t even touched her or her firelights. All he had done was plant a seed of doubt.

That was all he needed. That was all anyone needed to take her humanity away from her.

Next >>

#writing #snippet #I started this in November!#finally got back around to it #was inspired to write some kind of villain planting a seed of doubt #with magic of course #and these little fuzzy light creatures who are not the brightest metaphorically came to mind #shadow of a doubt #shadows of sorcery #wip:Sos

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plaguedquillfeathers · 3 years

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In the Aether: A Dream SMP Deity AU

❝ Even gods bleed. The issue is that, in the aether, they’ve chosen to bleed willingly.❞

So I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I’ve decided to post it regardless of if I actually go through with it completely!

Have a Dream SMP, but they’re all gods!

Basically, think of the dream smp, but instead of them just being members, they’re the gods that control how the world exists. Think about it: villagers being so fearful of which god decides to whisk them away for wars and creatures of the night trying to kill them for existing only to have themselves harvested for obviously magical properties? Fun as heck!

Anyway, here’s some notable deity titles (with more under the thread)!

Dream as the God of Desires -- of wishes, even dreams themselves. Nothing can be can be concrete without that spark to make it flare, but as his need to fulfil everyone's desires grew deeper, he fell into a dangerous loop. His own wish for things to "go back to normal", to have control, has thus corrupted what he thought he knew, poisoning the minds of all under his watch. The aether’s darling child, he is the reason the gods came together under one sky.

JSchlatt as the God of Conflict. Originally banished to maintain order, he returned with the sole purpose of creating friction -- of tipping the scales. In his death, he still won, for the friction is now more present than ever. They all need him to have a purpose, to have something to fight for. He knew that all along, and oh, would he do it again.

Philza as the God of Life and Death. Since both concepts can only be separated by a moment not noticed by many, he likes to only go by the god of life. Unfortunately, things don't work that way.

Technoblade as the God of Anarchy -- of that pesky thing that refuses to have an order. The voices are the lost essence of all forms of chaos, refusing to fade off into the aether. They fuel the Blood God, yes, but their chaos is addictive. It’s uncontainable.

Wilbur Soot as the God of Imagination (and budding god of music!). His idea of creation was corrupted beyond compare, leading to his demise. Ghostbur, however, is something else entirely...Or is he?

Tommy(Innit) as the presumed God of Mischief, but actually the God of Rebellion. Always pushing the envelope, he's young and slowly understanding himself. It's a slow process, but with control being a major factor in the deities’ realm, it’s a struggle.

Tubbo as the God of Loyalty, of keeping oaths. He’s still reeling from the greatest oath he had to break with his best friend, as well as the continuously broken loyalties of his allies. However, his oath to Tommy remains strong, despite the cracks in their armor.

Eret as the Deity of Fate, with eyes that mirror what life could be for a person if they stare into them. They maintain the museum as a way to show that things were always bound to happen. It was always meant to be. Hmm, but what if...

Nihachu being the Goddess of Freedom, scorned one too many times because her kindness was taken advantage of, not to mention her message being corrupted to further agendas that soon went against her very being.

Fundy being the God of “The Crossroads” -- of Choice. He is still too young and inexperienced to understand his own power, endlessly seeking others to make his choices for him

Ranboo as the God of Memory, lost in his own mind as he tries to recover what he has lost. He needs to find those shades of grey again, but as the realm continuously shifts, he can’t help but feel hopeless at times.

Awesamdude as the God of Knowledge, objective and impartial, emotions hidden for the sake of learning all there is to know. He is known far and wide for some of the most elaborate things, so it's no shock that feeds off the desire to create something greater; however, while Dream is willing to exploit this, Sam is highly aware that things are off(tm).

Quackity as the God of Transformation -- of change, really. Like fundy, he was soon manipulated into seeking out the meaning of his worth, which had disastrous (and lingering) results.

Karl Jacobs as the God of Time. People underestimate him because he’s so damn nice to everyone, but given that he sees so many timelines, he’s learned that being happy in the moment is the best action.

Callahan as the God of Silence, but actually the God of Intuition. In silence, one can truly hear their true intentions. He never speaks a word, for the gods know he already knows.

Sapnap as the self-proclaimed God of the Hunt, but officially known as the God of Passion. Having harnessed flame like a well loved pet, his skills (and determination) surpass even the most angry of blazes.

CaptainPuffy as the Goddess of Victory. She’s very good friends with a lot of people, but her competitiveness does cause some messy situations. Somehow, she’s managed to get into Dream’s radar, and she worries for him.

GeorgeNotFound as the God of Luck. Having avoided much conflict and stayed naïve to many things, it's not a surprise that his presence among Dream seems to boost the God's infallible air.

BadBoyHalo as the God of Protection. He's bound to skeppy by choice, but tends to focus more on keeping those he deems worthy safe. The fact that a mysterious egg has corrupted him of all people should be hella concerning...

Skeppy as the God of Mischief. Funnily enough, he gets along will with Techno despite their obvious differences, while being one of the few that manages to get Bad to loosen up without much effort.

Antfrost as the God of Healing, usually seen around the inherent healer that is nature itself. He’s a master of alchemy, and an animal lover.

Punz as the God of Strategy. He’s a seemingly close ally of dream, but willing to switch sides if the battlelines shift. He is well respected amongst many deities and uses that power to breeze through conflict with ease.

Alyssa the Goddess of Travel. A rather rare figure to see, but she's the reason gods have a safe journey into the lands they all inhabit.

Ponk as the God of Sacrifice. A callback to his cat killing days, he believes that one cannot take without giving. Sometimes, you must lose something to gain something in return.

JackManifoldTV is the God of Abundance, given his previous obsession with Manifoldland. He's constantly underestimated, but he realizes his worth when he cheats death. He's always been more than enough... it's time to prove it.

Purpled as the God of Courage. He's not afraid to stand by his thoughts, usually rubbing off on those he is currently protecting. An important ally to have in a fight.

ConnorEatsPants as the God of Charm. He utilises this to get out of bad situations, mostly. if he can avoid the more brutal gods, He's happy that way, even managing to get into Conflict’s good graces.

Hbomb as the God of Fun. He’s always trying to cut through the chaos that is the deities with something that brings them together, even if it’s for a little while.

Vikkstar as the God of Inspiration. As one of the oldest gods present, and a massive inspiration to a lot of them, he tries not to interfere, instead making his home with his friend and waiting for the younger ones to sort their shit out.

Lazarbeam as the God of Tradition. He remembers the days before these newer gods roamed, watching silently as they figure themselves out. Like Vikk, he doesn’t get involved.

FoolishGamers as the God of Rebirth. A recent addition, and actually an offshoot of Philza’s side of things, he’s still settling in. Perhaps, he can be of assistance...Hopefully he picks the right side.

Slimecicle & Hannahxxrose as the God/Goddess of -- Well, TBA.

And a Bonus:

MrBeast as the God of Charity! Everyone loves him. That is all.

#mcyt #dream smp #dream smp au #sleepy boys inc #dream team #LISTEN I LOVE DEITY AUS SO MUCH #// aus

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morganaspendragonss · 4 years

Text

spirits in my head (they won’t go)

i’ve written four tua fics in four days someone help me

ao3

They don’t know what to do with Klaus. He’s still leaning heavily on Luther, only upright under the threat of being dragged along the tarmac, and it’s clear he won’t be able to get home under his own steam. Vanya has already left with a woman who Allison can only assume is Sissy, and Five is still inside with Dad, which leaves her, Diego and Luther to figure it out.

“Diego and I can take him back to Elliott’s,” Luther eventually offers, though he doesn’t look like he particularly relishes the prospect. Allison doesn’t blame him; Klaus is difficult when he’s high or coming down, which apparently they think he is.

Allison...isn’t so sure. Still, it’s not like she’s exactly been there to see him like that.

Klaus stirs at the sound of Luther’s voice. “No,” he moans. “Home.”

“Klaus, we don’t know where you live,” Luther argues.

“Allison…” Klaus brings his head up, eyes meeting her own with a surprising desperation in them. “Allison, you know. You can take me. Please.”

Allison hesitates. All she wants right now is to get home to Ray, plus she really doesn’t think Klaus should be left alone right now. But… Well, she’s always found it hard to deny Klaus, and if she’s being honest with herself, she feels bad for letting Luther literally drag him around.

She forces a smile. “Sure.”

“Allison -” Luther tries, but she sends him a look.

“Can you get him into my car, please?”

Luther lingers a moment longer, glancing between her and Klaus, but eventually relents, bundling him into the backseat of her car. Allison follows, sending Luther a quick, “Thanks,” before getting in herself. She throws a look over at Klaus, pressing himself to the window, face pale, and purses her lips, starting the car.

The drive back to Klaus’s home (base? hideout?) is spent in silence - on Allison’s part, at least. Klaus keeps up a steady stream of muttering, of which she only catches about half. It doesn’t seem to be directed at her, though, and Allison finds herself repeatedly checking the rearview mirror. There’s never anybody there, of course, but she can’t shake her unease at the idea of a ghost riding around in her backseat.

“Klaus,” she ventures, during an apparent lull in the conversation. “Who are you talking to?”

“Hm?” Klaus glances towards her. “Oh, just some pesky little ghostie I can’t seem to shake. Fear not, he’ll leave when I do. Thanks for interrupting him, by the way, listening to his moaning was really dragging on.”

“Oh.” Allison smiles nervously, checking the mirror again - no-one there. “You’re welcome.”

Klaus snorts, then groans as he slumps back against the window, the ghost apparently having started talking again.

This goes on for some time, before, “Oh, shut up, Ben!”

Allison almost crashes the car. Fortunately, the mansion is just up ahead, so she swings into the driveway and shuts off the engine, turning around to face Klaus.

“Are you high?” she demands.

Klaus has the gall to look offended, as if there isn’t still a sheen of sweat across his face, far too pale and drawn to be normal. “I’m sober!” he protests.

“Klaus, I’ve seen you drinking.”

He waves a lazy hand. “Semantics, dear sister,” he says, but relents at Allison’s raised eyebrow. “Fine, fine, I may have taken a swan dive off the wagon, but I was sober. For three years! And I haven’t even touched a drug since before old Fivey sent us here, so.”

Allison studies him closely. He looks like shit, to put it mildly, but… “I believe you,” she says, and she does. Somehow, she does; even Klaus looks surprised at the admission.

“Oh,” he says. “Well then. If that’s all, I think I’ll take my leave.”

He heaves himself upright and reaches for the door handle, but Allison grabs his arm. “Not so fast. I heard you say Ben.”

Klaus freezes. “Did you?” he asks, clearly forcing a strained laugh.

“Yep.” She fixes him with a hard stare. “Except - it’s the strangest thing - I seem to remember you telling us Ben never made it here.”

Klaus hesitates, then sighs, falling back into the seat. “In my defence, he’s being a real bitch right now,” he mumbles.

“Klaus!” Allison releases his arm and turns away from him, putting her head in her hands.

“Oh, don’t start with some ‘don’t talk ill of the dead’ bullshit,” Klaus scoffs. “I’ve put up with him for seventeen years, I think I’ve earned the right to talk ill of him.”

Allison glares at him. “And what gives you the right to lie to us about him?” she demands, furious. Klaus looks like a kicked puppy, but she couldn’t care less how shitty he’s feeling right now; he lied to them about their dead brother, she thinks she’s allowed a little anger.

“Honestly, you should be grateful, seventeen years in the grave have done nothing for his likeability,” Klaus says, but he keeps talking before Allison can protest that. “I admit it, alright, I made a mistake - be quiet, Ben, you’re not innocent here either - I’ll do the introductions tomorrow after my organs have rearranged themselves - will that make you happy, you little turd -”

Allison waves a hand in front of his face; clearly he’s not talking to her anymore. He blinks in surprise and flicks his eyes back to her. “Do you want to, I don’t know, tell me what’s going on?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Not particularly.”

“Klaus -”

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolls his eyes and sits up as much as he can. “Our dear, dead brother is all mad because I won’t let him use my body.”

Allison blinks. “What?”

Klaus hums, nodding. “Yeah, remember my little...episode back at the bar? Ben here got all impatient and decided he would just hop on in here. Without even warning me, can you believe that?” Then, turning and glaring to his left, “Of course, I would have said no, but I might have at least liked the choice. Newsflash, asshole: possession hurts! Oh, don’t start -”

Allison tunes him out, her mind reeling. She can’t believe Ben is here - Ben, her brother, her dead brother, actually here. It’s mind blowing, to be honest. She’s still pissed at Klaus for hiding him, but if what Klaus said is true…

And this is the part Allison really can’t wrap her head around. Ben was always so kind; how is she supposed to believe he’d do something like that. Although… He has been dead for years. She guesses that would make anyone a little jaded.

Klaus’s voice gets louder, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“No, you can’t possess me again - don’t fucking touch me - I mean it, Ben -”

“Hey!” she interrupts. She looks at Klaus, more than a little disturbed by the fear in his eyes, but she forces herself to focus. “Klaus, is there any way I can speak to Ben? Like, actually speak to him?”

Klaus’s shoulders slump. “No can do, Ally,” he says. “Normally, I’d be all too happy to oblige, but apparently possession throws my powers out of whack.” He laughs bitterly. “Crazy, right?”

Ben must say something, because Klaus stiffens. “You’re lucky I can’t make you corporeal right now,” he grits out, “else your ghostly mug would have a date with my fist. Ben, you can’t borrow a body - no - Allison, tell him!”

Allison’s chokes, shaking her head at Klaus, but his eyes plead with her. “Um. Okay.” She shifts her gaze to the empty air next to Klaus, hoping that’s where Ben is. “Maybe don’t possess Klaus again?”

It’s weak, but Klaus nods firmly at Ben as if it’s the best argument he’s ever heard. Allison doesn’t miss the way he’s still very clearly pressed against the door, presumably as far away from Ben he can get. That makes her uneasy, the idea that Klaus is scared of their brother, or at the very least unwilling to be near him, especially because they’ve spent so long in each other’s company.

It’s what motivates her to ask, “Do you want to come back to mine?”

Klaus looks surprised but touched at the offer. Even so, he shakes his head. “Lovely as that sounds, I don’t want to impose on you and your very handsome husband any more than I already have.”

“You wouldn’t be imposing,” she starts, but Klaus waves her away (goodbye).

“I won’t hear anymore about it,” he insists. “Besides I have plenty of people to keep me company.” He grins at her, but Allison can tell that it’s fake.

“Are you sure?” she asks, unsure whether or not to force the subject. On the one hand, Klaus is at least partly right; Ray has already put up with so much and she doesn’t want to make him deal with more. But on the other, Klaus is clearly not okay.

In the end, Klaus makes up her mind for her. “Absolutely,” he says forcefully, getting out of the car before she can protest the point any further. He sways a little as he stands but doesn’t fall over, which is a relief. “Bye Allison.”

“Bye!” Allison calls, watching him walk away. Then, an afterthought, “Bye, Ben!”

Klaus turns and grins, saluting her before stumbling into the mansion - (seriously, how the hell did he end up there?) - greeted by a cloud of people in blue overalls. Allison keeps watching until her brother(s?) are swallowed up, and then a bit longer. She has half a mind to go in there and drag him out, she’d use her rumours if she had to, but… But. She can’t do that to him. Not now.

Eventually, Allison sighs and turns the engine on, backing out of the driveway. She tries to push Klaus and Ben from her mind, thinking of Ray waiting for her at home, but she can’t rid herself of the image of Klaus convulsing on the floor of that bar. She wishes she’d helped him more, but they’re all used to weird shit from Klaus and they’d had bigger problems at the time.

(Still, the guilt takes root in her and she has the overwhelming urge to talk to someone - Vanya possibly, or Luther - about Klaus and Ben and everything.)

(Maybe tomorrow.)

(Maybe.)

#tua spoilers #umbrella academy spoilers #the umbrella academy #tua season 2 #umbrella academy #tua #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #luther hargreeves #ben hargreeves #tua fanfic #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing

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weaverlings · 4 years

Text

bone beneath the gums

Summary: All the divinity in Hornet's blood cannot spare her from the demands of her mortal shell.

Content warnings: gore, discussion of self-harm (not acted on), body horror, emetophobia, disordered eating, body image, detailed (if scientifically inaccurate) depiction of spider eating. There's also a doctor appointment.

This deals, once again, with some degree of hypothetical post-Silksong character development having already taken place, and Hornet and Lace are living together in Pharloom.

Also no, I don't know how hunting works. I also did a smidge of research for spice re: molting, but mostly I'm winging it. They're fantasy bug people.

Finally, Lace is French unfortunately :( Poor petite champignon.

alt link (because this is super long)

chapter 1

The stillness of the forest broke to allow Hornet through. A flash of silver, a blur of red, and she landed in the earth beside the trap she had laid.

A lillifly had met its end there, unable to free itself from the tight configuration of blades. Hornet knelt down and retrieved it. The metal sprang apart for her at the press of a switch. Except one keen edge, stuck in the lillfly's layers of wing.

She tilted it considerately, then adjusted it in her grip to scratch her wrist. Her claws clicked against her palm as she caught herself and pushed aside the itch in her shell.

Here, she had a puzzle. As long as she focused, and did not rush, having her hands full would help keep her mind clear of any pesky prickling.

Her clawtips worked to loosen the trap, pinging against the lethal pieces as she eased them precisely apart, peeling back the brittle chitin of her prey, until at last the creature came free. Then she cut it open the rest of the way, cleaned and packaged it, and stowed it away with the others that she had claimed.

She would need to take the trap back with her for maintenance, but she had enough others to check. The day went on, and she found enough food waiting for her.

But, in her few idle moments, she still found herself scratching.

The itch would not abate. If anything, it was spreading, winding deeper, gnawing at the underside of her carapace where she could not reach it, but felt compelled to try whenever her hands were empty.

Even knowing better than to indulge this impulse did not spare her. It undercut knowledge and appealed to reflex. Had she been bitten without noticing, or cut herself on some thorn, full of poison unknown to her?

Unlikely. But it was not a risk she could afford to ignore. She found a place to shelter, quickly cutting free a patch of bramble - a plant she knew to be harmless - and slipped into her makeshift den to check herself over.

She was unharmed. Only the familiar tracery of scars marked her, many from old wounds before she'd learned how to bind properly, but enough which were more recent. These had been deeper, from the bite of steel pins and the lash of silk.

So she sat there, hidden away in humidity and vine, in this little den so like the places she used to sleep. She sat there, and she itched, and she frowned to herself. Her shell was unharmed, but something was amiss.

She found the first sign of what on her wrist. It took much of her will to avoid dragging her claws over where she brushed, but when she simply pressed down, the chitin crinkled and twisted. It burned, and she gasped.

She understood now. She swore quietly. And then she stood and stretched, and slipped away into the forest again. Whatever problem this posed, for now it was only that. She'd be better off completing her work while she could.

Lace had had an eventful day herself.

"And it took three of us just to wrangle it! And I know she knows better than to compose so carelessly, but she somehow believed the melody would..."

Hornet tried to listen. She stared at her plate, tapping the prongs of her fork against the meal's centerpiece - silverfish with a citrus sauce. A favorite of hers. Beside it was a thick slice of bread with greensap butter, and she had been given an extra raspberry fruitlet, as well. An award for being such a delight, according to Lace.

"...and here I quote her, 'work itself out'? Truly!"

Hornet wanted to eat the fruit. She could suck out the juice and nibble on the skin; a habit of hers which had once been discouraged, the last time she'd had regular access to fruit. It was, according to Lace, absolutely adorable. Hornet doubted anyone else would think a spider draining fruit dry like a prey bug was anything but vaguely unsettling, but it meant no one would stop Hornet now. She could eat how she liked.

She touched none of it. She reached for her wine, and took a sip. She held it in her mouth. The bitterness was worth savoring, but it was more that she found herself reluctant to swallow.

She set her glass back down, and stared at her plate. She scratched her wrist absently, catching herself with her thumbtip digging in. The slight pressure still burned. Hornet hissed under her breath.

"In the end, we moved it to- Hornet?"

"Hm? I'm sorry, what was that?"

Lace tapped the rim of her wineglass. "I know you're hardly listening, darling. And you haven't touched your dinner, and now… What's the matter?"

"I'm molting," Hornet answered, and then reconsidered. "Well, not presently. When I am, you will know. It will be difficult to miss."

Lace hummed, and spread her fingers on one side of her plate. Her gloves were off; her thin, fungal flesh was clearly visible. Her curiosity was just as plain, in the lilt of her voice. "My. I've heard that can get messy."

Hornet grimaced. "You've heard correctly."

"I suppose you've done this before?"

"Indeed I have."

Lace tilted her head. "Would it be a personal question to ask how many times?"

"It would. But you are allowed this. Four, I believe." Hornet fangs drew together thoughtfully. "It's been some time."

"You're worried."

"Somewhat. I could not have been much younger than I am now when it happened last, but it has nonetheless been some time," Hornet observed. An eerily casual perspective on the warping of time, as only someone who had spent so long so strangely alone in it could have.

She slid one hand toward the center of the table. "Still. It's only some mess."

"So you're worried, and you're trying to convince yourself it's nothing to worry about." Lace placed her hand over Hornet's. "Come now, dear."

"It isn't anything to worry about," Hornet said. She flipped her hand over to grasp Lace's. "Truly. Some would say it's a cause for celebration. Though I'm beyond that age, if you'd like, you may put a little candle in my prey for the night."

Lace laughed. "And what a fine cake you would hunt, no doubt." She jabbed her fork forward, and gave it a fine flourish. "But don't think you can evade the point! It's nothing to be worried about, very well. But you are nonetheless worried."

Hornet leaned back in her chair, although she kept her arm stretched to hold Lace's hand. She said only, "Such persistence."

"You deserve nothing less."

Hornet squeezed Lace's hand once, and let go. "I really rather would let it pass. It's bound to happen."

"Very well." Lace recognized the boundary she had reached. "What about dinner, then? Can you manage that?"

"I think not. I find that I'm not hungry." Hornet hadn't realized how true that was until there was food in front of her. The smell didn't precisely turn her stomach, but perhaps tilted it, just enough to put her off her meal. "Something lighter, perhaps? I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for." Lace stood, and took Hornet's plate to wrap. "We'll just save this, and perhaps you can have it tomorrow. But if not, we'll have silverfish another night."

Hornet joined Lace at the counter. While Lace stored the leftovers, Hornet put some water on to boil. Though significantly less appealing, her absent appetite made oatmeal the best option. At least Lace waited for it to be ready with her, lingering at Hornet's side and pulling her hand down when she noticed Hornet scratching.

"Ah." Hornet gave her a rueful smile. "Thank you."

In answer, Lace reached around and scratched the spot herself, more gently.

Hornet shuddered. The relief, even from such a small gesture, was relentless. "Enough- enough."

Lace stopped. Hornet folded Lace's hand in both of hers and held it, still and pressed to her chest, until the kettle shrieked for her to finish her preparations.

They finished their different dinners together.

It had been long ago, but such a difficult lesson that Hornet had never forgotten the learning. It was one of the clearer memories she had of her mother - Hornet's pain had become a blur, absent even when the rest of the scene revolved around it, but she remembered looking up into her mother's face through her own tears. The rare fear there, as the yet-unnamed heir to the Nest squirmed and sobbed in her little bed, too soft in her shell for even Herrah to be sure of touching her safely.

Midwife had been called for. The two beasts had run the heir a bath, and Hornet remembered the silk they'd wrapped her in, soft enough to make any flower envious, more than she remembered the way her old shell had scraped the new. No matter how gentle her caretakers were, there had been no helping it.

Still, they got the molt off. She'd heard from Midwife that she'd cried herself to sleep, and Herrah nearly did, too. But the joy when she woke up, as bubbly as ever and with all her limbs in proper alignment, was too mirrored by Herrah. No doubt this was among the greatest happiness ever experienced in the Nest. Yet another gift their heir had brought.

She had been such a happy baby, Midwife had said.

A rustling in the brush pulled Hornet from her thoughts. She scolded herself. She knew better. If she was to be so easily distracted, she may as well just wait at home.

She stopped scratching at her shoulder, and tightened both hands on her weapon, drawing focus as always from the chill of the metal. She had left her traps to rest for a few days now. Needle in hand, she hunted.

She listened to the underbrush, picking through the rustling around her to find its components - the breeze in the canopy above, the shuffling of creatures nearby too small to be of interest.

Her shell itched. She let it alone. Her hands stayed firm on her needle. The rustling changed. She heard, not footsteps, but the barest displacement of fern and foliage around a creature.

The head of a nowlet poked free of the brush. Her needle flew.

Action. Reaction.

She pierced the nowlet's heart as it was exposed, halfway from the bushes. She yanked the creature back to herself, and peeled it off of her weapon, the shell around the edges of the wound crunching quietly.

Action, reaction. If only the world could always be so simple, so exhilarating.

She cleaned and packaged her prey. Her hands moved steadily, not straying from her task, and not scratching. Not scratching. Not scratching, blast it.

Cleaned, packaged, and into the sack the creature went, with the rest of her catch.

What she had was more than sufficient, for her purposes. She examined the sky through the trees. Dusk was far enough off, and she could carry more if she wished. She ought not to waste time, nor ability, while she had it.

Certainly not, she told herself, closing her hand around her wrist, on account of some discomfort.

But such thinking was dishonest. Suffering in bed for a week would have likely been better for her health. Soon enough she'd have no choice. Until then her impulse was to run, and she allowed herself this because the alternative was clawing at her carapace until chunks came away.

Focusing on her work as a hunter - even when she had hardly slept for two nights, even when each meal grumbled and grouched in her gut, no matter how light - was preferable to true endurance. She was hunting, her catch was proof of that, but she was also hiding. Cowardice. Children molted.

She had done it. She remembered it well: her mother's face, looking down on her. She remembered.

She pulled her needle close, and rested her head against the handle. A moment to breathe, that was all. A moment to breathe, there in the undergrowth. Then she would move on. She tugged a watershell from its pocket, and took a long drink - longer than she meant to, long enough that she was left nearly breathless when she stopped up the shell again.

She felt awful and uneven and she was being foolish. She was misaligned, or becoming so. Unable to even tell how thirsty she was. Were she to waste her mother's gift on a hunting accident, she'd never be forgiven, although she did not spare the thought to consider who would hold this grudge.

Lace, perhaps, would bear some resentment. But that was different, not a matter of debt.

And yet, Hornet had come to the woods to hunt. She fulfilled these duties as a compromise. It was all the restraint that she could bear. Some part of her demanded that she retreat from the city, into the woods. Make another little den and camp there, just until this was over. The creation of her shelter the other day had reminded her: once she had only felt safe in such places, where no one could reach her.

Once. Not anymore. All she could do was hold tight to the present, and draw focus from this: she had somewhere to return to.

She slept no better that night. It was hard to tell what woke her. She slipped out from under the covers, and into the bathroom.

She kept the lamps covered. The mirror showed her only the thinnest outline of herself. A silhouette, barely defined by shadow. The gleam of her eyes and the twitch of her fangs. She was movement more than shape. Movement was more real than her shape. Her shape was due to change any day now.

Form was a fickle thing. Shape had its own whims. She had every reason to understand that.

As she stood there, with one hand braced against the countertop, the other found her temple, and she finally caught up with herself. Her disorientation was not only lack of sleep. There was a pressure behind her eyes. A sensation between fog and bunched fabric. Not a headache, but the promise of one.

Is this normal? Is this how it happens? Gods. I don't remember.

It had been too long. She tipped her head back, and exhaled. Cursed carapace, cursed that she should have it at all. What had she done to earn it? Her father had given up so much for his, fool that he'd been. And her mother. Her mother.

Gods. She laughed, short and bitter. Right. Cursed kin .

She truly wasn't feeling well. And that truly changed nothing. This would happen. She could not run from it.

She cupped her hands under the sink and let the water pool in her hands. She splashed some first over her face, and then gathered more to take several cool gulps.

There was a knock on the door. "Ma petite araignée? You've been in there a while. Are you alright?"

Hornet glanced over her shoulder, her fangs clenched. She hadn't meant to wake Lace again tonight, but they were both light sleepers, to put it kindly.

"I am. I will be out in a moment." Hornet urged, "Go back to sleep. There's no reason both of us shouldn't."

"I'm sleeping just fine. You needn't worry about me, dear."

Hornet dried her face, and opened the door to see Lace's outline in the dark. She was sitting up in bed, her bright eyes far too alert for what should have been a restful hour.

"That is not sleeping," Hornet told her.

"Of course not. I wanted to wait for you. Come here?"

Something in Lace's words caught at Hornet. There was no sharpness in Lace's melodic voice, and that absence dragged in Hornet's thoughts like claws in silk. She moved mechanically, returning to bed herself and drawing the blankets back over her lap. But she did not lie down. She had little enough hope for sleep, in any case. She turned to Lace, instead.

Lace reached out and took one of Hornet's hands. "You've been so quiet, Hornet. How are you feeling?"

"Poorly."

"What can I do for you, darling?" Lace's thumb brushed over her knuckles.

"There is nothing for it but time."

"Nonsense. There must be some way to make you more comfortable."

"Your determination is enough," Hornet assured her. "More than. I know I've posed quite an inconvenience."

"You know that, do you?"

"Is it not true?"

"Not at all. I'd never dismiss your suffering as a mere inconvenience."

"Don't speak so soon. I think, starting tomorrow, I will need to stay home for, mm, several days?"

"Alright. Would you like me to stay with you?"

"That won't be necessary."

Lace hmm ed. "I did not ask if it was necessary; I asked if you'd like me here."

"I might." Hornet sighed. "I don't wish to become an imposition, but I think it will be that or leave entirely. I'll be unable to go back and forth."

Lace angled Hornet's face down to meet her eyes. "One moment! Leave - you mean - what do you mean, exactly? Where did you mean to go?"

"Nowhere. Unless you wished otherwise. In the morning, when I had meant to discuss this." She turned away, tucked her knees to her chest, and laid her forehead onto them. At such an angle, she could feel the weight of her horns tugging on the rest of her.

"Did you think I'd want to be rid of you?" Lace did not demand, nor accuse. She only asked.

Hornet laid one arm over her head, curled tighter, spoke into herself. "No. No, I only thought it might be best."

"And why did you think that?"

Hornet was silent. At length, she said, "I do not have an answer that would satisfy you. It was only the first option that came to mind. Or perhaps it felt safe, but-"

She shook her head. had to hold on. Hold tight to what was in front of her, and draw focus from it.

She felt Lace's hand on her back. "If that's what you're worried about, let me watch over you! It doesn't bear thinking about, oh, my dear Hornet… all alone out there, in such a state..."

Hornet's laugh was short and humorless, emerging from the cocoon she'd made of her limbs. "It isn't necessary. I've been through worse. I'd only come back, shiny and new for you."

"Oh. Oh, I see. You've been through worse."

Hornet turned her head. Now Lace's voice had its keen edge back.

Lace drew herself upright, shifting to sit on her knees and fold her arms over her chest. "You have. I know it. Alone, out there. Haven't you had enough of that?" She offered one hand out, palm raised dramatically. "Be... inconvenient , if it helps you. Impose."

"What a regal suggestion."

"Fine. If you so dislike that, then consider..." Lace laid a hand against Hornet's cheek. "I'd miss you terribly."

"Is that so? No." Hornet shook her head, but she held Lace's hand to her face. "That is, no, I know you mean what you say. But I warn you, I'll be poor company."

Lace shifted, drawing Hornet's arms around her and the rest of her forward. Hornet let Lace pull her close. Hornet let her body do all it seemed good for now: understanding the way they fit together, her cheek settling improbably well on Lace's shoulder. Hornet could feel Lace's soft, cool flesh against her face, through the sleeve of Lace's nightgown.

Lace asked, "Tell me. Tell me this, do you want to go?"

Hornet fixed her arms around Lace, clasping her hands again between and below Lace's shoulders. She confessed, to herself as well as Lace, "No."

It was more that she didn't know how to stay. Inaction was always the harder path.

"Then I won't allow it," Lace promised.

Hornet had been confined to her bed. That was fine.

Everywhere else was too big and too bright, so bright it felt like there was no air to breathe, only light. She could never shake the feeling her father was watching when she stepped out of her room; she was sure he was, at least he could have done the courtesy of pretending otherwise.

But she had been left alone in her room for the better part of a week now. Bugs molted alone, and she was one of her father's subjects, his daughter, a bug of Hallownest. That was fine . It was just how she wanted it to be. She wanted to be alone.

She didn't remember the moment that her shell gave. It must have.

She remembered being dragged to the royal tailor after, whining about it. And, well, she stood by that to this day. Their handling of fabric had been an insult, compared to the weavers' work.

She remembered that when it was done, she wished she could do it all over again. At least if she molted, she could be alone.

Morning came. Sunlight through the curtains had turned the room pale.

Something was wrong.

Hornet's heart crashed against her shell. Beating and beating. Ruthlessly alive.

A warning. Too fast.

Something was wrong.

She untangled herself from Lace and shoved herself upright on the nearest surface, which was Lace's side. Lace jolted awake, coughing, the wind knocked out of her, but already reaching after Hornet.

She was halfway to the bathroom, and her body hated her for this turn of speed. Her sides were coming apart, not the shell, not what was meant to happen - as if the muscle itself was splitting.

What is wrong with me?

That painless sense of pressure had fulfilled its promise, built into a drumming that blurred her vision, into vertigo that pitched her stomach into her throat; she swallowed sour but it would not stay down.

At least she made it to the toilet before she was sick.

She knelt there even after it was done. Retching up nothing. Shuddering and tensing, trying to force herself to be still. She finally sat back on her legs, and slowly regained her breath. She laid her hands on the cold tile. Her own gasps echoed in her head, but she focused on the smooth, carefully-laid floor under her hands as a reminder - she was not being too loud , the noise would not draw any foe to her, to see her weakened state.

She was in the bathroom. She was home. There was movement nearby, but she could recognize Lace's light tread from the other room. Coming closer. Closer. Hornet's breathing was so loud.

She lifted her head and hissed. Her fangs rose in warning. Lace met the eyes of a frightened demigod beast, one prepared to bite.

Lace knelt down next to Hornet, her nightdress fluttering against the tile. Her hands were clearly visible, and in them were two objects, a cup and a bowl. She held out the cup, and instructed, "Rinse."

Hornet snatched it so quickly that water sloshed over the edges and drank. Lace offered the bowl up. She said, "Spit."

Hornet did. She repeated the process, draining half the water that way, and then swallowed the rest.

"Thank you," she rasped. That voice didn't sound like hers, but then, she didn't feel like herself. It sounded like a voice that belonged to whoever this was.

"Hornet," Lace said. "What's the matter?"

"Something," Hornet answered, and as vague as that was, her desperation was so plain that Lace reached out to stroke Hornet's cheek, but she could not be soothed so readily. She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't - it's-"

She grasped at her side. Lace leaned in, "May I take a look?"

But Hornet withdrew. "Limbs. New limbs."

She could feel a knot in the chitin under her claws. The chitin wasn't right, wasn't fixed in place - it shifted under her touch like a blister, and beneath that, something. Something. She found a matching lump on the other side. "Arms? It must be. Unless something has gone wrong."

Lace's delicate voice only emphasized her insistence. "Has something gone wrong?"

"I don't know ."

She tried again to remember if this was at all normal. But it wasn't. None of it was. Time and distance had made this all strange to her. "Has it been too long? I don't know. I don't know what it did to me."

She should have grown past any resentment by now. She would have thought that she had, long since. But it seemed that she was not done growing at all.

If something had gone wrong, she might well be in danger. Was she doomed to lose yet more to Hallownest? Her hand was still clamped over her side, and her stern gaze was locked onto her hand, as if she could interrogate her own chitin.

She had borne worse pain. If someone had threatened her in that moment, or Lace, or this kingdom where they had carved out shelter, then Hornet would raise her needle and fight. But there was no foe to stir her blood, and so she was stuck here on the floor of the bathroom, trembling. And it hurt. She hurt. There was no disguise or distraction she could claim.

"Hornet," Lace whispered. "What do you need? Can you tell me, darling?"

"To tear it off," Hornet spat. Her grip tightened, and her own touch seared. "If something has gone wrong… Perhaps it's best to remove it, here and now."

The pain become as thin and watery as the rest of her. Her head was all murk and depth, and her thoughts were swimming in it. If she could only pull free of herself. Just once. Resolve this by claw, as she had so many other problems, as that damnable itching itself seemed to demand.

Lace threaded her fingers with Hornet's, and pulled Hornet's hand into her lap. Lace promised, "I forbid it. I'll catch you in your own silk if you try."

Hornet's mouth dropped open. Then she snorted. "I would not. I know that much, I know it would only- I don't know what to do."

She bent her head, the tip of one horn coming to rest on Lace's shoulder. Lace squeezed the hand she held, and laid her other palm over the horn. When Hornet did not pull away or protest, Lace stroked there.

"I wish I knew, darling, but I don't. Would anyone?"

"What? Who could possibly-"

Gods, this kingdom isn't dead.

It was not, in fact, just her and Lace. This was beyond their power, and if it was truly a matter of the stasis warping her, then there might be nothing anyone could do. But certainly, there would be those better suited to handle something as crucial and as common as a troublesome molt.

All the tension coiling in her gut unwound viciously. Hornet's laughter was so sudden that it turned blunt, throbbing down her sides. It didn't last long. "Lace?"

Lace's answer came perfectly prim. "Yes?"

Perhaps this was larval behavior. Hornet was no infant, to seek soothing for every ache. Nor did she. She'd never done what she was about to do. "There are doctors in this kingdom, yes?"

"Yes, of course."

Although it might have been easier for Hornet to invite Lace to duel her, Hornet asked, "Will you help me summon one?"

Lace's eyes lit. "Certainly, dear. Let's get you back to bed, shall we? And then I shall fetch someone at once."

"Alright."

Lace helped her up, and then to lie down again, as promised. Lace even pulled the covers over her, and Hornet considered asking Lace to stay, in spite of the task Hornet herself had set out. Only for a moment, only enough that she would not have to stew in her thoughts for so long.

But when Lace kissed her forehead and promised to be back as soon as she could, Hornet was in no position to argue, much less follow after.

Lace's search took her across half the city. Not that it took her long to traverse, but she was acutely aware of every second. It would have been worse to sacrifice quality for speed, however, and she had a suspicion. Pursuing this line of questioning, speaking to several laypeople and doctors alike, she finally found the doctor that would suit Hornet's needs.

She let herself in without knocking, and closed the door firmly behind her.

The bug behind the desk kept at their writing, but said, "You may as well have a seat, then. Is it an urgent matter?"

Lace stayed standing. "Quite. You are Iris, aren't you?"

"That's right." The doctor dotted their quill on the page, and looked up. Their eyes narrowed. They spun the quill in their clawtips. "And you - how do I know you?"

"My name is Lace, and I-"

They stilled their quill abruptly and thrust the tip at her. "You are the princess' partner."

"Hornet's," Lace corrected, covering a coy smile with her hand in a way that made it more obvious. "Only I may call her otherwise."

"Quite a turn from the norm. But I suppose... Well. I'm afraid I must ask, since you've come to me: how is she?"

"In need of your services." Lace folded her arms. "She's molting. Which she tried to insist was merely inevitable, and I suppose it is, but she was ill this morning and has clearly been unwell."

"Normal? Well, I suppose she'd have to do that, same as anyone." They tapped the point of their quill on the blotter for a moment, then shoved what they'd been working on out of the way and claimed a fresh sheet of paper. "Ill in what manner?"

Lace huffed, "Isn't it better for you to just come and see? I'll bring you to her."

"I need to know what to expect."

"We can talk on the way, then. Come along."

The doctor frowned, but pushed away from their desk. "You're fortunate that I have no other appointments this morning. Nothing I cannot miss for her sake, at least."

Lace beamed. "I'd thought that might be the case. Let's be off! I have some questions for you, as well."

"Naturally."

Iris gathered their supplies, and the two of them set out.

chapter 2

In the Hive, Hornet had lost her ability to smell honey long ago. She was surrounded always. The noise was constant.

So of course someone came to check on her regularly, until she indicated more icily than she should have that she would rather have been alone. She would apologize later, she told herself, but in truth she would forget.

And then she was alone, and it was what she had asked for. Alone in her shell that didn't fit right.

She had thought about the midwife and her mother. That had been - that was the past. Even then, that was the past.

When her shell finally split, she thought of nothing. Not her mother, not Queen Vespa's kindness. Certainly not offering apologies.

At least there was plenty of honey to eat when she was done, and she stood a little taller than she had before. Her needle fit better in her hand.

She would yet live up to her name.

Hornet heard the front door open.

A voice she didn't know spoke. "...somewhere comfortable. Or at least have some blankets ready."

"Hmm. I see." Lace said, "Wait here. I'll go and get her."

So Lace had succeeded at her task. As expected.

Hornet set down the cradle of thread she'd fidgeted into existence, and stood up. She was feeling - not better. But resting had given her some energy back, to combat her symptoms, to think through her headache. She stood and reclaimed her cloak, and then sealed her mask over her face. Lace opened the bedroom door to find Hornet waiting before the threshold.

"Hm, and I was going to provide you an escort. Never mind, I suppose." Lace leaned in to whisper, "How are you?"

Hornet answered in the same low tone. "I'd like to finish this, and we have yet to start. You trust this person?"

"Yes. Although we're only just acquainted." Lace took Hornet's hand, and kissed it quickly. "But your kin are quite skilled in many fields, after all. I found a weaver to tend to you."

Hornet drew back, and looked over Lace's shoulder. She said, louder than she'd meant to, "A weaver?"

The weaver in question raised their head only to incline it politely. They had affixed a silver disc to their forehead on a strip of cloth, and it made them look even rounder than they already were. They unwound a stethoscope in their top set of hands, while setting various instruments on the coffee table with the other two.

In spite of their preoccupation, they said, "It's been some time. Thank you again for what you did."

"Ah. Yes. Think nothing of it," she said.

"It was hardly nothing," they said mildly. "But neither is it why I'm here. And I suppose I have you at a disadvantage - my name is Iris, and Lace has told me you require some assistance."

Hornet nodded warily, but did not move otherwise. It was one thing to ask for help, another to receive it from a stranger, weaver or no, in her own home. A third thing altogether, to realize how close she would have to stand to this stranger, unarmed. As though she didn't have other means to defend herself, and certainly, certainly, it would not come to that. She risked letting her nerves get the better of her.

Lace squeezed Hornet's hand again. "Let's get this over with, yes?"

Hornet stepped forward. "Indeed."

They joined the doctor by the coffee table. Lace took a seat on the lounge, but made sure to leave Hornet with another kiss on the cheek. Hornet returned the gesture swiftly.

She had understood Lace's reasoning in finding a weaver. As the examination began, Hornet was grateful for the choice.

The doctor asked her to remove her cloak, and she did, folding it carefully before setting it aside and standing stiffly, her arms crossed. Her body was an error from the weaver template - not her words, nor words she was meant to have heard, but they had always sounded right enough. She'd held onto them, even when she'd gone beyond minding.

Still this true weaver made no remarks as to her physiology or nature. They only asked, "Lower your arms, please? Thank you."

She complied. They heard her heart and her breathing with their tools. The icy metal on her shell stung, but she held still. So still that they had to remind her to breathe at one point, in order to finish. Otherwise, they spoke only to question her as they worked, and she went over her symptoms in more detail.

Iris frowned as they returned certain implements to their bag. "I see. You've eaten recently, haven't you?"

"I have had little appetite lately. But I have made sure to eat what I can."

"Oh- No, you see…" They snapped their bag shut, and asked gently, "It's been some time since you last molted, you said? Since Hallownest, I'd imagine?"

She nodded. "Indeed."

"Before molting, usually about a week or so, you aren't meant to eat. There are several theories as to why. Most of these resolve around considering... the magnitude of the process is such that even digestion is… Well, I won't bore you. That, however, is why you were sick."

"That's all?"

Something so simple. She wasn't sure whether to feel relief or shame, as if she had a choice but to feel both.

They answered, "I expect so. It would be a textbook case. However, you mentioned some other concerns… May I continue?"

"Yes, you'd best."

They checked her sides next. Her breath quickened as they tested the shell around the protrusions. When they brushed the spots themselves, she grunted and stepped away. They straightened up again, and did not call her back.

"Those are sore," she repeated inadequately, but they didn't seem to mind.

"No doubt." Iris only confirmed what Hornet had suspected. At least this time she was more distinctly relieved, when they said, "You'll be getting some new limbs soon, it seems. They're going to be very stiff. I think they're doing well, otherwise, but be gentle with them."

The mention of her headache had caught their attention, as well. Until then, Iris had said nothing about her mask, but in order to carry on, they had to.

"I'm afraid I'll have to ask to see your face."

Silently, Hornet touched the back of her mask. She did not part the seam. Her face, they said.

She'd have to shed it soon enough, anyhow.

"Very well," she agreed, and lifted her mask away. "Lace, hold this for me."

Lace had already leaned forward to receive it. "Give it here, darling."

Hornet passed it to her, and Lace held it to her chest in one arm.

Hornet turned to the doctor. Their hands were careful on Hornet's face. Clinical and quick. She kept her eyes open and her own hands still, claws ready at her side. They brushed beside her eyes, and she tilted her head reflexively, enough to meet theirs. Whatever they saw there, they drew back and frowned, showing a flash of anxiety for the first time.

Then they jabbed her straight in the eye. She yelped, and snatched their wrist even as they were already withdrawing. Even with their hand gone, her head pulsed from the blow, down her neck, all the way to her sides.

Lace hopped up from her perch again, but Hornet waved her away with her free hand. This, she was prepared to handle.

"What do you think you're doing?" She demanded. She could feel their chitin straining in her grip, and the irritation under her own. She held on.

The doctor lifted their other hand in a disarming gesture.

"I'm sorry. Did I catch you in the eye?" They asked, quiet, thoughtful.

"You most certainly did!"

They gave her a reassuring smile, one for an upset patient, and not a lost princess. She let go of their wrist, and they immediately took it into their own hand, stretching it out as they explained, "There isn't an eye there. Not yet."

Hornet's hand flew to her face. She felt at her forehead, just above her eyes, even as the doctor said, "Wait-"

She pressed down sharply enough to draw a hiss from herself. There it was. Still deep under the shell, waiting in its new socket.

Iris winced sympathetically, and Hornet glared, drawing herself up as best she could, a certain lofty bearing that spoke of her birthright over her better judgment.

They assured her, "Now, I can tell you: you should be fine. This may not be common, but it seems normal, for such new growth."

"Normal," echoed Hornet flatly.

"Thankfully. Unfortunately, that means all I can advise is rest. If you must take something for the pain, you may, but bear in mind-"

"There is a reason I may not eat, even if no one knows it."

They nodded. "That's right. I know this is a great deal to hear at once, but I think you ought to know..."

Iris turned to Lace. "Both of you. Allow me to give you some general information, what to watch out for from here and such. You ought to know such things."

Hornet agreed readily, her relief apparent. "That sounds wise. Yes. Please."

She wandered around to the other side of the coffee table, and sat down next to Lace. Lace took Hornet's hand, and when Hornet squeezed back, Lace dropped her head onto Hornet's shoulder. Lace whispered, "You're doing so well, dear."

Hornet squinted at her. By all metrics of performance Hornet could think of, she was… doing. If skill was a concern, then well would not have seemed like the correct word. But she knew Lace well enough, and if Lace was trying to mock her, Hornet could not have mistaken it. So she only said, "Perhaps."

Iris coughed. "When you're ready?"

Hornet nodded. "Go on."

So Iris offered their medical expertise, anticipating as many questions as they could, and concluded, "You seem healthy enough - just stop eating until you're done, and then it is my professional and personal opinion that you'll require a feast." They nodded. "That's all, unless you have any questions."

There was only one, and Hornet decided she would only have this chance to ask it. "Why now?"

They considered this.

"There's quite a bit we've yet to learn about this process," the doctor explained, "So I can't say for sure. Especially given your heritage and circumstances."

"Indeed," Hornet agreed drily.

"However, I will say, we do know - or strongly suspect - that a bug must be secure in order to begin the process. One would think that the symptoms of delay would complicate that, but- That's not relevant to you, you aren't showing any of those."

"Then what is your point, praytell?"

"From what we know of molting, you have to feel safe enough to do it. And from what we know of you, you wouldn't have, for quite some time." The weaver dropped their gaze. "So you'll pardon me, if this is too bold, but I'm glad to have needed to make this visit. I wish you a speedy recovery, of course."

Iris bowed to her, and nodded to Lace. They gathered their things, and Lace saw them out.

Hornet tucked her legs up onto the lounge, and slumped back. She hadn't felt the interaction draining her; it was only now that she registered a complete absence of energy.

"I'm a fool."

Lace tsked. "No, you're not. You didn't know. I didn't, either."

"You are a mushroom. I have enough spider in me for that."

"You asked." Lace tilted her head. "That's what you do when you have questions, isn't it? Or have I been dreadfully mistaken?"

Hornet grunted, and buried her face in her elbow. As if her questions were ever answered so easily. And yet, what else had just happened? Asked and answered, whether she liked it or not.

Lace's fingers brushed the tip of one horn. A considerate touch. Gentle. And yet it tangled in Hornet's nerves, thorny as they were. She tensed, and that sent a wave of fresh pain through her, and she raised her head enough to reveal one eye. She commanded, "Do not touch me."

"Oh, I'm sorry, love."

Hornet saw Lace hop off of the armrest, where she'd come to rest, and wander into the bedroom. Hornet lowered her face again. She counted her breaths, trying to force her pulse into submission.

Lace came back. Hornet did not look up at her, and Lace spoke before Hornet could make any inquiries of her own, "One question."

"Ask it."

"Aren't you cold like that?"

"I'm sorry?"

Hornet looked up, and Lace unfurled a quilt with a flourish, showing all the colors as if it were the proudest banner.

"Oh. Not especially, but I'll take that."

Lace waved the quilt high, and let it settle over Hornet. Hornet grasped it and pulled it up to her chin, curling up tighter to make sure it was covering her.

"Thank you."

"You needed something, yes? And I know better than to let you brood."

Hornet looked up at Lace and flicked her fangs in a rather rude gesture. Lace smiled at her.

Hornet scoffed. "I should have known, Lace. Such a simple thing, and I have done it before."

"Alright, two questions."

"Yes, yes. Ask."

"Did anyone tell you what was happening? Did anyone ever talk to you about it, or did they simply mind you?"

"That was three." Hornet thought, anyhow. "I don't know that they minded much." This time, consternation showed in her twitching chelicerae. "I hardly recall much, one way or the other."

"Well, there you have it. Even if you were told, you were otherwise occupied."

"That is one way to put it."

"You were a child being shuffled around like a doll moved from one shelf to the other?"

Hornet snorted. "True enough."

"You're here now, and here you'll stay."

Lace perched on the armrest again, and slid down onto the seat proper. Hornet lifted her head, and let herself down again in Lace's lap. Now, Lace stroked down one horn.

'It is customary," Lace told Hornet, "to have a treat after one does well with the doctor."

"For children, yes? Though I think most children do better than I did."

"And many adults do worse. If you won't give yourself credit, then I shall," Lace proclaimed. "So what would you like?"

"It would hardly help anything."

Lace tilted her face into one hand. "I don't think you understand what a treat is."

"Perhaps not."

"Fortunate, then, that best way to learn is through experience!" Lace repeated, "What would you like?"

Hornet teased the quilt in her clawtips, tearing open a seam and then binding it again. "There may be something I have been missing."

"Perfect! What is it?"

"Goodness, give me a moment to say!" Hornet huffed. "Those meat buns. From the dragonfly's stall."

"Just over the way? Oh, certainly, certainly-"

"Wait. A feast, they said? Did they not?" She hit upon a rare streak of petulance, bitter humor dragged out of her by this mixture of exhaustion and comfort, lying on the lounge. "And it would be foolish of me to ask for advice and not heed it. So I want a dozen, when I can eat again."

Lace's mouth twitched, and then settled into a smile. She giggled. "That can be arranged. But I won't help you eat them, remember that."

Hornet turned onto her side, settling more comfortably in Lace's lap. "I shall."

Now she had something to look forward to.

The infection had resurged. The stasis held Hallownest squirming in its grip, trapped but not yet dead. Unable to die. Her own mangling metal was less cruel.

And so this had come upon her once again. Likely it had been creeping up on her slowly, and only just reached her.

Shivering, wrapped in her cloak like a blanket. Until she shredded it off. Her flesh went not long after.

Days lost in a webbed-over den.

Shades of color behind her clenched eyelids, blue and orange and beyond naming. The taste of blood in her throat.

And when she was done, she stood up.

Days lost.

The ache had set in. A deep, bitter thing, pinning her.

At least she had something to occupy herself. A comparative study of various kingdoms' weaponry. Entertaining, and simple enough. She read.

But these blades were often poorly balanced, unless the grip could be...

She marked her place in the book with one claw and scratched at her side, avoiding the knot in the chitin there. Lace caught her hand, anyway. Hornet mumbled something vaguely grateful and flipped the book open again.

But these blades were often poorly balanced, unless the grip could be...

Her new limbs. Better not to disturb them, to let them do the last of their growing. It was something to look forward to, greater than even the promised feast - what new tricks might she master with her needle and thread, with the number of arms a weaver ought to have?

But these blades were often poorly balanced, unless the grip could be...

Except now, the mere thought of movement left her tired. This was a slow unraveling; various discomforts and pains picking her apart. She longed to strike back at these, to lash out at anything at all - perhaps movement would finally tear her open, when her body seemed to be stalling. But the doctor was clear about that, delays were not her concern.

Yet if Hornet could marshal her will for even a moment, stand and grasp her needle now, recall her own power, then perhaps she could best this. This fraying form. This lapsed shape.

She did not. She could not. It was not within her power. She hadn't eaten in days. She had slept no better. For this to be what pushed her, what broke her, was infuriating. It was normal, perfectly so, painfully mundane.

And here she was. She couldn't even focus well enough to read anymore, not really.

At least she was healthy enough to be bored.

"Shh," Lace soothed.

Hornet hadn't realized she'd made a sound. She wondered what it had been. Pitiable, no doubt. She said, "This will pass. I know."

"But that doesn't make it easier, does it?"

Hornet pressed her arm over her eyes. "I'd just rather it have passed already."

Just another memory, vague, nearly absent, the details blurred by their intensity.

"What if I promise you it will be over soon?" Lace lilted.

Hornet groaned. "Then I shall grant you a swift death when I am able. Anyone else would not be so lucky."

"What mercy. I'd have gutted anyone who tried to tell me that, were I in such a condition."

"You have always been more ruthless."

"Why, thank you."

Hornet laughed. Short and strained, but with unmistakable fondness. "You'd be right, in any case. I'm sure it will be soon."

Lace was silent, at first. And then she asked, "You'll need to be alone, won't you?"

"I believe so. Yes."

"Then you will tell me when you're ready. When you're done. Call for me."

Hornet only nodded.

Days lost in a webbed-over den.

Shivering, wrapped in her cloak like a blanket. Until she ripped it off. Her flesh went not long after.

Shades of color behind her eyes, blue and orange and beyond naming. The taste of blood in her throat.

Days lost, and not Hornet's alone.

Hornet spent as much time as she could curled loosely in on herself, with her aching head in Lace's lap. She understood that this could not continue.

All she wanted was a little warning. "When will you be resuming rehearsal?"

Lace said, "Hmm? It isn't as if it's stopped."

"Mmm. Let me know… Only let me know before you depart, then?"

"Before I… Oh. Oh, no." Lace hummed. "Did you think you'd be rid of me that easily?"

"I was not trying to be rid of you," Hornet answered frankly. "But you are busy. I know."

The train of thought had her already half-upright, pushing herself away to let Lace up. Lace merely scratched between Hornet's shoulders, and the sudden relief had her sprawled out again. Lace drew the motion out, from the base of Hornet's neck to the small of her back, and Hornet made a noise dangerously close to a whine.

"I was teasing, sweetness." Lace assured her, "I gave them all the warning they need. They know I have more important matters to attend to."

"Nonsense," Hornet muttered.

"What is? That I'd rather be here with you than anywhere else?"

Lace said it so easily. Hornet sighed. "I'll be alright. I have no wish to keep you from your responsibilities."

"Of course you'll be alright. I'm here. I'm here," Lace repeated, "because I want to be. You couldn't keep me from anything I wanted, and right now, that is to give you what you want."

"And what if I did want to be alone?" It was ungracious, and Hornet knew it.

"Then I would leave you," Lace said. "But I would come back if you changed your mind, or when you were ready. Do you want to be alone?"

"No."

"Then I'm not moving, and neither are you."

The taste of blood in her throat. Shivering. Wrapped in her cloak.

Tearing it off. No longer able to stand the passive sensation of fabric on flesh.

It wasn't long after that.

Hornet's heartbeat spiked. Again. Harder. This time was different. She could it rippling in her own blood, the membranes of her organs quivering from the force of it.

She stiffened, and pushed herself out of Lace's arms.

"I. Need a moment."

She staggered forward, toward the bedroom, into the coffee table, the coffee table which had been their since before she had lived here and which she had always known was there and which she was now damaging, her claws digging into the wood for purchase as she fought to rise.

Her nerves existed in duplicate, each sensation rang twice, blindingly. She was breaking. She was going to die. Her heart was beating as though a blade was bearing down on her. She was going to die, if, if she didn't-

Lace caught Hornet around her waist, and she cried out. Lace did not lift her gently, knowing better than to try, and in doing so prolong this. She moved with speed, instead, cradling Hornet against her chest.

Hornet's claws rumpled Lace's puffed sleeve.

Lace asked, "Come on. The bathroom, yes?"

Hornet nodded, her fangs clenched tight. Lace took her there, but after she crossed the threshold, Hornet convulsed. There was a crunch. Squelching. A stain spread down Lace's shirt, too pale for blood.

Hornet hissed, "Put me down!"

"Let's just get you-"

Hornet thrashed. Unable to loosen her fist, she claimed the chunk of fabric she'd been clutching from Lace's sleeve.

" Now! "

Lace only lingered enough to make sure that Hornet was on her feet before she left. She closed the door behind her.

Hornet was alone.

"You will call me when you're ready, understand?" Lace called.

Almost alone.

Hornet did not answer. She stood there, and she needed. She needed something. No. Somewhere. Her gaze swept the bathroom. Something, somewhere.

She reached the bathtub. She stood trembling, feeling herself, feeling how she would break, with her hands braced on the edge. She stepped into the tub, and even there, her focus was not something she could switch off. She could not merely permit herself to collapse.

She lowered herself against the back of the tub. Her head dropped back against the porcelain, resting on her horns. She reached up, and set her clawtips against the sides of the tub. The silk came readily, thread after thread drawn over the top, sometimes dragging her body forward on the strands, until the top was shrouded over.

At last she lay down on her side, then rolled onto her stomach. Her heart was stuck pounding in her throat, the sensation of her own pulse thick enough to gag on.

Her shell gave. Her nerves, too.

chapter 3

No pain. Just ripping. A sucking sensation as the too-tight carapace slid down the sides of her back. She fought to get her hands under her, pushing up into the convulsions, her fangs parted in a snarl she had no air for. They couldn't even part wholly, trapped in their old casing.

Then she sucked in a mouthful of fluid.

Coughing, she fell into the side of the tub. Her limbs tensed, crackled, and ripped like damp paper. She kicked, and her legs came free. Her arms next. She could feel shredded strips of chitin trapped in and around her joints. But otherwise. Otherwise, she was free.

chapter 4

Hornet slid down to the floor of the tub. The tension went out of her limbs at last, those that held her. Now she had no strength to keep herself from collapsing, her head spun, her body was something soft and strange to her.

She had so many nerves. She'd never really noticed how many nerves she'd had until that moment, and now nerves where there had been none before, too.

Her new arms were loose, unfurled over and under her sides, but the muscles were so weak that they seemed jointless. She made the effort to stretch them, to turn onto her back.

It worked. She swore loudly. It left her trapped on her back, helpless and sick, eyes wide.

Eyes and eyes and eyes. She brought her hand, one of those familiar to her, to her face. It was at once clear and shrouded in a milky fog. Her perception fought itself.

She pressed her hand to her face and scrubbed away the film over the lenses. Then she could squeeze her eyes shut, all of them.

She didn't know how long she lay there. Long enough for the remnants of fluid to grow sticky over the tub, and on her.

Long enough - and with such a complete lack of awareness, of time passing, of lingering soreness, of anything at all - that she must have slept for some of it. She opened her eyes, hoping to prevent herself from drifting off again.

Her head protested, ringing soundlessly. She closed her eyes again, but, no, pried them back open. She couldn't stay here. She could have stayed there, possibly for days, but she didn't want it. The fluid was drying onto her shell.

She remembered: You will call me when you're ready…

Was Hornet ready?

Did she need it? However great her discomfort, it was only that. She'd be fine soon enough. Better for her to be patient. There was no blood, nor missing limbs. None of the complications she'd been warned about. This was hardly a matter of life or death now, and apparently it never had been.

And what might Lace think of what she saw? All this gore and trouble, and Hornet's own discarded shell, lying limp beside her.

No. Even in this condition, Hornet dismissed that thought. Lace would think what she always seemed to think of Hornet, which was: handsome.

Then what did she need?

A list, some structure. Pull herself together. Determine the steps she must follow. First, she needed food.

Food, and.

Gods she was so hungry.

Now that she thought of it, she needed something to eat. She needed food. She dug the claws of one hand into her palm. They were too weak to make much of an impression.

Food was but one thing. Surely there were more. There had to be more. But it was no use. Her hunger was sharper still, such that it had turned rapidly to nausea. She could not evade it.

The steps would have been clear, before. A few days recovery. Take up her needle, tear free of her hideaway, prop herself up until she could find a slow enough crawler to eat.

But now was not then. She was not bound to a ruined kingdom. She was in an apartment in a thriving city.

And she was not alone. Lace.

She forced her eyes open again. She hadn't meant to close them.

Enough of this.

"Lace?" She did not call out, as such. It was a question, in fact more to herself. To hear how the name sounded in her mouth, to test her resolve - could she handle being seen, right now?

But Lace must have been waiting nearby. Perhaps right at the door, because there was an immediate answer in that melodic voice, "Yes, Hornet?"

So immediate, in fact, that Hornet hardly understood. She had no time to process, she simply hadn't expected-

There was a polite knock on the door. "Hornet? May I come in?"

"Lace-" Hornet caught her breath. She wasn't sure how she'd lost it. "Yes. Come in."

Lace stepped inside, and smoothly closed the door behind her. Footsteps echoed in the small room, and then there was another tap, soft against the webbing over the tub.

"Darling?"

Again only, "Yes… yes."

A gloved hand tore through the messy thatch of silk, and Lace leaned over the opening.

Hornet looked up at Lace. Lace looked down at Hornet.

The old shell lay crumpled beside her, a warped, papery echo. Scraps of silk had fluttered down and stuck in the molting fluid, and her chitin was dull under the mess, fragile, tender. But all her eyes met Lace's with too much alertness.

Lace's hand curled over the rim of the tub, her fingertips tapping silently. "You're not going anywhere any time soon, are you?"

Hornet shook her head.

"It's a good thing I brought this, then, isn't it?" Lace held up a limp lillifly, its blood still wet around a single puncture wound. Fresh in the extreme.

Hornet pushed herself upright, so driven that she caught herself on both arms on one side. She shook with her own weight. Her fangs quivered; she was hungry enough that they dripped venom. She rasped, "Give it to me."

"It's all yours." Lace passed her the bug with a smile.

Hornet snatched it. This left her with only her new arm to support herself, which didn't last long. She fell onto her back, but it didn't matter. She smothered the offering in silk, and dug in.

She pumped it full of venom. The organs softened into nothing, the membrane of heart and gut dissolving into the blood. The smell was more divine than anything she, personally, could recall experiencing. She hissed into the creature's flesh, starving even with food in her face. When she pulled free, strands of melted viscera glistened on her fangs. She tipped the contents of the shell into her mouth, and drank. It was gone in too-few gulps.

She hadn't even set the shell aside when Lace handed her another. She was panting from eating too fast to breathe, but that received the same treatment, and then a third went a little more slowly.

Lace cooed, "There now. That's better, I hope."

"Yes," Hornet agreed.

Lace peeled away more silk. "May I join you?"

"Yes… Oh." Hornet frowned. "You. You will certainly get dirty."

"Oh, however will I live?" Lace lilted. She hopped into the tub and slid down beside Hornet in a single, graceful movement. "Can I hold you? I won't hurt you, will I?"

"I think not. I am. I should not be so fragile as. As that."

She gathered Hornet into her lap, heedless of the dark smudges this left on her bright outfit. "Poor dear. You must be exhausted."

Hornet clutched at her, and shook her head. "It. It's done now. That's all. It's done. I'm alright."

"Mhm." Lace held Hornet as close as she dared. "You were screaming."

"Ah. I just," Hornet tried, "Just. I'm alright. I just need…"

"Tell me," Lace murmured, "Tell me what you need, dear, and you'll have it."

"Such a simple thing. Is it?"

"Of course. I just can't say no to you."

"You could."

"Fine. I don't want to," Lace conceded. "Now, tell me what you need."

"Mm." Hornet sighed, "Sleep."

"Hornet." Lace sounded. Something. She certainly had a specific tone. Affronted, perhaps.

It was hard for Hornet to distinguish much about Lace, beyond how soft she was.

Lace pressed, "Is that all?"

"A bath. Perhaps."

She did feel disgusting. Now that she thought about it. Now that she was no longer so ravenous that she could think about it. There had been quite a lot of fluid. There still was, so. She could do to get rid of that. But such things would have to wait until after a long nap and, likely, yet more to eat.

She added, "But it can wait until I get a chance to clean up in here."

"Hornet, beloved. Listen to me."

"Mmm? What is it? "

"I am entirely capable of cleaning out a bathtub. Would you like me to do so, my dear?"

Hornet gave her a bemused look. "I will be capable, soon enough."

"Oh, ma petite araignée." Lace leaned down, and purred into Hornet's ear. "Would you like me to clean out the tub while you rest, so that you can have a warm, lovely bath?"

Hornet opened her mouth, but Lace did not stop.

"And then I'll bring you some fresh pajamas? I've just brought in some laundry, you see, it's still warm from the sun..."

"I suppose…"

Lace put a finger to Hornet's fangs, and finished, "And then you can sleep as long as you'd like in those soft, clean sheets we have out there, waiting for you on our very own bed? Doesn't that sound simply delicious?"

Delicious did not begin to describe it, as Lace well knew. Hornet murmured, "You're an awful temptress."

Lace giggled, "I'd like to think I'm rather skilled."

"Doubtless," Hornet said solemnly. "I suppose. If it is not too much trouble."

Lace turned her gaze up, and lifted her free arm as if to entreat, "Oh! Oh, what a troublemaker you are, to ask for even the meanest help after you've just kicked free of your own flesh!" And then that arm was around Hornet, too, and Lace's gaze, flawlessly serious, met Hornet's. "You're worth a little trouble, Hornet."

"Lace." An admonishment, although Hornet wasn't sure what for, and spoken into Lace's chest as she was held close.

And Lace just had to ask, so innocently, "What's the matter?"

"There's no cause for that," Hornet tried.

"Why, yes, there is. Did I not just say? For you," Lace went on, as if she were musing, as if she hadn't already thought all of this out, "I'll bring you all the food you want. You can sleep in for a few days. Let the rest of them worry about the hunt. Just until your handsome shell hardens."

"You're fawning on me," Hornet accused.

"No," Lace assured her airly. "I'm giving you nearly the minimum of care that you deserve. But now that you mention it, I ought to fawn on you. Spoil you, perhaps."

"It isn't as if I could stop you."

"It isn't as if you would want to," Lace teased, and then, once again, grew serious. She invited, "Do you? Perhaps I misunderstood?"

"No. No, you didn't. I only expected…"

"Nothing?"

"I suppose. Nothing."

"Then allow me to defy all your expectations," Lace sang. "To start, the promised bath, yes? Give me just a moment. Ah, and I suppose there's but one barrier to begin-"

"And as you so wisely observed. She is not going anywhere any time soon."

"We shall see. Can I lift you safely?"

"Careful of the joints. Especially those new."

Lace leaned forward and secured her arms under Hornet. She stood, balancing easily on the slick floor, and stepped out. Next to the tub was a pile of towels and old blankets, worn soft. When she had assembled them was a mystery, but one Hornet quickly forgot about, once Lace set her down again.

Hornet curled up on her side among the bedding. The cold porcelain had done her no favors, and this, haphazard as it was, was like paradise. She secured an armful of blanket and buried her face in it.

Lace hummed and fussed about the bathroom. There was the sound of running water, blending with her thoughts, turning them gently to fuzz, and then-

"Hornet? Are you awake?"

"Mm! Now! Yes." She scrambled at the bedding, pushing herself upright, gasping as her arm threatened to fold.

Lace caught her shoulder. "Gently, gently."

"Right. Yes." Hornet flexed the arm gingerly. "I'm alright. Everything is still the right shape. It's alright."

"I'm very glad to hear it," Lace said primly. "I'm sorry for waking you, but your bath is ready."

"Ah. Thank you." She felt the blankets shift as Lace knelt, and shook her head into them. "Wait. I must try…"

Hornet held out a hand. Lace took it, and allowed Hornet to brace against her.

Hornet stood. The simple motion came apart into several, more complex. Her balance was not where she expected it to be. Her arms stretched out, but the one Lace supported made it worse on that side, such that she tilted forward and grabbed Lace's waist with the lower arm to catch herself. Her chest heaved with exertion. Her legs quivered; she could feel her own weight on her limbs - they could bear her, but she could feel them threaten to bow where there was no joint.

She stepped forward, and Lace stepped back. Lace let Hornet lean on her stepping into the tub, and helped her settle back into it - into the water this time. The warmth enveloped her. She inhaled sharply, and then measured the air on its way out.

"Thank you," she said again.

"Of course. Take your time."

Hornet scrubbed herself lightly. The water soon turned murky around her, and each sweep of sponge was rougher than it should have felt. She persisted, and with each pass, she observed. Many of her scars were gone now, save for faint traces of the most heavily marred tissue.

She soaked only enough to let the frayed fragments of shell soften, too, and pick them from her joints. The water had cooled around her by the time she finished.

Lace gathered up the blankets and shoved them into a laundry bin, and finished some swift mending of her own, to have clothes ready for Hornet. Loose-fitting and well-worn, the nightshirt's side had been cut partway, from the sleeve down. It would easily accommodate all of Hornet's arms.

She changed into it as soon as she was dry. The fabric was no longer warm from the sun, but it was clean, and so was she.

Lace said, "Time for bed?"

"Past time."

The blankets folded around Hornet like they had missed her. If the little nest Lace had arranged for her was like paradise, then this was the truth of it. Her bed, their bed. Whatever desperate chemical in her blood had kept her awake was faltering now. She was going to sleep. Not an action, an inevitability.

Lace was by the window, drawing the curtains shut, banishing the light for an afternoon nap. She was, for a moment, a haloed silhouette. And then shadow restored her definition - her flouncing steps, the smile she wore, always a little cutting, the way Hornet loved, her own fondness for sharp things unerring.

Hornet reached out. Two hands one one side, unintentionally; one of them caught under the sheets. "Lace?"

Lace was already coming over. She sat down, and pushed back the sheets just enough to take both offered hands. "Yes, darling? What is it?"

"What is it…" Hornet echoed. She'd had something in mind a moment ago. Watching Lace. Being here. A fluffed pillow under her head, and a comforter almost as plush over her. No matter her condition, she was cozy - it was as undeniable as it was unbelievable.

And yet, selfishly, she wanted more. Right. That was what she'd thought.

She tugged on Lace's hands. All direction and no force. "Stay with me."

"Of course! Of course, I will. Anyone who tried to remove me would taste my pin."

Hornet only repeated, "Stay…" She was falling asleep. Not an action, an inevitability. "I do not…" Her grip tightened. "Don't want to be alone."

"Then," Lace said, as if it was simple, as if it was as plain as could be, as if it was anything like how the world worked, "I won't leave you."

The mattress shifted as Lace did, easing closer to gather Hornet into her arms again.

And when she was done, she stood up.

Hornet stirred in the same place where she had fallen asleep. Lace was lying high on the pillows, so that Hornet rested against Lace's chest. Hornet shifted, nestling closer, encouraged by a hand rubbing her back.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty. How are you feeling?"

Hornet only sighed, "Lace..."

"And none other." Lace repeated, "How are you?"

Hornet tipped her head back. She saw too much of the world. What had once been periphery now filled her vision; there was too much of the wall and ceiling above Lace. She would adjust, but for now, it made her head hurt, and she buried her face against the other woman again. There was nothing she could say.

"Mmm. Just a moment."

Lace nudged away. Hornet tried to hold on, but Lace said, "I'm only going to get you some water, dear."

That did not sound so terrible. Hornet nodded, and relaxed her grip. It made little difference. Lace could have freed herself easily.

Hornet maneuvered herself into a sitting position, hunched over, with her head in her hands. The old two. The top two.

No. She already had a headache.

She accepted the water when Lace brought it, drained it, and dropped back onto the pillows. "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome. To that, and more; I'll see to it." Lace set the cup aside, and drew the covers back up to Hornet's chin.

Hornet sighed. She needed Lace to understand. "No.... No. Thank you for staying."

Lace tilted her head into her hand. "I said I would."

"Of course," Hornet murmured, with that specific kind of honesty brought on by exhaustion, "But you see, you are the first to do so."

Lace's eyes narrowed. Her hand settled on her hip, although her pin was elsewhere, and those who hadn't stayed were yet farther, or dead.

"There is no worthwhile vengeance," Hornet said quietly.

Lace hummed. "I see. So instead I shall have your company all to myself. How lucky I am."

Hornet said nothing. How she had spoken was a testament to something rooted deeply in her, something from far beyond the soil she tread now. She couldn't even wish to dislodge it. She couldn't know this in herself.

She could only lean into Lace, and that was answer enough. Because Lace was still here. Hornet wrapped her in a tangle of fragile arms. Lace held her back in the dark of their room, feeling Hornet's claws fix in her shirt.

Hornet needed to sleep. She tried to, and perhaps that was the problem. But now she had recovered enough to be aware of how vulnerable she was, and whenever she drifted close enough to rest, she lost touch with her surroundings, their room, their bed, Lace's arms.

Back on that old soil, too familiar with isolation to be lonely. Or back in the brightest-gilded places of Pharloom, high up and hunted, before they had done their work. In the Nest, before Hallownest had changed her and she'd called it Deepnest like the rest of them.

Lace noticed, felt Hornet tense, felt her slow breathing turn short and sharp again. Knowing her arms were not enough, Lace sang.

Not a song Hornet knew. Not words she needed to understand. Nothing of the past. All that mattered was, Lace would not let Hornet's sense sit empty. Lace sang in her delicate voice until Hornet finally relaxed.

Hornet was growing, now that her shell was soft enough for it. And this meant a great deal of soreness and stumbling, when she did try to move.

Which was more often than she should have done, but otherwise she'd have done nothing but to curl up and wait, and when she grew stiff that was an issue best resolved by stretching anyhow.

Ten repetitions, twisting at the waist. A simple exercise. Lace watched her, sprawled out on the bed, her satisfaction undisguised.

Hornet flexed her claws. "Some might find a beast's nature frightening."

"Some people are cowards. Are you accusing me of cowardice, my love?"

"Never," Hornet answered solemnly. She dropped back into bed beside Lace. Already it hurt less than it had yesterday.

But it still hurt. She reached out. Her hands tightened; one around Lace's hand where it found hers and another on the same side, rumpling the sheets. She buried her face in the pillow, further muffling a faint groan.

Lace stroked a thumb over Hornet's knuckles. "What is it, dear?"

"I would like some tea."

"Anything else?"

"My needle."

"Far be it from me to stand between you and your needle. I can bring it. But-"

It wasn't as if Hornet was in any danger. "I know, I know. You are on watch, as such. Tea, then. Please."

Lace kissed the back of Hornet's head, and hopped out of bed.

Hornet was left alone in their room to wait.

Their room. Walls around her, not just dirt and moss, and within those walls, almost anything she could ask for. Tea to calm her tormented nerves, and food to nourish her. Their bed with its clean sheets. Even the book she'd abandoned in the living room, so that she wasn't bored while all she could do was curl up and wait. Lace had brought it to her.

She flicked through the pages with a clawtip. Here, within these walls, she had time to worry about being bored. Even her restlessness seemed like an indulgence. As much as she longed to move, she did not have to.

She pressed her hand to the cover of the book. It took up more space there than it had a few days ago. Lace found Hornet testing the joint of her wrist with her thumb.

As Lace set the tea down, Hornet asked, "Is this what it's like to have such soft flesh? How do you stand it?"

"By being too fast to cut."

"How bold. We ought to evaluate such a claim."

"I'll prove it to you soon enough." Lace pressed a mug into Hornet's hand. "But for now, drink your tea."

Hornet took a slow sip, and then held the mug close to her chest. The warmth spread through her shell. The smell was bitter, clarifying. Even inhaling the steam unwound some of the tension in her. She stared into it, watching the liquid settle again.

"I am glad I stayed."

Lace pressed a coy hand over her smile. "We're of a mind about that, then."

"I suppose I should not be surprised." Hornet took another sip of tea, and frowned. "Why am I surprised?"

"You've never been appreciated. Poor thing."

"When you put it like that, it only sounds pitiable."

"It's sympathy, dear. Or it's meant to be, anyway."

"I see. Well, enough of that."

"I can hardly switch it off, can I?" Lace tutted. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Hornet set down her mug, and opened her arms. All of them. "I love you. I'm glad that I do."

Lace beckoned Hornet into the kitchen. "Come now, my love! You've waited long enough!"

There was a plate on the table. There was a foil-wrapped bundle on the plate. There was a flickering candle jammed into the food, through the foil.

Hornet recognized the packaging, and the mark holding it shut - a lattice like a dragonfly's wing. She barked a laugh. "Truly?"

Lace bowed, and swept an arm out at the table. "Remember what I said about your treat?"

Hornet sat down. "I do. But it was hardly necessary."

"You're feeling better. That's certainly cause for celebration." Lace fluttered into the chair across from her, and instructed, "Blow out the candle, and be sure to make a wish when you do."

Hornet regarded this gift. She leaned forward on her elbows, with her lower arms folded over her stomach.

"I have no interest in wishes," she said.

"Oh, no?"

"No. I have more than I had ever imagined having right here before me. I have no interest in more." Hornet considered, and then smiled faintly. "But if it pleases you. I have decided."

Lace nodded coyly.

Hornet blew out the candle. Then she stood and braced herself over the table on both pairs of arms, which brought her mostly to Lace's side. "Kiss me now. That is my wish."

Lace threaded her fingers behind Hornet's neck, and pressed her mouth to Hornet's. Then she whispered, so close that Hornet's raised fangs brushed Lace when she spoke, "Your wish is meant to be a secret. But just for you, I'll break the rules."

She gave Hornet another quick kiss, and plucked the candle out as she pulled away.

Hornet tore back the warm foil, and the scent of fried dough and meat was overpowering. Not that it sickened her, she just had half the bun in her watering mouth before she comprehended it.

Her delighted exclamation was caught against the perfectly-seared pilplit inside. She forced herself to slow down and chew properly, to savor this. She needed to breathe, at least.

Lace plucked a bag from under the table, and withdrew another bun from the bag. She placed it in front of Hornet. "No, no, go on." Lace sighed, "Well, I suppose it wouldn't do for you to make yourself sick. But there's more than enough."

"Indeed, I would rather avoid that," Hornet said, once she'd finished. She eyed the bag Lace held. "Lace. How many of these did you buy, exactly?"

"One dozen," Lace announced proudly. "Don't worry, I ordered them in advance."

Hornet laughed. "Why ?"

"Because you asked, ma petite araignée."

"Ah. That I did," Hornet muttered. Then she jammed the rest of the first one into her mouth, finished it off, and said, "Fine then. I'll have another. And you have one. More, if you'd like."

"Hm! I seem to recall saying I wouldn't help you with this."

"I am not asking for help. I am asking to share this with you." Hornet gestured with her bun, giving it her needlepoint's gravity. "If it is my celebration, then you will join."

"Oh!" Lace laughed. "I couldn't possibly deny such an invitation."

They ate until neither of them could anymore.

chapter 5

Needle and pin joined. The clang of metal against metal resounded over the rooftop, echoed by the light song of Lace's laughter.

Hornet leaped back. Her cloak flared around her as she caught herself on her lower hands. She held her needle in the top set, and with her balance so well-kept, she recovered and had Lace on the defensive in the same breath.

Her needle came down overhand. "Ha!"

"Oh!" Lace caught it on her own blade, and smiled up at her.

Hornet only changed her grip, pulling her needle down in both right hands and slashing inward. The flat came to rest against Lace's side.

Then Hornet smiled back. "Match."

"Hmph. Only because you're having too much fun."

"Nonetheless, the match is mine."

Lace bowed, before twirling her pin into its scabbard. "So it is, ma petite araignée."

They stood together, breathless as much with delight as from their bout. Lace laid a hand on Hornet's shoulder, and traced down to her upper arm. She squeezed appreciatively through Hornet's cloak.

"Though I suppose you're not as little anymore."

"But I have no hope for another term of endearment?"

"No," Lace giggled.

"I thought not." Hornet nodded wisely. "Then I'll have to claim another prize."

She scooped Lace into her arms, one under her knees and one around her back. Lace threw her arms around Hornet's shoulders. "Oh my! What is it you have in mind?"

Hornet strode to the edge of the roof. The wind whipped cold and cutting, where they stood. Hornet pointed with her needle. A tower, on the other side of the courtyard.

"There." Hornet mused, "I wonder who it's really a prize for… But I've been stuck in one place for too long. Would you like to fly with me?"

"Oh, yes!" Lace tightened her hold, and stretched up to kiss Hornet's cheek. "Take me soaring!"

That was all Hornet needed to hear. She cast her needle out, and it caught on the tower's window ledge. She yanked on the thread. It held firm.

She jumped twice. First onto the parapet, and from there, into the air over the courtyard far below.

For one instant they plummeted, and their hearts and stomachs did, too. Lace shrieked with laughter.

Hornet grasped Lace close to her. She laughed, too, as the sensation of height turned to speed. She wound them both up on her thread, and then it was the very next instant that she caught the side of the open window in her free hand and swung them through. Her needle came free of the wood cleanly, and she pulled it in after them.

Lace did not let go, or make any move to get down. She was still giggling. "Marvelous, oh! Marvelous! Can't we do that again?"

"Oh? Would you like that?"

"I most certainly would."

"Hmm. Perhaps I shouldn't, then. Perhaps it should be your prize, for next time. If you can win, that is."

"Oh! Oh, you're dreadful!"

"Am I, now?"

"Yes! And I love you for it!"

"How fortunate, then, that I love you, as well."

Hornet sat back on the windowsill, with Lace in her lap, and tilted her head down for a kiss. Lace obliged her eagerly. They kissed, Lace caught up in all of Hornet's arms, and Hornet held in place by Lace's fingers threaded behind her head, and all Hornet wanted to do was stay.

#hollow knight #silksong #lacenet #hk hornet #hk lace #my fanfic

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solohux · 4 years

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Not sure if prompts are still open. But if it's possible. #62 -" a group of alphas tried to follow me home today"? Maybe with Omega hux on the cusp of heat or pregnant about to pop, with special guest Alpha Kylo?. If not that's perfectly fine.

62-: “A group of alphas tried to follow me home today.”

Hux knows the corridors of the Finalizer like the back of his hand. Every nook, every supply closet, every secret access panel that one could slip inside to avoid being followed. Such spaces are meant to be used in emergency situations such as being boarded by a mass of enemy soldiers and needing to hide for…security reasons. Certainly not cowardice.

“Ridiculous,” Hux mutters to himself as he uses his fingerprint to open one of the secret panels in Hallway B-192, relieved when the hidden door swishes open to reveal a small, square room that is barely wide enough for him to fully stretch his arms out, so small that he can barely fit inside, not with his eight-month pregnant belly to accommodate. Still, he manages. “Absolutely ridiculous.”

But he hasn’t time to quarrel with himself; he can hear the approaching footsteps of the people he’s trying to avoid, both from the left and the right of his secret alcove. He hurries inside, sideways, and manages to hit the shut button on the inside control panel, sealing himself inside the dark room.

‘Alphas’, he tuts to himself, closing his eyes and trying to focus on his breathing instead of the sounds and smells of the group of officers who linger outside of the door, hearing at least five different voices. ‘Brutes. The lot of them. Slaves to their instincts.’

His unborn kicks harshly at him, making him jolt forward.

“Alright,” he whispers, placing a hand atop the large curve of his belly and stroking downwards. “Your father isn’t like that. He’s the exception. Happy?”

Another kick, but softer this time. Hux smiles; already, the pup adores her father. Rightly so, Hux thinks, being quite fond of Kylo himself. In fact, Hux wishes that his mate were here, now, squashed beside him in this tiny space. At least Kylo’s presence would protect him.

‘He can’t have gone far,’ a deep voice says from the other side of Hux’s secret alcove. ‘He’s fit to burst.’

‘I can still smell him. Oh, heaven and hells. He smells so good, Colonel. I can’t wait to touch him—’

‘Keep you voice down, Lieutenant! Ren could be listening!’

A higher, younger voice replies in a low whisper, ‘I thought Ensign Kit was distracting the Supreme Leader whilst we, uh, intercept the General. A pregnant omega all to ourselves, Colonel!’

‘I know, boy. I’ve been unable to think of anything else since General Hux first appeared on the bridge so swelled with Ren’s child. So thin but so soft around the middle. Delicious.’

‘Is it true what they say? That pregnant omegas can take two knots at once?’

‘Why don’t we test that theory, boy? Once we find the pesky bitch. We’ll make him forget who Kylo Ren is. No, in fact, we could very well make Ren aware of the fact that he’s been cuck’d. Teach him and Hux a lesson, two birds with one stone.’

‘Oh, my! Yes, sir!’

Hux grits his teeth, turning his head away, wishing he couldn’t hear the foul intentions of his very own officers. He feels violated just hearing them talk about him like that, like he’s something for their pleasure, their amusement. Underneath the safety of his uniform, Hux feels his skin prickle, suddenly very aware of the fact that he’s a pregnant omega and he’s alone.

Despite the small space of his little secret nook, Hux slides down the wall and sits down with his knees drawn up as far against him as his pregnant belly will allow.

“Why is your father never around when I need him?” Hux says, both hands on the sides of his stomach, feeling the baby tumble and roll inside of him. “I need him.”

Suddenly, the baby kicks harder than she ever has before, causing a discomfort that feels totally unfamiliar and rather painful, so much so that Hux yelps and gasps, panicking as soon as he’s made the sound and using both hands to cover his mouth.

‘Did you hear that? That was Hux!’

Hux trembles. He keeps his mouth and nose covered with his hands, hoping to silence the sounds of his unsteady breaths but moves one to rest on his belly when the baby won’t stop wriggling as though she’s scared too.

There’s knocking on the wall, a solid sound as though the alphas are assessing the panels that are a few down from Hux’s location. The omega’s heart hammers wildly; the knocks get closer, louder, until a fist hammers on the panel of the secret nook.

‘Hey!’ Another three harsh knocks to confirm. Hux feels like screaming. ‘This wall is hollow!’

Hux’s hand falls from his pregnant belly to where his blaster sits on his belt, pulling it off and holding it up towards the door, cocked and ready to be fired at whoever dares open the door. He doubts that he’ll be able to fight five (possibly in-rut) alphas whilst eight months pregnant and trembling but he’s certainly not going to be taken without annihilating two of them—one, realistically, he estimates, but exceeding what is expected of him is Hux’s speciality, or so he tells himself as he sets his blaster to kill.

“I’m sorry, my darling,” Hux says aloud, hoping that his baby will forgive him for putting them both in danger, but before he can say anything else, a sound rings out from the other side of the wall. It’s a rumble, a vibrating crackle, and it never fails to make Hux feel safe.

The screaming and shouting that follows is the epitome of relief for Hux.

He’s too busy trying not to hyperventilate in sheer reprieve of escaping a pack of hungry alphas to notice the sound of bodies hitting the floor and the subsequent deactivating of a lightsaber. Hux only comes back to himself when the door slides open and the light from the outside corridor is blocked by a Kylo Ren-sized silhouette.

Hux almost cries at the sight of his mate.

“Are you alright?” Kylo squats down and takes Hux into his arms, scooping him up with one hand under his knees and the other around his back. “Did they hurt you?”

“No,” Hux throws his arms around his alpha’s neck and buries his face in his shoulder, comforted by his familiar scent. “No, I hid before they could find me. They tried to follow me home.”

“They’re dead,” Kylo nuzzles his cheek on the omega’s head in an attempt to calm him, obviously feeling how much Hux is trembling in his arms. “Sshh, my one. I’m here now. They can’t hurt you.”

“How did you find me?” Hux looks up, seeing fear in Kylo’s dark eyes. He wonders how the alpha is fighting back the tears that fill his eyes.

“The baby,” Kylo’s lips curve into a proud smile. “She called out to me through the Force. She showed me where you were, that you were in trouble.”

“She…what?”

“I know. She’s a strong one, protecting her mama already.”

Hux feels overwhelmed, quietly rubbing his hand over his belly as Kylo carries him home to their chambers, taking note of each and every kick and tumble that the baby performs inside of him.

“Thank you,” Hux whispers, closing his eyes and letting himself relax in Kylo’s arms.

“I’ll always be around to save you, Armitage,” Kylo replies. He presses a soft kiss to the top of the omega’s head, a promise.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Ren.”

#kylux #omega hux #alpha kylo #mpreg #pregnant hux #tw threats of noncon #m:writing

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dearlazerbunny · 4 years

Text

Ignite (Redux); Ch. 1 of 5ish

Pairings: Kylo Ren x Reader

Genre/Ratings: currently T for severely injured reader

Words: 2250

Summary: After an accident aboard Starkiller Base, someone unexpected proves invaluable.

This is a rewrite of Ignite, which I published two-ish years ago. I thought I could put more into it than I did initially, and soon enough this one chapter was more words than the whole original idea. Same story, incredibly expanded upon. Enjoy!

You sigh as you scroll through your daily schedule that’s pinged into your datapad. Apparently a fresh crop of newbie engineers has been recruited, and now you’ve got to teach them how to not blow themselves up- or more crucially, not blow up the expensive TIE Fighters that cost more than your entire life is worth. Joy oh joy. Really, you prefer to work alone- you’re a senior engineer aboard Starkiller base, you don’t need anyone to double check your work (or worse, mucking it up). But as long as the rookie knows their place and doesn’t cross wires they aren’t supposed to, things should- should- be okay.

Hopefully. Maybe. Fingers crossed.

You pull on your uniform, doing up the buttons and fastening the buckles; your tool belt, a beautiful piece of leather that’s been worn enough to be molded precisely to your waist, gets secured in its place of honor across your hips. After tracking down your pesky gloves and tucking them into the top of your work boots so you don’t lose them for the millionth time, you join the ebb and flow of traffic constantly racing though Starkiller’s veins and head for the flight deck.

It’s a decent trek- base is huge, and nowhere you’re heading is ever anywhere near everywhere else. It’s become something of a tradition to mentally curse whoever designed this bucket of bolts as you follow hallway after hallway, trying to keep pace with those around you. Would it have killed them to put in some moving walkways? Maybe a more direct path through the ducts? At least that way you’d be able to avoid all the upper-crust officers on your way to work, and their holier-than-thou stares as they eye your patched elbows and stained pants. Chuckling to yourself, you pat the nearest metal archway, mentally apologizing to your pride and joy. Starkiller is, ultimately, a feat of engineering, and the fact that you get to crawl around in her walls and find what makes her tic is a pleasure, no matter how finicky she gets- or how snotty the officers become.

In the corner of your eye, you can tell that the corridor has suddenly emptied, startlingly silent of stormtrooper boots or the quiet mumbling of messengers running to and fro. Rather than following suit and making yourself scarce, you purposefully slow your gait and linger, letting your fingers trace along the seams of the polished walls.

Not a minute later, Kylo Ren comes stalking around the corner, boots thumping menacingly along his path and cape fluttering behind him. He doesn’t seem phased by the sudden clearing of his path- he probably comes to expect it by now. It’s not like he demands it; people just seem too frightened of the Commander to even do something as simple as walk in the same corridor as him.

You can’t really blame them. He’s a six-foot-something space wizard in all black and an incredibly intimidating mask. Rumor has it he isn’t afraid to cut you in half with a lightsaber if you so much as breathe wrong in his direction- and to be fair, a lot of those rumors are true, given how frequently you’re called to patch up medical equipment in the infirmary.

“Am I interrupting something?” The Commander’s voice comes out heavily synthesized through his visor, but you could swear there’s a touch of teasing in it as he watches you run a hand over some welding.

You grin at him. “No, sir, just having a little moment of appreciation.” You comically pat the metal next to you, as though assessing a prize cow.

Normally you wouldn’t dare joke around with a senior officer, but despite his fearful reputation, the Knight has always seemed… different, to you. In command, yes, but not quite part of command. The rest of base always runs whenever he heads in their direction. Even his infamous Knights of Ren seem just a touch too cautious around their leader to include him in the camaraderie you’ve seen them demonstrate in the mess hall when he’s not around. He’s a true loner, sitting solitaire in meetings and speaking to no one except to yell orders; a black phantom haunting the hallways with rumors flying left and right in his wake.

You made the decision a long time ago to not be afraid of the man. He has to know that not everyone sees him as some sort of grim reaper, no matter what people might whisper. “How are you today, sir?”

Despite you making it a point to ask him this every time you see him, he still seems taken aback whenever he hears it. Like he’s shocked someone is speaking to him in pleasant terms. “I am fine. And you?”

“Just peachy!” You gesture down the hallway. “Are you going this way?”

He nods briefly, and so the two of you start off together, only close enough to barely be associated as acquaintances. The stares you get are numerous, but you always feel just a tad more confident with the Commander at your side. You suppose it must look a bit comical- the dark knight and a tiny engineer marching through base like they own the place. But you’re grateful for the company, silent as it is, and you tell yourself he must be too- otherwise, why give you the time of day? You’re not anyone important.

You know Commandeer Ren notices all the attention the two of you get- you can tell by the way he has to keep his fists from clenching up; struggle to keep his gait even. Briefly, you wonder if the reason he wears a mask is so his emotions won’t run amok across his face. It’s certainly easy enough to read the rest of him, if you bother looking.

“Are you not afraid of me?”

You stop short, surprised. Even when he seems to be in a good mood, he rarely says anything. “No sir, I’m not. Should I be?”

“Yes,” he says flatly. Just, yes, as though that’s the only possible answer to his question.

“Well… just don’t come at me with your fancy glowstick, and I think we’ll be alright, yeah?” You offer him an easy grin, instinctively reaching out to tap him playfully on the shoulder before you remember who you’re talking to- it quickly gets withdrawn. He simply stares at you, and you’re unsure if you’ve just doomed yourself to a cold and miserable fate on Hoth. “I’ll see you later?”

He just turns and stalks away, and you sigh, shoving your hands in your pockets. He never answers that one. Which, to be fair, he probably has much more important things to do than run around entertaining some random engineer. Still, he never blows you off though, even when you’re rambling or asking too many questions- he might not answer the questions, but he doesn’t tell you to shut up either.

Truth is, you’re a bit fascinated with the man. He’s an enigma, a mystery, and your whole life you’ve been trained to solve mysteries; pull out the broken pieces and wind it all back together again even better than the day it was brand new. You can only hope someday that helmet of his will short circuit and you’ll get a chance to take a crack at it.

You have to pull yourself away from watching Ren’s retreating back, refocusing on your job. Rookie to train. TIE Fighters to tune up. Right.

It’s pretty easy to spot your trainee- he’s tentatively poking around a TIE the way you do when you want to look like you know what you’re doing, but in actuality you’re three seconds away from seriously messing something up. When he gnaws his lip and reaches for a panel of circuitry, you step in- “OKAY! Let’s back away from that, shall we?”

Startled, he knocks himself away from the board he’s studying. “Right! Right. Uh, sorry.”

You gingerly close the panel back up and push him a few steps away from the battleship, then wipe your hands on your pants and hold out a hand. “I’m Y/N. I’ll be your supervisor for the day. Rule number one? Don’t touch anything unless you know for certain what it is, what’s wrong with it, how to fix it, and all the ways it can kill you if your finger slips.”

The kid’s cheeks pale a bit. “Right. I’m Cale.”

“Wonderful. Don’t blow anybody up and don’t put our heads under the general’s fist, and I’m sure we’ll get along great.” You tug on your gloves, tighten the cord securing your hair, and put a hand on your hip. “First thing’s first- how much do you know about twin ion engine ships?”

You spend the better part of your shift going over every inch of the craft in front of you, as well as the science that makes it run and the parts that need hands on them more often than not. “…and this is the engine itself. It destabilizes xenon gas and uses the resulting broken-off electron for thrust. Xenon gas is ideal because for the most part, it’s completely inert- fireproof, explosion-proof, etcetera. As long as it’s converted back to a stable state before it’s exuded by the engine, it’s pretty safe. But you should still be extremely cautious when working on the engine itself. Obviously. It’s worth more than we ever will be.” You press your wrist to your forehead, trying to think of anything you missed. “Okay. Any questions?”

“…No?”

“Cool.” You check your datapad. “This one needs new electrostatic grids. Xenon gas is fairly corrosive. Check with me before you do anything, and we’ll get to work, okay?”

Other than the occasional question here and there and getting used to someone hanging over your shoulder watching you tinker, you settle into a wonderfully familiar routine. Your fingers fly like they have a mind of their own, effortlessly making the rig in front of you shine like it did when it first came off the line.

“-so what do you do here, anyways?”

You shake your head, pulled from the flow of work- “um, little bit of everything? I got promoted to senior a few years ago so I’m called all over base. I work a lot with command and their personal rigs and equipment.”

You can’t see Cale’s face, but you can hear the curiosity in his voice. “You work with General Hux?”

“Yes. He’s just as…intense, as everyone makes him out to be. But thus far I’m not on his bad side and I plan to keep it that way, so I’m not saying anything else about it.”

“What about-” he pauses, like he’s looking over his shoulder to make sure no one else in the massively busy hangar is listening in- “Kylo Ren?”

You wedge a particularly tight support into place with a grunt. “What about him?”

“Is he really insane? I heard that-”

“No,” you say harshly. “And you shouldn’t believe everything you hear. He’s a person, just like everyone else, okay?” Christ, the rumor mill is as exhausting as it is useless.

Thankfully, something on your tool belt starts beeping and you can focus on that. A little indicator light is flashing orange, harsh and neon. “Interesting.”

Cale pops his head out from underneath the ship. “What’s beeping?”

“This monitors the air quality; lets us know if the composition of gases gets unbalanced. It generally means there’s a leak somewhere.” You glance at what you’d doing. More electrostatic grids. “What are you working on down there?”

“Oh, a few tanks were too pressurized, so I released the valves a bit to relieve those.”

You blanch. “The xenon canisters?”

“Um… maybe?”

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Just before you can hit the alarm button, you see a spark from a nearby welder flicker- it arcs to the floor almost in slow motion, one small bit of fire promising catastrophe. If you’re lucky, it won’t catch- it will fall harmlessly to the floor and extinguish, giving you time to alert others, clear the area, and reset things when proper ventilation has made the area safe.

But when have you ever been lucky?

All you see is red. You’re awash in it, swimming in it, drowning until your whole being is nothing but scarlet and an unholy, white-hot, supernova blue. You’re in the heart of an exploding star, witnessing the birth of the universe, and it’s just as beautiful as you’d imagine the very atoms of space rearranging themselves would be.

Then there’s stillness. The colors fade. It’s not silent- no, there’s a ringing in your ears, and somewhere very, very far away something like an alarm. And then- pain.

Oh, the pain. It flashes through your nerves like lightning, so intense you almost can’t comprehend all the little nuances screaming across every inch of your body. Joining the ringing and the far, distant sound of klaxon alarms comes a high-pitched, desperate sort of scream. You turn to help whoever it is- you raise a hand in front of you, only to see rapidly singing flesh. It’s you. You’re the one screaming. You’re the one on fire.

Sprawled on the floor of the hangar, vaguely aware of everything and nothing, hoarsely begging for this to stop, stopstopstop please make this stop, you wonder just for one second if the tall cloaked figure at the other end of the room is a hallucination or wish fulfillment or both.

You lose consciousness before you can come to a decision.

A/N: Yee

#Star Wars Fic #Star Wars fanfic #kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren imagine #reader insert #kylo x you #kylo x reader #kylo ren angst #kylo ren fluff #injured reader

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fleurdeliszt · 4 years

Text

lightweaver (seokjin x reader)

absolutely inspired by spin of the dawn, it's a great book y'all should try it sometime!

Rating : T+

Word Count : 9k+

“Rise.”

You rise up from your kneeling position, eyes still fixed on the ground, hardly daring to meet the eyes of the man who had summoned you. The man who is also the Emperor of this country.

“Will you not look at me, seamstress?” His voice is melodic, playful almost, yet the queasy feeling in your gut does not dissipate. Here is a man who had climbed the throne at 14 and managed to keep it, despite all of the scheming that surely surrounded him.

Nothing about him is playful, at least not to you.

“If Your Majesty wishes,” you answer, careful to look once and then quickly away.

Even that short glance at him has you feeling breathless, as you think that the rumors that the Emperor really did descend from the gods must have some substance to them. He did look the part.

“Your Majesty does,” he answers, sounding amused.

You remain quiet even as a blush dusts your cheeks. What did he want? You are nothing, nobody! There was no reason offered to you when you'd been abruptly summoned to the capital, tucked in a caravan surrounded by gruff guards who would not speak anything except to say “The Emperor has ordered us to bring you to the Summer Palace.”

“Your Majesty,” you begin, voice steady and not belying the tremor in your heart, “I'm a humble servant under your reign. What wish do you have of me?”

“Humble servant?” He questions, stroking his chin.

You stare quietly at him, as he paces across the room.

“Humble servant, hmm? Well my humble servant,” here he grins at you, surprisingly boyish, “Will a humble servant of mine keep secrets from me?”

No.

Your mind is racing because there's no way he would know, no way he could know, yet he does, he does--

And he stands now in front of you the boyish grin morphing into something more knowing.

“Would they, seamstress?”

“No, Your Majesty.” Your voice is a whisper. You pray to the storm god to keep your parents and siblings safe, because now that this --- man knows your secret, they will be next.

“So? Do you have secrets of your own, lovely seamstress?” The flattering adjective is like a slap in your face, a mockery, but you manage to keep a straight face.

“We all have secrets, Your Majesty.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You are brave. Or foolish.”

With that, he whips close the fan in his hand. As if issued a silent command, his guards leave the room.

You watch in bewilderment, as you're left alone with the Emperor.

“As you probably know, I haven't been coronated yet.”

You knew. In fact, it was a question that plagued the entirety of the kingdom. Why had the Emperor not been coronated yet?

He was of age, was the legal heir, there were no pesky siblings that claimed the throne, the Empress Dowager had all but retired to the Autumn Palace and never left the place. Which begged the question, what was stopping him?

“My Father,” he speaks these words with no inflection in them, lifeless, “desired that the robe I be coronated with should have the laughter of the sun, the tears of the moon and the blood of stars.”

You can't help it, you laugh.

The Emperor looks at you, amused. Your laughter stops abruptly, even as your heart thump-thumps in your chest erratically.

“You're right to laugh. I laughed too, thinking it a joke. Then I thought it was a metaphor. But then I realized it's true.”

Your brows furrow.

“The Glass Throne will not seat me.”

“What?”

He is the one to laugh this time, sharp and brittle.

“But-” you sputter, “I've heard of stories telling how you passed judgment while seated on the Glass Throne!”

“Tell me, my lady,” the Emperor murmurs, “how many of the common folk have seen the Glass Throne?”

You still. It's true that while you have heard legendary stories about the beauty and splendor of the Glass Throne, you haven't actually seen it.

“I sit on the replica,” he says, a trace of bitterness coloring his voice, “the real throne is kept away, in the Winter Palace.”

“You're the rightful heir,” you say, indignation seeping into your voice, “the throne should respect that.”

The Emperor smiles at you. “You're a kind person, but magic doesn't work like that.”

You turn pink at that, eyes on your feet, wondering why this strange turn of events is happening. What need does the Emperor have you that he has summoned you from the backwaters of a small town?

“I need you to make that robe for me, seamstress.”

“You have a quest!” Your little sister whispers, excited, and your tears stop, even if for a second.

“A quest?” Your brother snarls,”It's a suicide mission!”

“The blood of the stars will be the most difficult,” your grandmother tells you, “you could lose your soul. But fear not, lovely child,” she kisses your forehead, wrapping you in her comforting embrace, “wear this and you'll be safe.”

It's an innocuous pendant, with a red stone that glimmers in the moonlight.

“It will protect you,” she whispers, “from things that wish to harm you.”

“How do you fare, seamstress?”

It's the Emperor, come to visit you in your quarters.

It's a bit improper isn't it, you think, as the moonlight spills through your curtains, but then again he's the Emperor and no rules bind him.

“Very well, Your Majesty,” you bow into a neat curtesy, “I think I might know where to capture the laughter of the sun.”

“Very well, you say?” He moves closer, his intimidating presence almost suffocating you.

His fingers brush lightly across your cheek bones.

“You've lost weight.”

Of course I have, you think savagely, you are the one who gave me an impossible task.

“Do you sleep well?” His fingers draw underneath your eyes.

“No.”

He laughs then, pulling back his fingers. “Oh how you must despise me,” his eyes glitter in the moonlight, “lovely seamstress of mine.”

I'm not yours, you want to retort, but he's right. All of your people are his, to bow to his whims, to do as he wishes.

“Do you know my name?” He asks.

You stare at him mutely. What use do you have for the names of royals?

“It's Seokjin.”

You gasp breathless and throat burning with a thirst that feels like would kill you, but you are triumphant.

For in your hand, captured in a bottle is the laughter of the sun.

“So it's real.” Seokjin's face looks even more radiant in the glow of the sun, and he breaks out into a beautiful smile.

“You're a wonder,” he tells you, gazing at you with such awe, that you blush.

“A miracle,” he whispers.

There's silence for a moment and then -

“You can use magic.”

It shouldn't sound like an accusation, but it does. You bristle.

“I can't,” you say, “but I can channel some magic through powerful objects.” You glance at your scissors, lying innocuously on your work table. Seokjin follows your gaze and it lands on your scissors.

He moves closer to your work table. “Is this magical?” He touches your scissors almost reverently, as he looks up to meet your eyes.

“I'm not sure,” you admit, “It's been in my family for generations.”

“Is this how you're the most renowned seamstress in your town?” He looks amused, and you feel your lips pulling down into a scowl.

“Not everybody can use that. You need to be skilled enough surpass most ordinary people, and then and only then,” you glare at him, “will a person be able to harness the magic in those blades.”

“Oh?” He cocks an eyebrow at you, “Quite proud of your skills, aren't you?”

“Yes,” you raise your chin defiantly at him.

“But you are a strange, wonderful thing indeed,” he admits, “To not have an ounce of magical blood, and in this day and age when magic seems to be waning,” he steps forward to you, gazing directly into your eyes, “you are truly fascinating.”

You meet his dark eyes, intense and captivating, completely focused on you, and you cannot hold his gaze. You look away, clearing your throat. “I will start my journey for the tears of the moon in two weeks,” you inform him.

When you hear no reply you turn around, only to stumble back when you find Seokjin startlingly close to you. He catches your arm easily, steadying you, and you pull back from his touch as if burnt.

“Sorry,” he grins, unrepentant, and your anger fizzles away as quickly as it had appeared.

“How quaint,” you retort, “The Emperor apologizing to a mere seamstress.”

“I am a kind and generous Emperor, after all,” he winks at you, and with a swish of his royal blue robes, turns around to leave.

You snort in disbelief, but a warmth surrounds and lingers in your heart.

You will be leaving in a week, to catch the tears of the moon and make fabric with it.

You touch the ruby red pendant in your throat, and pray for courage.

You have split the sunlight into thin strands with your scissors, and they now adorn the pure white cloth you had purchased from merchants across the sea.

It isn't enough, you think, eyeing critically at the dazzling gold light emanating from the cloth, it almost looks gaudy.

You frown at your work for a few more minutes before an idea strikes you.

You set aside your scissors and leave hastily.

“I wish to meet the Emperor,” you inform the guards, who eye you skeptically.

“I'm the royal seamstress,” you tell them, “I need some measurements.”

“The Emperor is in an important meeting.”

You huff. “Just ask if he can see me.”

The guard rolls his eyes, before announcing carelessly, “Your Majesty, some lady is here to see you. She says she's a royal seamstress-”

“Ask her to enter.”

The guard stops mid-sentence, gaping stupidly.

You giggle at the look on his face before entering the Emperor’s chamber.

Seokjin is seated at the head of the table, but he looks exhausted and irritated. Royals courtiers sit around him, arguing in animated voices. Seokjin's eyes meet yours when you enter, and he gestures for you to come to him.

“What is it?” He asks, “I hope it's more interesting than discussion about how to conduct rain rituals.”

“Rain rituals are sacred!” You whisper, scandalised and Seokjin grins at you. “I don't believe in them,” he tells you in a low tone, and you gawk at him, open-mouthed.

“How can the Emperor not believe in-”

“And who is this?” A cold voice interrupts your conversation.

“My seamstress,” Seokjin answers, equally coolly.

“A seamstress? In a meeting regarding the royal budget?” The man who had interrupted you asks, “Could Your Majesty be neglecting his duties because of, ah,” he coughs delicately, “your seamstress?”

Seokjin smiles, but there's no humor in it. “You would be assuming wrong, Chancellor, for I have been merely sick to do my duties, that is all. If you lot,” he addresses the remaining crowd sharply, “are done arguing, you may leave.”

The crowd murmurs their dissent, but Seokjin watches them impassively until one by one, the courtiers leave, all except one.

Seokjin's eyes are closed as he says, “I thought I asked you all to leave.”

“Your Majesty,” the Chancellor begins, but is cut off by Seokjin.

“Leave.”

The Chancellor scowls, before throwing you a furious look and exiting hastily.

“Did you have to be so mean?” You ask idly, playing with the paper fan at your feet.

“I assure you I'm not mean. That man would happily have seen my death without batting an eyelash.”

“Still,” you insist, “you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”

“I don't need to catch flies, I'm an Emperor,” Seokjin states absently, and you glance at him. His eyelids are drooping and he looks tired.

“You're hardly an Emperor when you're like this,” you sigh, “I'll tell your guards to leave you alone for some time.”

“Hmm,” he agrees, already half-asleep.

Unbidden, your lips curve into a smile.

“Sleep well, Your Majesty.”

The night before you're set to leave to find the tears of the moon, there's a knock at your door.

You open it eagerly.

It's a guard.

“Oh,” you sound disappointed to even your own ears, and your disappointment catches you by surprise. Who were you even expecting?

Then the guard raises his face to meet your eyes. “It's me,” he whispers, and the dark eyes and mellifluous voice soothes your disappointment and instead evokes a strange mix of excitement and happiness in you.

“Why are you disguised?” You ask him, once you're both safely inside and he has taken off his guard helmet.

“There are too many eyes in the palace,” he confesses.

“Oh,” you say, “but what does it matter if you visit a seamstress?”

“You mean,” he sets his clunky helmet on your work table and settles comfortably on your floor, “what does it matter that the young and dashing Emperor is visiting a girl in the middle of the night?”

“You've visited me before in the night,” you point out amicably, settling down next to him.

“Well I was stupid then,” he says.

“Stupid about what?” You laugh.

“Everything. Nothing.”

This answer earns him a raised eyebrow and he bursts into laughter.

This is the first time you have heard him laugh, and you stare at how undignified his laughter is -almost like a window being cleaned - yet so so adorable.

“You really have no respect for me,” he marvels, and you shrug.

“I might either be your most prized court member or dead,” you reply, “I've had months to come to terms with this. There's no point in being afraid.”

“Such cheek,” he moves closer to you, and you stare back at him, at his dark eyes that drop down to your lips for the barest flicker of a second and at his full, rosy lips that he wets with his tongue.

Suddenly your throat is parchment dry and your cheeks feel red hot.

“You should go,” you manage to say, in a hoarse voice.

“How dare you order me around,” the words aren't threatening, instead lazy and languid.

“Your Majesty,” you begin, but Seokjin glances at you, and you quiet down.

“You are very pretty, you know that?” he tells you, and you flush.

“Yeah I do,” you respond, even though your cheeks are crimson with embarrassment.

“Not as pretty as me though,” he says, and you almost shove him. Seokjin catches your hand movement with his eyes and chuckles. “I do wonder,” he murmurs, drawing closer and closer to you, “if you find me attractive.”

“Everyone probably does,” you blurt out, and Seokjin laughs, high-pitched and squeaky.

The next morning, the two of you are entwined in each other's arms, but both of you resolutely refuse to address it.

You return two weeks later, with the tears of the moon, injured, bruised and bloody.

“Welcome back,” Seokjin says, but he sounds anything but welcome. His eyes are cold, and completely unlike the last day the both of you spent together.

You hadn't expected anything from him, but it still stings the way he looks at you like a stranger.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” you reply, and he nods at you, before turning away to a ministry official.

You keep your head bowed, waiting until he leaves to look up at the sky.

The sunlight seems muted, the air chilly. It seems autumn has arrived.

That night, you sleep badly. There are dreams of your near death experiences, dreams of you failing and getting your family killed, there are dreams of broken promises and spilt milk and then there are dreams of him.

“-wake! Just wake up already!”

Your eyes fly open. Someone is bending over you, shaking you awake.

“Finally.” The voice says, and with a pang you recognize it as Seokjin’s. “I thought you'd never wake.”

“Why-” you begin, but Seokjin swipes his thumb across your cheek.

It comes away wet.

“You were crying in your sleep,” he says, “Nightmare?”

You half-shrug nod at him and he accepts your response. The two of you sit in silence for a while before you say, “It won't be long now.”

“What?”

“I have found where the blood of the stars is. I'll be leaving soon to-”

“No.”

“What?” Your eyes are wide, shocked as they look at Seokjin.

“You cannot leave my side,” he says, “At least not until I say so.”

“I'm not a toy,” you seethe quietly.

“And you have no free will of your own. So what does that make you?”

“Get out,” you say.

Seokjin pauses, looking almost guilty for a second, before his features fall into their familiar cool mask, as he storms away.

The next day on your table, is a single blue rose.

You stare at it for a moment before noticing a parchment underneath that.

It's a letter.

I'm sorry. Jimin said I was being stupid by not telling you exactly what I feel. It's easier to write this than telling you directly.

I was worried about you.

It annoyed me immensely that I allowed myself to be so affected by you that I started blaming you. It's not your fault that I'm being immature. I really did miss you. I do wish you wouldn't have to leave so soon and on such a dangerous mission, but I won't stop you.

Stay safe,

Seokjin

But it's a mission you gave me, you think coldly in your mind, even though his words have thawed you somewhat.

The blue rose is admittedly gorgeous and you wonder where on earth he found it.

The robe is coming along nicely.

The moonlight is a glittery white substance that blends into the fabric and makes it shimmer, balancing the golden yellow of the sunlight.

You still have to wear protective glasses though, as working with such potent magical substances could be dangerous. It is up to you to dilute their magic in a way that would be suitable for human eyes.

Your eyes stray to the blue rose lying to the side and wonder what he is doing. You have been here for months, yet you the only times you have met are usually in the cover of the dark, secretive and away from prying eyes.

You set down your work and pick up the rose, marveling at the beauty of it. You almost prick your finger on a thorn when you hear a knock at your door.

“The Empress Dowager wishes to meet with you for tea,” comes the message and you rise up in surprise.

You open the door, and receive a gorgeous invitation, written in thick white parchment reserved for important people. The words written on it confuse you, yet who are you to refuse?

“I will be there.”

Maids scurry around you, dressing you in finery, dusting your face with powder and smearing your skin with fragrant oils.

You had tried to deny them at first, but you realised the futility of it, and let them have their way.

You are dressed in red silks and your hair in an elegant top knot, but you still survey yourself critically in the mirror. You do not know what this meeting entails and you hope you do not disappoint the dowager empress.

“Enter,” a cool voice comes in through the partition where you are kneeling, having been announced to the Empress Dowager.

The door part and you slide in, taking with awe at the beauty of the Autumn Palace. The Autumn Palace is the residence of the dowager empress and her court ladies, even though traditionally court ladies were present at the Summer Palace, and the Emperor's residence.

However, Seokjin being unmarried and owning no concubine meant that the Summer Palace had no use for court ladies and hence they had all chosen to surround the Empress Dowager.

The Empress Dowager is beautiful, almost shockingly so. It makes sense, you reason in your mind, for her son was uncommonly beautiful as well.

“Will you sit?” she smiles kindly at you, while she orders her ladies with silent commands to serve you tea.

“I brewed that myself,” she tells you, “And there are some cakes as well that the maids prepared.”

You sip slowly at the flavored tea, trying to discern why you might be summoned here.

“Is the Emperor well?”

You must look startled by the question, because the Empress laughs. “I may be his mother, but he's still the Emperor of this country. He is much too busy to visit an old lady like me.”

“He's fine,” you say, “I think.”

The Empress laughs again. “And here I thought you were the most informed about his well being.”

“I'm sorry but why would you think that?” You ask, confused. It's not like Seokjin regularly visits you, or has ever spoken anything beyond superficial things to you. You do like him, and he seems to enjoy your company, but it's a tenuous relationship.

The court lady-in-waiting tuts at your irreverent response, and you bow your head, suitably chastened.

“Look up child,” the Empress says, “I admit I might not know the workings of the Inner Palace. But if I, who has been isolated away in the Autumn Palace have heard of you, surely you must mean something to the Emperor?”

You remain quiet. Where is this conversation even going, you wonder.

“Do you miss your family?”

“Yes.”

“I could arrange for you to be taken away to them.”

So she disapproves, you surmise. She doesn't want her son to be caught with some peasant girl with no value when he could easily be marrying princesses and securing alliances.

“It's not that I don't like you,” the Empress laughs lightly, reading your expressions like a book. “I do like you very much, that's why I want to help you. Go home. The Palace is no place for innocents like you.”

“There's something I must do here, Your Highness.”

“The robe, I presume?”

You blink. You had no idea she knew.

“Do you really think I know nothing? There have been others before you. They have failed. They will always fail. The blood of the stars requires a sacrifice. Would you be willing to pay the price?”

You sit quietly, reeling in shock at her revelations. You did not know there were others. Had they all failed at the third task too? Why had Seokjin not told her?

Instead of mulling deeper, you meet the Empress Dowager’s eyes. “Yes,” you say resolutely, “I will.”

Her expression softens. “I hope you succeed in your endeavor.”

The next day you send a letter to Seokjin.

Seokjin arrives in the night, this time disguised as a kitchen aid.

What is this relationship, you think wildly. What is this relationship where the Emperor meets you at night, comes when called, sends you blue roses with letters and stares at you with such intensity that you can feel your whole body burning?

“You called me first.” He looks happy, you note.

“Your mother summoned me today.”

Seokjin looks surprised for a moment, before laughing.

“Did she threaten you? Ask you to leave?”

“Not..really,” you say. Did she threaten you? She didn't feel very threatening. Mostly she felt sad, and… lonely.

“Don't be fooled by whatever she says,” Seokjin tells you, “My mother is a dangerous person.”

“She didn't feel dangerous,” you protest, “She was so nice. She offered me cake.”

Seokjin cackles at you. “You're so gullible. If all it takes for your trust to be won is cake, then I'd have offered you some ages ago.”

You blush. “Your Majesty but-”

“Have you been calling me that all this while? Doesn't it sound wrong?”

“What?” You're confused by this turn of conversation.

“Won't you call me Seokjin?”

You hide your face in your palms, trying to quell your rising embarrassment. Why is he like this, you wonder, always blindsiding you with almost romantic statements like this, yet-

“No, I'm too-”

“I call you by your name,” he points out.

“You're the Emperor!” you hiss, frustrated, “You can call me whatever you want!”

Seokjin laughs, looking delighted. “Yet you insist on disobeying me at every turn, and even snapping at me like this,” he moves closer, so close that you can smell the faint scent of wood incense on him, “but you balk at calling me by name. I thought you'd be delighted at the opportunity.”

“We were discussing something important,” you say in a whisper.

“What could be more important than this?” Seokjin says, his voice low and intimate, and you really want to shove him for being so playful.

You move away from him, putting a healthy distance between the two of you, and Seokjin looks slightly disappointed but acquiesces with a smile.

“So what else did my mother tell you?” He asks, as you pull a wool blanket around you.

“She told me there were others.”

“No others.”

The conviction with which he replies makes your heart flutter, and you almost want to ask him what he means by that, but you resist.

“Seamstresses I mean,” you say, “She said they failed.”

“They did,” he agrees, “But none of them even survived the first task. You're the first one to have survived twice.”

“So you knew I could die?”

“Yes.”

There's silence for a moment. You hate it. You hate that he makes you feel warm all over with loving words like before and then be so cold and callous the next moment.

“I had my enchanter follow you for the second task.”

Your eyes snap up.

“What?”

Seokjin looks away, as he begins to speak fast, “I had to know if you were skilled enough to survive the sunlight. Only then could I risk-” he pauses, looking conflicted.

“Your enchanter helped me?” You ask, still surprised at this revelation. Royal enchanters were notoriously difficult to command, especially when they were away from their masters. The fact that Seokjin had taken such a risk-

“Taehyung is a friend of mine,” Seokjin says, “A pesky friend who causes more trouble than he helps, but he's trustworthy. That's why I thought I'd send him.”

You sit there reeling in shock at these revelations, while trying not to let much show on your face.

“You have an enchanter,” you say, “Why do you need me then?”

Seokjin makes a low noise of frustration in the back of his throat. “Maybe an enchanter could get those things for me,” he says, “But not in a way that would be useful, and certainly not in a way that would let the materials be woven into cloth. There is a special type of magic in you, you know that.”

It is much more nicer when you aren't discussing things that threaten your fantasies, you think to yourself. It's so much easier to just admire the sharp curve of his jaw or the gentle slope of his nose or the plump softness of his lips - yet, you cannot help but think - what is the future for this relationship?

Seokjin is watching you carefully, you realise, and you look up at him to offer him a wan smile. He looks unconvinced, and gently cups your cheek.

“You look sad.”

“You sound sad,” you laugh, and why is it that he looks so devastated by your sadness when he is mostly the reason for your heartache?

The fire in your hearth gives a loud sizzle then, and you turn around to tend to it, giving you a chance to compose yourself. You have two choices - to let this play along its course or to deny it and send him away.

The fire crackles merrily as you stoke it, and when the firelight falls across the Emperor's face, his dark eyes are on you.

And just like that, your decision is made for you.

The dowager has invited you once again.

This time for a dinner.

You're unsure of what this means and whether you have the right to refuse, because there is so much to be done, and you're running out of dyes and silks.

It's almost time to set sail to find the blood of stars, (three days, to be more exact) and your robe is giving you much trouble.

You're not exactly in the ideal mindset to visit a supposedly cunning former Empress or play her mind games.

All you want to do is to set to town and buy supplies.

You could ask Seokjin, but he'd have them bought for you, right here at the Palace, and you've always preferred to see the materials you purchase.

You rummage through your wardrobe to find something simple yet elegant, so that you don't get mistaken for someone of commoner origin (which you are, but you've learnt that the cloth sellers usually give better prices to the nobles) when a maidservant enters through your door.

You are checking how the simple blue cotton dress you've chosen looks on you while she sets a small envelope on your table.

“A message from Your Majesty, my lady.”

You raise your eyebrow as you eye the Imperial seal encrusted enveloped lying on your drawer. What is it that Seokjin wants now?

His note is short and to the point.

I heard that you're planning to dine with my mother. Would you like to be rescued by a charming prince from this unpleasant scenario?

Yours,

Seokjin

Unable to help yourself, you snort in laughter even as the maidservant gives you a look of polite judgment.

“Who do you think you are?” You poke his chest, once you see him, this time dressed down as a simple stable boy.

“Your Prince Charming?” He grins at you, even as he brushes a horse meticulously.

“You're not a prince,” you point out, “And how did you even know about the invitation?”

He shrugs, and feeds the horse he's grooming a cube of sugar from his pocket. The horse swallows it in a single bite and he smiles fondly at it.

“Your Majesty?” You ask again, and he turns to you.

“Yes, my lady?”

You roll your eyes. “What did you want to do?”

“I wanted to see you,” he says, pretending to look hurt, “I wasn't aware it was such a crime.”

“I refused an invitation from the Empress,” you poke his chest again, “Because. Of. You.” You poke him three more times for emphasis and he guffaws.

“You're adorable,” he catches your impertinent finger and kisses the tip of it. “Anyway, I have a rare few hours off. I wished to spend them with you. That's why I made you refuse.”

Your cheeks warm at his words and he notices almost immediately. “Oh?” He sounds delighted, “Are you blushing?”

“No,” you hiss at him, cheeks crimson.

Seokjin's only answer is a merry peal of laughter.

“This is the market district,” you tell Seokjin, whose sharp eyes take in the bustling crowd.

“I've visited in disguise,” he says, and you nod, hiding your surprise.

“So what do you want to eat?” You ask, almost bouncing on the balls of your feet, as the familiar smell of fried seafood and vinegar tickles your nostrils. The whiff of the ocean air, the busy mass of people who mill around you, the sharp tang of soy sauce in the air mixed with the smoke and dust makes you feel free in a way the pristine palace had never felt.

“Eat?” He looks at you, “I thought you wanted to buy silk and threads.”

“Well yes but how do you come into the market and not eat? Let's eat something and then we can get to business.”

“I'll rely on you then to guide me,” Seokjin bows his head, and you grab his hand dragging him to a sweet stall.

“Fresh pears drizzled in honey,” you grin at him, offering him a plate while simultaneously arguing with the shop owner that he's ripping you off.

“Two silver pieces? Who do you think I -”

Seokjin places a hand on your arm, amused. “It's fine.”

“No he thinks he can-”

He darts forward to kiss your lips briefly and you still. The shopkeeper hoots in delight, but immediately falls silent when Seokjin shoots him a look.

“For that my angels,” the man grins, “you can have your plates for free!”

“20 meters of all your dyed threads and-”

You pause, feeling Seokjin's eye on you.

“This is a good bargain,” Seokjin says, “It seems cheap.”

“Shut up,” you whisper back at him, “I know the rates, they're scamming me because of you. You look way too well bred to be here.”

“Oh what does it matter?” Seokjin waves a hand, “It's my money. Why are you so stingy with it?”

You pause for a moment. “Money is money, isn't it? Why waste it?”

Seokjin gives you a fond look at that. “Don't argue with shopkeepers anymore,” he tells you, and when you open your mouth to protest, “Unless you'd like a repeat of what happened earlier.”

You immediately close your mouth shut, cheeks pinking.

The two of you trudge outside with the violet sunset in the background, only for you to drag Seokjin to more food stalls.

“This,” you shove into his plate, “is the best food ever.”

To his credit, Seokjin doesn't eye the fried squid drenched in chili sauce and vinegar with even a shred of suspicion. Instead, he picks a piece with all of his royal elegance and places it in his mouth, making an exaggerated moan of approval.

“This is so good,” he groans and you giggle.

“Have a drink with it,” the stall owner urges them, “It tastes better that way.”

Seokjin accepts the drink and downs the small cup in a single go. You whistle, amazed.

He coughs and then grins. “Your turn.”

Your turn has you flushed even by the first cup, and the second cup makes you pleasantly buzzed.

“I think that's enough?” Seokjin tells you cautiously, but you only grin and drink a third, fourth and fifth cup.

By then you're swaying dangerously, and Seokjin curses as he hurries over to catch you before you fall.

“My Prince,” you slur, batting your eyelashes at him and Seokjin bursts into laughter.

“Why,” he questions you, breathless with laughter, “do you insist on making things difficult for yourself?”

“Mhmm,” is your intelligent response, nuzzled comfortably into a warm chest and thoughts blurring into a soft haze.

You feel the soft press of lips to your forehead, and you grin sleepily. “Seokjin,” you murmur, “Seokjin.”

“Hmm?” is the warm rumble from the chest you're buried in, and you giggle, drowsy.

“Seokjinnie,” you repeat, “wanna go home.”

“I'm taking you home.”

“Mm,” you say, “That's nice.”

“Glad you approve.”

Morning dawns for you when sunlight falls across your face, brutally harsh with its intensity.

Your hazy mind is surprised at first, as the sun doesn't shine into your room until mid afternoon. Slowly your mind catches up to the fact, and you bolt upright in your bed.

A mistake, as the copious amounts of alcohol you'd consumed left you dehydrated and thus with a throbbing headache.

You groan in misery, curling in on yourself, before you spot the glass of water in the side of your bed.

You reach for it, and a paper flutters down.

To,

The One who calls me Seokjinnie,

Drink up the hangover potion and apply the salve on your table.

Yours,

Seokjinnie

You clutch the piece of paper in dismay as the previous events flood into your mind.

Despite yourself, a small smile curls at the corner of your lips as you recall his words in the letter. He may not be at your side now, but the letter and its contents wrap around you like a warm blanket.

You quickly grab the hangover potion and chug it, trying to ignore the burn, and settle back into the sheets prepared for a day off.

When night falls, the burn of acid clawing up your throat wakes you.

You rise from your bed, the nausea leaving you a bit shaken, as you hadn't eaten anything the whole day choosing instead to languish in your bed.

You sit back on your bed contemplating whether raiding the kitchens at this time of the night would be worthwhile or not.

You decide that the hunger in your belly is much too fierce to let you think, and so you leave your room in pursuit of food.

To your surprise, the royal kitchen still has a warm fire going and a few stragglers working to scrub pots and pans as you enter it.

Since it's almost empty your presence is noted at once. A hard faced man armed with a heavy-looking skillet gives you a piercing look.

“And who might you be?”

“I am a seamstress. I haven't had any dinner. Is there anything to spare?”

The harsh look in his eyes softens at once.

“Mina, fetch the girl some soup. Come here,” he tells you, “Eat by the fire.”

The soup is simple fare, likely made from leftovers of the dinner taken earlier by the nobles, but it still tastes heavenly. “Give her some rice will you,” the man tells a small boy, who scurries at once to follow his orders.

“Thank you,” you incline your head gratefully at him. He gives you an assessing look instead, before pulling up a stool to sit next to you.

“You're close to Jin, aren't you?”

You hope your puzzlement shows on your face. “Jin?”

“The Emperor. Don't tell me you don't know his name. After all, there's talks of him taking his first concubine.”

You color slightly at the words, coughing into your soup a bit. “Umm no. I didn't know he's called Jin. I thought his name is Seokjin.”

“To friends, he's simply Jin. He spent much of his boyhood in the kitchens. I know him well.”

“The kitchens?” You are surprised. You would have pegged Seokjin for a poet, maybe. Or a calligrapher. Not the sort to languish around kitchens. What did he do here anyway?

“He loves making new dishes and forcing us to eat it.” The man laughs, “We're lucky he's a good cook.” There is fondness in his words and a smile on his lips as he recalls a young Seokjin's antics.

“That sounds…” You fall silent.

“He's a sweet boy. Who grew up to be a ruthless Emperor.” His eyes are sad now. “There is word in the Palace that you are bewitching him. You should be careful.”

Your hands still over your soup. Sorcery performed by anyone other than the royal enchanter or extended members of royalty is punishable by death.

“I am not a sorceress,” you laugh airily, “Or I would have conjured food out of thin air instead of coming here.”

The man doesn't smile. “I can sense magic. We come from a long line of royalty where a distant cousin married a far off princess. Of course, my magic is faint and diluted by the years of mixed marriages, but I just want to say, I'm probably not the only one with this ability.”

It takes all of your willpower to continue eating and keep your face a careful mask of blank indifference. “I see,” you smile at him, “Thank you for the food. It was much appreciated.”

You walk through the dark hallways of the Palace like a ghost.

The royal chef's words haunt you, as they should, but you're distracted by other things, things like the fact that you have to leave to retrieve the blood of the stars soon. Things like, this dalliance with Seokjin is just that, a casual fling that has no hope of going anywhere.

Your life is at stake here, yet you have forgotten, grown complacent by his sweet smiles and dark eyes and suddenly you feel so alone, in this dark Palace with its glass walls and gilded floors.

You miss your family with a fierce longing it almost hurts to breathe.

Tears fall freely from your eyes, and you sink to the floor your back against a wall, a fist across your mouth as you muffle the sound of your sobs.

Your chest aches with a sharp pain not borne of any physical hurt, but only your loneliness. You quickly stop crying once you hear a quiet sound - much like the swish of a cloak.

You turn around, scanning the dark for the intruder, but decide to leave to your quarters as soon as possible when an arm pulls you into a darkened corridor.

Your surprised gasp is muffled by a rough hand, and you almost bite it before the familiar scent of wood incense fills your nose.

“Your Majesty-!” you begin, surprised.

“Are you crying?”

You shift your eyes to your feet.

“Why are you away from your room? Crying in the middle of the Palace?”

You remain silent.

He sighs and then embraces you close to him. You hug him back, with a fierceness, and a grip that must surely hurt.

��“You should tell me what's wrong.”

You are what's wrong, you want to say, your kind words and your cold actions.

“Can we go to my room?” You enquire plaintively instead, and Seokjin scoops you into his arms, carrying you the rest of the way.

“What is it then,” Seokjin asks, once the two of you are settled under the warmth of your covers, “What pressing issue do you have that you hide away in the dark and cry?”

“I'm afraid,” you blurt out, and then clap a hand over your traitorous mouth.

“Afraid of what, my love?” And the endearment hurts.

“Do you know,” you ask him, pushing away the hair that falls into his eyes, “the story behind the laughter of the sun, the tears of the moon and the blood of the stars?”

“Yes,” he says, “It's a common folktale in our kingdom.”

“So do you know what they stand for?”

“Yes,” Seokjin says, and then recites obediently, “A test of courage for the sun, a test of the mind for the moon and a test of…” He falters mid-sentence looking horrified.

“A test of the soul for the stars,” you finish for him, smiling slightly. “The price for the blood of the stars is my soul.”

“No,” he whispers.

You lean across and kiss his lips. It's chaste and wet with your tears, but you are happy. Happy that your questions are finally answered, about why he would send you to your certain death. Happy that Seokjin loves you enough to stop you.

Seokjin is a practical person, who probably didn't believe in fairy tales and had not assumed that the price would be too high.

“I will get you your kingdom, Your Majesty.”

The two of you spend the night arguing.

“Not worth it,” Seokjin snarls at you, when you explain to him what the cost for the stars is.

“It's a mythical object, and nothing can be obtained without sacrifice,” you explain to him patiently.

“Sacrifice? You think this is a sacrifice? It's a death sentence!”

“Your Majesty, please be rational. The courtiers know that you sit on the replica. Sooner or later they will wonder why you don't sit on the original. They will spread rumors about why you don't sit on the real Glass Throne and question your parentage and your claim to the throne.”

“You were crying about this just a few minutes ago! Why are you so desperate to die now?”

“I wasn't crying about dying,” you scowl, “I was crying because I didn't know if you knew I would die. I was crying because I thought you knew anyway and didn't care.”

Seokjin look stricken. “How could you even think that?”

“Well it's not like you told me,” you say, indignation sparking in your eyes.

He wilts. “I cannot- how do you think I can live with the idea that you-” He rubs a hand over his face, looking tired. “Don't do this. You are the only good thing in my life right now.”

The words strike a chord in your heart.

“There is no way we would be together even if I could live.”

Seokjin's eyes flash. “Oh? Have you thought it all out then? How are you so sure that I'm the one who would leave? Maybe you would be the one who would get tired of being around a man who barely has time for anything, let alone his wife.”

“Maybe,” you concede, “But we will never know now, will we?”

“We will never know because you won't give this a chance. I don't need that silly robe. I am the Emperor of this country. I don't need a robe to rule, nor a throne to reinforce the fact that I'm the ruler.”

“That,” you admit, “is true.”

“I also don't want a kingdom built on blood and death,” he says. “It's a barbaric way to live.”

“Then, what will you do?” You ask. Hope blooms in your chest, as his words convince you that you do not need to die in order for him to rule.

“I will do what must be done. I will be coronated without the Glass Throne.”

“It's a centuries old tradition-”

“Traditions are meaningless if they are harmful.” Seokjin's eyes are grim. “I will outlaw the Glass Throne.”

You gasp. “You can't just outlaw a throne, how will we know who is the legitimate heir and who is not?”

“Well I am the legitimate heir,” he says, “And the stupid throne won't seat me.”

Surprised laughter bubbles out of you at his disrespect.

“This has gone on too long anyway,” he grumbles, “Maybe my father was just senile in his old age. How do we know that the will is even correct? Do we really have to sacrifice people just so I can prove that I'm the real deal?”

You smile. “It's your decision, Your Majesty. I am merely following orders.”

He huffs incredulously at that and you giggle.

“The Council won't agree though,” you warn him.

“I am the Emperor,” Seokjin's face breaks out into a sudden grin, “What can they do to me?”

Despite all his bravado of outlawing the throne, Seokjin consults his trusted confidante before doing so.

“Blood of stars requires a soul, this much I know,” Taehyung says, “But that is dark, dark magic and the Glass Throne is a much more benign object than that.”

“So? Just give me the answer Taehyung, if I wanted to be confused I'd just ask my council.”

“So,” Taehyung grins, flashing pearly white teeth, “You should try sitting on the throne, now that you've proven that you won't kill innocents to keep your crown.”

“What?”

“It was a test,” Taehyung says, climbing over a desk to settle comfortably on it. “Your father was worried you'd be a tyrant.”

“Me? A tyrant?” Seokjin looks so outraged, that you can't help but laugh.

“Oh don't worry,” Taehyung laughs, “It's a test all rulers have gone through, to make sure no usurpers get seated on the throne.”

“You think this is funny?” Seokjin glares at Taehyung so fiercely that you feel surprised that Taehyung is still watching back with steady eyes, “That she almost died? What if I hadn't come to that decision?”

“Then you would not be deserving of the throne,” Taehyung hops off the table, and smiles. “But I had my full faith in you.”

The coronation ceremony is beautiful.

You had completed the robe of the sun and moon in a week, and the coronation ceremony was two days after that.

Seokjin looks like a god of the old, descended directly from the heavens as his silver-gold robes flash around him, lighting up his already handsome features even more.

You smile, ducking your eyes shyly when he catches you staring.

You watch as he climbs the iridescent glass throne, and sits. A crown of silver is placed on his head and the man next to him shouts,

“In the name of the Gods, the Emperor of the Great Qing, may he live and reign for ten thousand years, ten thousand years, ten thousand of ten thousand years.”

“Then? What did he say?”

“He said that I'm too soft. That not taxing people enough would end up with empty coffers and a rebellion on my hand.”

You trace the curve of his jaw with your fingers.

“Are you paying attention?” He asks crossly and you peck his cheek.

“Yes, yes I am.”

“Then what are you doing?” He grabs your hand in his, lacing your fingers together.

“Nothing,” you grin impishly, and then grow serious as you note the dark circles under his eyes.

“You should rest more.”

“Should I?” His demeanor has changed now, his shoulders, tense from discussing about work, now relax. His eyes survey your sprawled form and suddenly you feel self conscious.

“What? What is it?” You ask, dragging the covers over your body, feeling shy.

“Nothing,” he answers back with a lopsided twist of his mouth that makes your heart race.

“Your mother seems intent on me leaving.”

Seokjin glowers. “I've told her time and again-”

“She's only looking out for you.”

“I'm old enough to look out for myself.”

Your eyes soften as you observe his mutinous face and he looks at you, sighing. “I wish this were easier.”

You feel a pang in your chest.

He burrows his face in your neck and you hold him close, brushing his dark hair softly.

You feel the warm brush of his lips against your neck and gasp in surprise. He peppers your neck with kisses, trailing upwards to your lips, pressing his mouth firmly against yours.

You kiss him back, eager and hungry, as his hands move up, up, up.

He draws back to watch you gasp for breath, eyeing your red lips with hooded eyes.

“Pretty,” he murmurs, before kissing you again, this time with more intensity.

You spend much of your free time in the kitchens, chatting with the royal chef who has thawed immensely and offers you sweet treats everytime you visit.

“Is it true that you're a sorceress?” asks the shy Mina, the girl who you had often seen scrubbing dirty dishes.

“Oh yes,” you grin, “I'm a sorceress of the thread. A tailor.”

The royal chef hits your head with a spoon. “Don't even joke about it. You're becoming more and more notorious.”

You smile innocently at him.

“Last week an ambassador from Caledonia visited,” a gruff looking serving boy tells you, “Asking for His Majesty’s hand in marriage. To their Queen, you know. She's pretty old though, I think.”

Your smile slips from your face.

The chef notices it at once, cuffing the boy in his arm. “Go wash the oven, you simpleton.”

But the damage is done. Your good mood has evaporated, and you leave the place, pretending to smile and deny any heartsickness, as Mina called it.

Sometimes you hang around Taehyung.

“The rook should go here, I think.”

“How are you an enchanter yet do not know how to play chess?”

“I'm an enchanter,” Taehyung says looking puzzled, “How is it related to chess?”

You sigh, exasperated.

“He refuses everyone else, you know.”

Your eyes meet his.

“The Emperor. He said he has no interest in marrying a royal.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, but you give him a cool look.

“I did not ask you.”

“But you did,” Taehyung grins wide, “I heard it.”

“Nothing you bring will give my son anything.”

Your head is bowed, your hair meticulously arranged into a top knot, surrounded by jasmine flowers. You are dressed in rich cream silk, fit to be a noble woman.

Yet the dowager eyes you with trepidation.

“I know that, Your Highness.”

“Yet,” she places her cup of tea on the china plate with a soft clink, “you bring other priceless things. Happiness. Temperance. Beauty. Magic.”

Your nails dig into your palms with how tightly clenched your hands are, but you keep your face placid.

“Tell him I've given my approval,” she sighs.

Your heart gives a strange leap in your chest, and you clutch your chest, startled.

The dowager empress smiles at you, looking weary yet satisfied.

“You will make a fine Empress Consort.”

Yet.

All these things, and yet.

He has not asked.

Seokjin is reading a book, his eyes scrunched up as he peers closer to the candle, trying to see.

You smooth the creases on his forehead with your fingers. “Stop it, you will ruin your eyes.”

“I have to finish-”

“Just stop,” you place a finger on his book, “Or go to your room. There's more light there. My room is quite dark.”

“But I like it here,” he whines.

“Why?” You roll your eyes, “Surely your room is more comfortable?”

“Because you are here,” he wraps an arm around your midriff, pulling you closer, even as your cheeks burn at his words.

“Your mother met with me today.”

“More threats?” He laughs.

“She said to tell you that she approves.”

Seokjin goes still.

“Approval for what, Seokjin?”

“Oh must be the new-” he begins flippantly, but falls silent at the look in your eyes.

“You know what,” he refuses to meet your eyes.

“How will the Council approve, I'm not of royal blood-”

“Leave that to me,” he tells you, eyes glittering strangely. “All I care is what you want.”

“I want you,” is your hushed whisper, and he darts forward to kiss you deep.

“It will be difficult,” he warns, “Being a royal is the most annoying thing there is.”

“I have practice with annoying things,” you laugh.

“This is absurd! She's a charlatan! How can you marry-”

“Are you questioning me, Minister?” Seokjin's voice drips with barely concealed anger, and the man immediately backtracks.

“I wouldn't presume, Your Majesty,” he simpers, “I'm merely offering counsel, that there are other matches, useful matches-”

“Since when has choosing the Empress Consort been any decision of the Council? End this inane argument at once.”

“Your Majesty, but the-”

“But what?” Seokjin almost growls, and the Minister gives him a frightened look, before laughing nervously.

“The Councilor wouldn't like it, he has an eligible daughter of age, and much influence in court-”

“Is that a threat?” Seokjin's voice is calm now, icy cold.

“It's a fact, Your Majesty,” the Minister wipes sweat off his brow, “I am merely giving-”

“Counsel, I know. For too long I have given you free reign. Choosing the Empress Consort has always been a right of the Emperor's mother. You all meddle too much.”

“Of course, Your Majesty, merely stating that it would make no sense, just that she's a commoner's-”

“Ridiculous.” He rises up from his throne, eyes glinting with displeasure, “I cannot believe I'm having this conversation. We have so many more important things to discuss. The royal seamstress will become my Empress Consort and that is the final thing I will be saying about this matter.”

The wedding takes place three weeks later.

The Council threw a fit, but in the end were forced to accept that Seokjin was breaking no royal decrees. He was marrying a woman who could read, write, recite poetry, brew excellent tea and sew better than the best of noble women. By all means, you were an excellent choice except for your birth.

Maybe your accent was a bit off, not the stiff court dialect, but a looser more friendlier version of it, but that only endeared you more to the masses.

Any lingering doubts about you vanished the day of the wedding though, where people whispered that you were secretly of noble birth, because surely that gown must be a family heirloom?

(It wasn't. You'd stitched it yourself, with a little help from the leftover moonlight and your scissors.)

Now, you gaze at your husband, speaking animatedly to a foreign envoy. As if sensing your gaze, he turns to look at you, and you duck your chin to focus on your glazed chicken.

You look out at the hall and spot your family dining happily, and allow yourself to smile, finally content.

“Do you know,” Seokjin says as he shrugs off his golden robes, “that your grandmother asked me about the various types of threads used for various occasions?”

“What?” You laugh.

He nods, looking mournful. “She deemed me useless because I couldn't answer anything, and then said, Well, at least you have a nice face.”

You cackle with mirth, rejoicing that your grandmother gave him at least half the trouble his own mother had given you.

“Shut up,” he groans, “I was so humiliated.”

“You do have a nice face, though,” you climb into bed with him, and he turns to look at you, eyes bright.

“I do, don't I?” He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe I should install a mirror on the ceiling. So I can see my face first thing in the morning.”

“No,” you complain, “How would you even do that? It's so annoying and useless. I don't want to see my face first thing in the morning.”

He laughs and hugs you tight, as you squirm in his hold. “Well don't worry,” he tells you, “I hope to see only your face every morning I wake.”

You're so overcome by your embarrassment that you hide underneath the blanket.

Unfortunately for you, the two of you are in the same blanket, so this only means you're hiding in his chest.

Seokjin laughs, his chest rumbling with the sound, and you burrow your face deeper into his neck, as his arms come around you to wrap you in a comforting embrace.

You fall asleep to the familiar smell of wood smoke and incense, wishing this dream would never end.

end notes : uh yeah. its been 3 years since i wrote anything and this was completed in Sept 19. so sick of this sitting in my drafts, so there u go i guess.

#jin x reader #seokjin x reader #my fics

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ivanshatov · 3 years

Text

trespasser

wc: 2.7k

i wrote this in january so it’s kinda bad and stilted and a bit ooc for the character development i’ve done </3 but it also comes slightly after the fic i just posted and i feel brave so i’m posting both xoxo gossip girl

Sujani knew the theatre like the back of her hand. After all, it had been her home for the last few years, and she’d grown accustomed to Edel’s labyrinths and corridors littered throughout the seemingly endless building. She knew every exit, entrance, nook, cranny, and section, the patterns and details burned into her mind. Just proper for a stage manager, even moreso for a familiar. Through her familiarity with the theatre, however, she had been acquainted with their newest trespasser rather quickly. It was Mia who had first spotted him lurking around the grounds in the weeks prior, just as dusk settled in. “Friend of yours? Friend of Luca’s?” she asked, masking the last hours of daylight with a paper fan.

“Certainly not,” Sujani insisted, peering out through the intricate windowpane at the suspicious figure. “I’ve never seen that man in my life.”

“Engländer,” Mia muttered. “A Briton. It must be. Donning his tourist fare and all. See?”

That was the first incident with the trespasser, until he became one frequent arrival on the security cameras and outer sidewalks. He had evaded interaction with Sujani, keeping his distance from the realm of the theatre, and she kept his lingering presence to the back of her mind.

During the daylight hours, Sujani took the liberty of drawing the curtains, allowing brilliant sunlight to enter through the theatre’s majestic windows. Edel often griped over open curtains and loosened blinds, but as Sujani was busy tending to the theatre’s auditorium and proscenium, the extra light was of use to her. It was also much more useful in exposing any pesky breathers trying to enter where they were not invited. The stray tourist or pedestrian could be turned away easily and handed a pamphlet with a gleeful smile, but it was seldom a breather entered the theatre with bad intent. After all, the theatre’s always been a place to relax and unwind. The new trespasser was certainly not a theatregoer, though, as his ruckus could be heard from the lighting booth where Sujani sat.

Finding her pocketknife and hiding it drawn behind her back, she crawled over the pit and glided over the stage, skirt bouncing behind as she pulled back the curtains. She hummed a light tune, scanning the dark area of the wings and backstage for any movement. Drawing her eyes from the fly weights to theq leftover debris from the last season’s closer, she at last spotted the trespasser.

He was staring at the portrait of Edel. Her symmetrical face, round cheeks, hypnotic stare. His hands were folded behind his back, crucifix held loose in one. It reminded Sujani of her own personal souvenir, and she unsheathed her pocketknife. Then, taking a silent step closer, she cleared her throat. “Excuse me.”

The trespasser flinched, remaining in his position for a fleeting moment before turning to meet Sujani’s eyes, crucifix raised. “I-It’s daytime.”

Despite hiding behind sunglasses and heavy clothes in the peak of summertime, like a true coward would, Sujani recognized the trespasser. Mia’s Engländer, the one on the cameras, the one with the hat. He had evaded capture those last two times, narrowly escaping a meeting with Sujani as she observed the security cameras from her vantage point in the mezzanine. But, at last, she had caught him red-handed, in the midst of his favorite and only activity. She smiled, eyes shimmering with irony. “You’re mistaken.” This was no theatregoer and certainly no tourist, if the sharpened crucifix and silver rosaries told her anything.

Sujani held her forced smile. Keeping one hand behind her back, she drew a hand up to her face, pulled back her lips, revealing two sets of straight and dull human teeth. “See?”

The trespasser didn’t relent, keeping his grip on his homemade crucifix. “A daywalker.”

“You amuse me, but no. I’m a breather like you. After all...” Sujani began, stretching out a hand to the crucifix and clutching the intersection. She released her hand, holding it up with a growing smile. “You see? No injury in sight. Not the smell of smoke, either. Proof enough for you? Good. Now.” Sujani waved a hand, waiting for him to lower his arm, and then continued. “I know who you are. You’ve been sniffing around for the past week. Not very subtly, might I add. If you don’t want to give away your penchant to destroy all vampirekind, perhaps don’t carry around wooden stakes and crucifixes everywhere. It alienates the locals, no?” she tilted her head to the crux.

“You are American,” he said, in a tone somewhere in between a question and a statement. His expression had not trembled or changed once, and he kept the look of utter disinterest firm, exacerbated by his shaded eyes. Yes, Sujani thought, this man is certainly suspicious. Undoubtedly up to no good.

“Yes, yes, I am. And you must be from some obscure bit of the United Kingdom nobody’s ever heard of. Rest assured, I do not care from where you hail. Rather, I’m graciously extending you the offer to leave, you know, before my boss flies down and shreds you to utter pieces,” Sujani continued, pausing to observe her nails. “I know what you are here to do. I don’t know your reasons, but I’ll politely ask you to leave under threat you may become drained of your blood and left a cold corpse in the bottom of this theatre.”

The trespasser— no, the Engländer, the Englishman— let out a sullen sigh. “A familiar,” he said in that deadpan tone.

“Yes, that is I. Now, will you accept my other? Kindly leave us alone? Return to whence you came from, and never disgrace us with your presence yet again?” She gestured to the door to the balcony, still ajar and weighted by a flyweight.

The Englishman glanced at the floor, then back at the portrait. Edel, in their ballgown, cheeks red with dye and falsified life. He turned back to Sujani and said, “I can’t do that.”

She scoffed. “Sure you can. What’s your name, young man? Don’t you have a life? A family? People you care for in this world? You’ve really chosen to resign your life to the slaughtering of beings you know nothing of?” She frowned, shifting her weight and waiting for another deadpan response from the trespasser.

“I know much of vampires,” he replied before turning his back once again, scanning the portrait. “My name is none of your business. If you allow me to do mine, you can be free from her bidding,” he declared, lifting a finger to the portrait.

“I am not looking to be freed by the likes of you,” Sujani snapped, running a finger over the blade of the knife. “I quite like my life, and my overseer.” He lowered his gaze, but did not turn to look at her. “You must go,” she pleaded. “For your own safety. You are still young. Why are you out here, concerning yourself with affairs of other people?”

“You are not people,” he snarled, whipping around with the crucifix in hand. “You’re the farthest thing from a person.”

Sujani stared at his cold expression and heaved another exasperated sigh, then pointed the pocketknife. “I suppose I’m going to have to force you to leave, then? You wouldn’t dare hurt another human being, now, would you? A breathing, bleeding, living human being.” She stepped forward, attempting to look menacing as she could in her frilly shirt and buckled shoes, knife drawn and eyes narrowed. “Much like yourself, young man.”

He scoffed and began to walk backwards, crucifix still dangling from the tips of his fingers. Sujani continued forward, knife drawn as he lifted his free hand, searching in the darkness for an exit into the corridors of the theatre. Between them, in the silence of the backstage, she could hear only the frantic pounding of her heart in her ears and the short breathing of the trespasser as he searched for an egress.

Above them, a catwalk creaked, and then, descending from the second floor of the stage, still tying her corset, appeared Edel. “Do we have a trespasser on our hands?”

The Englishman stumbled forward, crucifix outstretched, before Sujani grabbed his arm, pulling him backwards, further into the darkness of the theatre’s left wing.

“You should be sleeping, Ms. Veice!” Sujani exclaimed, surprise evident. The Englishman’s glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose to reveal two olive eyes filled with dread.

Edel’s haughty laughter filled the stage, and she appeared above Sujani’s head, red eyes piercing the darkness of the wings. “Nonsense. He’s been bothering you, hasn’t he? No longer. Come on, now, I could use a midday snack.”

It only took a few words and a swift movement to break him from his trance. Sujani grabbed both his arms, slamming him against a door leading to one of the many corridors of the theatre, and it swung open. “Left, right, first door to your left. Run,” Sujani hissed, releasing him and watching as he stumbled out into the darkness. Edel landed on her feet and streaked past Sujani down the corridor, leaving behind a homemade crucifix clattering on the floor. The sound of panicked footsteps continued down the hall, and Sujani followed, leaving the door to the wings ajar. As she stepped across the resistant hardwood, she heard the familiar sound of a creaking door swinging open, followed by a light hiss and a fearful set of feet exiting down a fire escape. Edel appeared back in the hall, glum and undoing their corset as they floated above the floorboards.

“Well, you just scared the living daylights out of the man,” Sujani commented, hiding the homemade crucifix behind her back.

“That was but the intention, my darling Sujani.” Edel rolled their eyes, returning to the floor and picking up the edges of their petticoat as their corset went slack. “I gave him quite a fright! He won’t be coming back for a while now. That’s the one, is it not?”

Sujani peered over Edel’s shoulder, as if he would appear again in the hall as they talked, stake drawn. She blinked, averting her gaze back to a gloomy Edel. “Yes. Yes, I believe so. But, I must say, I do have a feeling we will not be seeing the last of him for quite some time.”

Edel bobbed her head and then raised a delicate hand to mask her yawn. “Why say you such things?”

“Suspicion,” she replied, offering a placid smile. “Do not worry, he will get nowhere near you, nor any of the others, let me say,” Sujani insisted, allowing the crucifix to clatter to the ground as she took Edel’s hand. “You must head back now. I wouldn’t want you to grow weak. Why were you out anyways? It’s unsafe these hours, especially in...”

With a wave of her hand, Edel cut Sujani off. “No need. I had a feeling. This theatre is but an extension of myself, my darling Sujani, and I know when there is something afoot.” They relaxed their shoulders, pressing their hands to their chest with a sigh. “And you must dispose of that, my darling, before someone is to be harmed.” Edel’s eyes touched the crucifix, burdened with nostalgia, before she lifted a hand to her face. “I do feel rather weakened by the light. I don’t suppose you will escort me back, and then do draw those curtains in the auditorium?” Edel folded their hands, turning their nose up as they continued. “I would rather my entire cast not be incinerated by sunlight.”

Sujani pursed her lips and held out her hand to Edel, kicking the crucifix to the side. “Certainly, Ms. Veice. I’ll attend to that right away.”

Leading Edel through the dimly lit halls, then down the staircase to the hideaway, Sujani’s rising anxiety melted away and the corridors and patterns returned to her mind. “Goodnight, my darling Sujani,” Edel said as they disappeared into the shadows of the room, a faint candlelight outlining the cover of their coffin.

“Goodnight, Ms. Veice.”

The crucifix remained where Sujani had left it, right beside the open door back to the stage. Sujani sucked in a breath as she lifted it up, twirled it in her hands, and smashed it upon the floor. The wood buckled and split as she slammed it again, again, and once more for good measure, until her palms were streaked red and she had received a splinter in her index. Splintered pieces of wood now decorated the floor, and nobody on would ever be aware there was a crucifix to begin with, Sujani thought, as she swept away the pieces. Crossing the stage to the disposal and feeling the warmth of the summer light on her face, Sujani watched as it disappeared among the broken sets and discarded scripts.

#sujani nandasiri #edel veice #james howe #well that's his name #it's a plot twist but u guys know it now bc thats already the tag for him <3 #a lot of the plot here rides on the protags not knowing what an irish accent is like #my ocs #my writes

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assembledherethevolunteers · 4 years

Text

Future Management Chapter 3

A/N: Hi again! Sorry this took so long. It’s been a crazy week. I hope you guys are still enjoying this (and thank you to everyone for the love of my last chapter)! Please let me know what you think of this next part!

Pairing: Ben Hardy x fem!Reader

Summary: You and Ben Hardy had been together for the better part of a decade. After hitting a rough patch, the two of you decide to end things. However, one small surprise keeps you two connected more than you thought.

Warnings: Cursing, angst (I swear it’ll get better), fighting (verbal)

Catch Up: Prologue (https://assembledherethevolunteers.tumblr.com/post/188795655663/future-management) Chapter 1 (https://assembledherethevolunteers.tumblr.com/post/188846514968/future-management-chapter-1) Chapter 2 (https://assembledherethevolunteers.tumblr.com/post/188923255568/future-management-chapter-2)

Taglist: @lovebirdy93 @jonesyaddiction @im-an-adult-ish @taylorroger-s @amy-brooklyn99 @springholland @stassaurus @hahaboop @tcnystqks @bloatedandlonly @doctorwhatwhenandwhere If I missed you I’m sorry! Please let me know if you want to be added.

The next morning, Ben and Eliza came with you to the recording.

Ben had made breakfast, but barely talked to you outside of something for Eliza. You were wondering how him seeing Jackson again would go if he was still this mad at you, even though he had no right to be mad. Mostly because you weren’t actually dating Jackson, but also because, just like you had to remind yourself, the two of you weren’t together anymore.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Jackson smiled at you in the studio.

“Hi, Mr. Jack!” Eliza waved from Ben’s arms behind you.

“Well, hi there, Miss Eliza. How are you doing today, darlin?”

You grinned at her but noticed that Ben’s jaw had tightened.

“Good! Mummy said we can go home and play princesses after dis!”

“Well that should be a whole lotta fun, huh?”

Eliza giggled and shook her head yes. You watched as Ben moved his arms so that Eliza was even closer to him.

“Y/N? Jackson?” A woman with a headset asked.

“Yes?” You both replied.

“Can you follow me? We’ll get you in hair and makeup.”

“Alright,” you turned to Ben and Eliza. “Mommy and Mr. Jack have to go with her, but you and Daddy can…”

“Oh, Jaz?” The woman said to another. She stopped and looked at the group. “Can you take these two to Y/N’s dressing room?”

You saw this ‘Jaz’ woman look Ben up and down and then smile. You nearly saw red.

“I sure can, follow me, you two.”

You gave Eliza a kiss on her cheek. “Mommy will see you soon, okay?”

“Okay! Bye, Mummy! Bye, Mr. Jack!” Eliza waved at both of you and then Jaz led them away.

“She’s really cute,” Jack told you as you followed the woman.

“Yeah,” you sighed.

“Ben doesn’t seem to like me much,” Jackson said with a dry chuckle.

“It um…takes him a bit to warm up to people. He’s really a good guy. A great father.” You replied as you walked into the hair and makeup area.

Jackson just hummed noncommittally and sat down in one of the chairs. The two of you spoke with the cosmetologists as they fixed your makeup and hair.

The interview was going well. You and Jackson talked about the movie and how it was working together. The two of you had always gotten along easily. It made it easy to work with and do all these interviews.

You were about to wrap up when one of the hosts brought it up. It wasn’t really off limits, but it still kind of shook you when somebody brought it up.

“Now, Y/N, how is it being back in London? You used to live here, yeah?”

You fidgeted with your hair for just a second, a nervous gesture, before fixing a smile on your face.

“I did, yeah. I love being here! It’s so different from New York, but at the same time it’s still that go go go of a big city. And it’s that same modern feel and yet you know how much history has happened here as well. It’s beautiful.”

“That’s very true,” the female host, Holly nodded. “You sometimes forget how historic this city is.”

You could tell she was trying to hint to her cohost not to bring it up again. Thankfully, he picked up on it.

“It is, indeed, a beautiful city. Now, back to the film.”

You and Jackson finished the interview mentioning a part of the book that you wish could’ve been in the movie.

“Not to give too much away, but there’s this scene towards the end of the novel, in the last couple chapters I think?, and we just couldn’t make it work. It was written so well on the page and we tried four or five different ways to get it perfect, but we just couldn’t, so we had to scrap it. Maybe that will be an extra on the Blu-Ray or something.”

“I remember that day,” Jackson laughed. “Everybody was trying to get it exactly like it was on the page. Maybe if we had just taken a little more creative license it would’ve worked better, but like Y/N said, it was so beautiful on the page that we wanted to do it justice.”

“Well now we need to know what it is!”

You looked at Jackson and then gestured for him to continue.

“Oh great, make me do it,” Jackson nudged you with his arm. You laughed and pushed him back, letting your hand linger for maybe just a beat too long. “Again, we don’t want to give too much away, and it’s not like it’s the climax of the film, but Y/N’s character and mine are in their home, and she has a dream. I’ll leave it at that.”

“Oooh I remember that part!” The Holly’s voice rose in excitement. “I loved reading that!”

“Me too!” You matched her tone. “And we tried, we really did, it just didn’t work with the story we were working on and everybody agreed to let it go because the same thing could be conveyed with a conversation between our characters,” you shrugged and then looked to the audience. “If you’re one of those people that doesn’t read the book because a movie is coming out, may I suggest breaking that rule just this once? That scene itself is worth it.”

The other three on the set vocally agreed with you.

“Well we can’t wait to see the film, it sounds amazing and you two are just great. If your chemistry here carried on set, I think we’re in for something great!” Holly smiled at both of you and then turned to a camera.

“’See You Around’ comes out next Friday! Stay tuned and Meghan May will be showing you how to get rid of those pesky earwigs in your garden.”

The audience applauded and then the same woman that showed you and Jackson hair and makeup appeared.

“And we’re clear!”

“Thank you both, so much,” you offered your hand to the hosts. They both took and shook it in turn.

You and Jackson came off set and Eliza ran right up to you and hugged your leg.

“Good job, Mummy!”

You bent down, trying to keep your balance in your heels.

“Thank you, Lovebug! Did you have fun watching Mommy?”

Eliza nodded and then looked up at Jackson. “You did good too, Mr. Jack.”

“Thank you, Miss Eliza.”

“Well, we should probably get to lunch. Eliza will need her nap soon,” Ben’s voice came from a few yards away, a little too loud.

“Daddy! Can Mr. Jack come over to lunch?”

Jackson looked over at Ben and you noticed Ben’s eyes harden.

“I don’t think so, Birdie.”

Eliza pouted and looked at you.

“Mummy?”

You ran your hand through her hair. You opened your mouth to answer, but you were cut off.

“You know what, Miss Eliza?” Jackson drew Eliza’s attention. “I’ve actually got plans for lunch, but I’ll be sure to see you one more time before I leave.”

Eliza was still pouting but nodded.

“Okay, Mr. Jack.”

You stood up and gave Jack a hug and kissed his cheek.

“I’ll see you at the premiere tomorrow night?”

“Sure will,” Jackson fixed you with a huge smile. He smiled down at Eliza. “I’ll see you soon, Miss Eliza.”

“Bye, Mr. Jack!” Eliza hugged his legs before moving back to you.

You bent down and picked her up. She played with your necklace, already over the crushing disappointment.

“I’ll see you later,” Jackson said again. He looked to Ben. “Nice to see you again, Ben.”

Ben just waved before Jackson left.

You shot a glare at Ben before you started making your way out as well. You and Ben were silent, listening to Eliza talk about one of the nice people that had given her a lollipop (“But Daddy said I can’t have it until lunch”).

You buckled Eliza into her car seat and then got into the car, still ignoring Ben. Thank God Eliza kept talking because the tension in the front of the car was palpable.

Lunch wasn’t much better. You made Eliza a turkey sandwich, along with fruit snacks and carrot sticks. You and Ben avoided each other as much as possible. Once Eliza was done eating, Ben put her down for her nap.

You thought about pouring yourself some wine but decided alcohol wouldn’t help anything. Ben walked back down the stairs and then set his hands on the counter. You watched him for a moment.

“I don’t like him.”

You rolled your eyes and folded your arms across your chest.

“Why? What has he done to you?”

Ben looked at you for a long moment. “Are you sleeping with him?”

“Ben!” You hissed, trying not to raise your voice for fear of waking Eliza.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Why does it matter? In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not married anymore.”

Ben opened his mouth a couple times before inhaling sharply through his nose.

“I know, I just would like to know who is around MY daughter.”

You stared at Ben, dumbfounded.

“First of all, she’s OUR daughter. Second of all, you’re kidding, right?”

“Look, if she gets attached to ‘Mr. Jack’ and he ends up being a bad guy…”

“Ben, I’m not dating Jack!” You were getting angry. Did he honestly think that you would do ANYTHING to hurt Eliza? That you would let people that would hurt her even be able to LOOK at her?

That made Ben take a moment back and then he cleared his throat.

“I…I mean, he’s still around her.”

“Yeah! And so are Gwil and Joe and Luc…”

“They’re different!”

“Why?! Because YOU know them?! Last I checked, they were also your coworkers before they were friends and…”

“So you’re comparing my best friends to some guy that you just flirt with and…”

“WE WERE IN A MOVIE TOGETHER!” You hated yourself for yelling, but you couldn’t stop it. “YOU KNOW HOW THOSE INTERVIEWS GO! THEY WANT TO SEE YOU GET ALONG WITH YOUR COSTARS!” You were fuming. He was mad because you got along with your coworker? How dare he use Eliza as an excuse for not liking somebody!

“WELL YOU PLAYED IT REALLY FUCKING WELL! HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW IF YOU’RE SLEEPING WITH HIM OR NOT?!”

“MAYBE TAKE MY GODDAMN WORD FOR IT?! OR NOT EVEN WORRY ABOUT IT!”

“HOW AM I NOT SUPPOSED TO WORRY ABOUT IT!?”

“BECAUSE IT’S NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS, THAT’S HOW! WHY THE FUCK DO YOU CARE IF HE AND I ARE SLEEPING TOGETHER?!”

“BECAUSE I…!”

“Mummy? Daddy?” You and Ben turned toward Eliza. She was holding her stuffed ladybug close to her face as she stood at the doorway to the kitchen. She looked about ready to start sobbing.

“Oh Birdie, what are you doing awake?” Ben’s voice softened, even though his chest still heaved. He walked over and picked up Eliza. You were quickly behind her, rubbing her back.

“I h…heard you and Mummy yelling,” Eliza’s voice shook, full of tears.

“Oh Lovebug, Mommy and Daddy are sorry,” you cooed, continuing to rub circles on her back. “We um…you know how Mommy and Daddy play pretend?” You asked her. That was how you explained what you and Ben did. It was the easiest explanation for a three-year-old.

Eliza nodded, tears still threatening to fall.

“Well, that’s all we were doing. Playing pretend.”

“You both said bad words,” Eliza whispered, almost as if she spoke louder she would break whatever tentative peace you and Ben had reached.

Ben pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“We did, and we’re sorry, love,” Ben rocked with a Eliza a few moments. Once she seemed to be calmed down, he asked “Do you want to go upstairs and get some more sleep?”

Eliza shook her head, burying her face in the crook of Ben’s neck.

“How about we watch ‘The Princess and the Frog’ and cuddle on the couch?” You offered. The Princess and the Frog was her favorite movie and you knew it could soothe her.

She peeked over at you.

“Can Daddy cuddle too?”

You looked at Ben and then back to Eliza. Why did she have to look so much like him? You tucked some of her hair behind her ear.

“Of course, sweetie. Why don’t you and Daddy get comfy and…”

“No, here,” Ben slid Eliza into your arms. She buried herself deeper in your arms. You and Ben exchanged a look. “You and Mummy can get comfy and I’ll get everything ready.” Ben kissed Eliza’s nose and led you to the living room. You and Eliza started making a nest of blankets and pillows as Ben got the TV and Blu-Ray player ready.

“Mummy?” Eliza asked as you got her wrapped in a blanket.

“Yes, honey?”

Eliza was suddenly shy, which was something she never was. You rubbed her back again. “What’s the matter, Liza?”

She shook her head as Ben came over with the remote.

“Ready, lovies?”

You ignored the term of endearment as you burrowed yourself deeper into the hoard of blankets and wrapped your arms around Eliza. Ben pressed play and then placed one arm on top of yours and pulling Eliza (and you) closer to his chest.

If the two of you had still been married, this could’ve been how you spent the last three years. Cuddling on the couch, Eliza between you, watching Disney movies while the dreary English afternoon went by. Maybe after she was asleep, Ben would take her upstairs and then when he came back downstairs, the two of you would snuggle, just the two of you, maybe finish the movie if it wasn’t over yet.

Eliza was singing along to the songs, and you noticed Ben was keeping the beat with his thumb near your elbow. You hated how…normal this all seemed.

You hated that you ached for this.

Eliza giggled at the fireflies in the movie started up their song. The last thing you remembered was Ray and all his family singing “Gonna Take You There” and the feeling of Ben gently rubbing your arm.

Ben watched as your eyes fluttered closed. He’d missed that sight. He’s missed almost everything about you. Maybe that’s why it had been easier to pick a fight with you about Jackson. If he thought about the bad things, he wouldn’t beg you take him back. He felt awful for taking out his frustration on somebody who honestly seemed like a good guy and had been nothing but nice to Eliza (and you, as much as it annoyed him).

And poor Eliza. No child should have to hear their parents argue like that, whether they were together or not. Ben glanced at her. She was trying so hard to stay awake, but the song was a soft love song and it was lulling her to sleep.

“Get some sleep, Birdie,” Ben placed a kiss in her hair.

“No, Daddy,” Eliza muttered, but her eyes were already closed.

You’d always said that Eliza looked more like him, and maybe she did, but she acted just like you. She was sweet, and smart, and warm. She had her stubborn side too, even at three. It pained him when he saw her act like you, or when she used American terms for something because it just reminded him that much more of you. And when she talked about you, the way her face lit up when she saw you, it just made him miss you that much more.

Ben watched the rest of the movie, even though he basically knew it by heart.

“Because Tiana, she is my Evangeline.”

Ben looked over at you and sighed.

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