#large swaths of the place ARE now clean and beautiful but in such a way that suddenly the Mess is SO MUCH MORE NOTICEABLE

[crimeronan]

cleaned for almost 5 full hours today (4 hours 40 minutes, i was doing ten-minute intervals w a phone timer). full list of minutiae would take too long but it involved dishes, taking out trash, decluttering the entire apartment floor, vacuuming the entire apartment, reorganizing stuff in the hallway, multiple loads of laundry done folded n put away, and deep cleaning the bathtub. i was literally fucking Drenched And Dripping in sweat by the time i finished, like i'd just stepped out of a downpour outside. ate some food, got a shower, did a weed, and now i've crawled into bed to snz.

in conclusion. my body is gonna be So Fucked Up tomorrow.

[fantrollology]

Lunch Date

Characters: Arunae, Fledge

Word Count: 1,505

Context: Arunae and Fledge are somewhat recent defects of the Alternian fleet. They currently reside on a neutral space station known as Parable that orbits the star Paem.

---

There are three star systems within a standard jump from Paem. Most cruisers were only capable of a single jump before needing to recharge; the power to do so was reserved in a bank intended for emergencies. Charging the reserves for a jump was nearly as expensive as the ship itself, and most batteries would lose their capacitance after a single discharge of that magnitude, necessitating replacement. It was unfortunately true: no battery worked as well as a helmsman. It would cost fortunes to consistently travel by cruiser only using batteries, and inviting a stranger to join a party of two was, to Fledge, just as costly.

It was good, then, that she could power jumps without either. It was equally good that Arunae wasn’t privy to, nor particularly interested in, the specificities of space travel mechanics. She knew how to independently gimbal the rear thrusters to donut tightly enough around the spires of Parable to make Fledge forget for brief moments that she had ever been anywhere else, and that was plenty. So long as neither of them ever discussed the specifics of their travel, it would stay that way.

Every so often they stole away to a colony for a few days. This perigee, it was Thalamos-7. The planet had established itself within the empire long ago through mining. Between the sparse new-looking towns were mining camps, and between those were swaths of land peeled back to expose the shells of the planet's long scooped-out insides, now scattered throughout the galaxy. The canyons revealed labyrinths of caves containing reserves of the planet's remaining clean water. In the past few centuries the local population had been making an effort to restore the landscape and reestablish the colony as a place with a viable future, rather than a husk to discard. Land that could not be repaired would become civil developments.

The efforts seemed to be moving along well, all things considered. The brochures and websites Fledge and Arunae had poked through seemed to think so; they touted newly lush rolling hills, and exotic fauna and flora carefully selected to remake its home within gashes left by the empire. Their website described its vistas as unique and speaking. The greenery crawling over the rough but methodically slashed crevices demonstrated en large “the same sublime perseverance of a scar.”

It wasn’t the sort of poetry Fledge cared for. The beauty lines that wrapped their way around downtown were convincing enough for her.

The cafe she and Arunae sat outside now was called “The Copper Street Mealblock”. A short menu existed only on the inside walls in neat chalk handwriting. There were potted plants in the windows, and the brightly colored chairs were comfortable despite how they looked. The food came out in plastic baskets lined with brown paper. After lunch they were going to take a ride beyond the town to see if the photographs were being generous.

“Kind of hoping they’re overselling it; I’d love to dig Runner’s fins into the side of a quarry. Bet it’d be like a huge skatepark.” Arunae had already annihilated a sandwich and was picking away at her side.

Fledge snorted at the idea as she moved a fork through her salad. “Couldn’t we do that on any moon?”

“Sure, but no moon is within ten minutes of a place with fries like these.” Arunae waved around an example before violently sacrificing it to her maw to join nearly a full basket of its brethren.

“I told you to get a large.”

“And you were so right.” She shook her head solemnly, and Fledge tilted hers in sympathy.

The teal swung her clawed arm over her chair and gazed out at the street. “Imagine living here, though, in one of these little town-hive apartments, coming down to a cafe for breakfast and then, I dunno, going spelunking.”

Fledge raised an eyebrow. “You want to go spelunking?”

“Maybe! I’ve never been. But we could, and that’s what matters. What else was it they had here?” She patted herself for a pamphlet she quickly realized she left in the ship. “Base jumping? Sky diving? Shit, we could watch a movie. A new one, even. In a movie theater.”

“Not sure I could handle that kind of excitement,” Fledge joked.

“It’ll be a far cry from my tablet and your little med-bay bunk, but I think you could handle it.”

The cerulean flashed a smile. Arunae consumed another fry.

“Seriously though, what do you think?”

“About going to the movies?”

“No, about moving here, living here.”

“You make every place we go sound nice.” Fledge’s fork played with a little tomato.

“Any of them stand out, though?”

Fledge shrugged her shoulders.

“Maybe we could take a lease out somewhere. Try living on a planet for more than a week. See what it actually feels like, y’know?”

“Maybe.” Fledge’s fork poked through the tomato. 

“I know you don’t expect us to stay on Parable forever.”

“No.” She turned the tomato on her plate. “Of course not.” she added.

“So?”

“So--” she set the fork down and crossed her arms over her chest. “-- we’re both defects. I don’t know.” She let out a breath. “I feel like it’s kind of risky to settle down anywhere, especially somewhere that’s Empire controlled, even a small colony like this one.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, actually.”

“What do you mean?”

“About them finding us.”

Fledge glanced down at the table.

“It’s been six perigees, right?” Arunae began to explain, “Parable is safe, sure, but it’s not secret. Six perigees, and not a whiff of the fleet?” She gesticulated with a fry. “I honestly don’t think they’re looking for us. I wouldn’t be surprised, either; I mean, me, I’m half metal, half liability and you--”

Fledge’s eyes shot up at her. Arunae was still finding her words.

“--Well, we know they didn’t treat you right.”

Fledge sank again, and stayed quiet.

Arunae tightened her lips. Seated across the table from her, Arunae saw herself: fickle and afraid, single tethered and constantly gauging the ropes girth. She grabbed at her memory for Cyther’s words; what would she have said? She always seemed so sure. She could spin ideas into action like threads through a spindle and sweep Arunae up with her. It seemed so stupid, mulling over townhives when Cyther was planning raids in a night.

Was it possible Cyther wasn’t sure back then? Perhaps she had convinced Arunae in order to convince herself. Maybe she had just gotten good at it, and Arunae got better at agreeing, until Cyther didn’t need her to anymore.

Arunae didn’t want to pretend. She wasn’t sure the fleet wasn’t looking for them, and gauging what felt like home wasn’t really in her repertoire. However Fledge was feeling, she clearly wasn’t keen to make another life changing decision anytime soon. Maybe leaving that day was all she had in her, and Arunae couldn’t argue with that.

What was it that had let Arunae go, the day she left for the fleet? The day she told Cyther she was leaving? Had she truly believed she could make a change from within the fleet? Fuck, she wanted it back. Whatever it was, she wanted it back. She wanted to take Fledge’s hand and lead her somewhere beautiful, unafraid for her, gesture out to the world and tell her “Isn’t this great? We could be happy here.” She wanted to mean it. She couldn’t.

“Could we not talk about this in public,” Fledge finally peeped. “It makes me nervous.”

“Oh, yeah,” Arunae accepted Fledge’s request to cut the conversation short. She ate her last fry and sat at the impasse she had created.

“I know—” Fledge piped up again,  “—we have to talk about it. I know we can’t be there forever. We’ll talk about it, I promise. I just need to think.”

“It’s cool. It’s not like we have to decide now.”

Fledge nodded and stared out into the street.

After a moment, Arunae reached her hand across the table to hold Fledge’s.

“I have a different important question to ask you.”

“What?” she looked to her.

Arunae met her gaze and squeezed her hand gently.

“Can I have some of your fries?”

Fledge snorted. She took her hand back to nudge her basket towards the other. “Go crazy.”

As she watched her dear friend make fries disappear with feverish abandon, Fledge’s mind swam with thoughts. Was it really possible that the fleet wasn’t looking for her? Why wouldn’t they be? Was she would be too much trouble? For the first perigee on Parable she couldn’t sleep. She had spent days awake, watching the door of the apartment, waiting for a fleet official to come busting through to take her back. She thought the weight in her stomach during those hours was fear, but now, she wasn’t so sure. This, the concept that no one was ever going to come for her, that no one was even looking, stirred her insides. It was much more terrifying.

[wutbju]

So the October 1967 Greenville News insert had a large article about the landscaping on campus. Here’s the text. What strikes you about this write-up?

Looking out across the beautiful verdant campus of Bob Jones University, one can hardly imagine the time when this ground was nothing but a large plot of red clay hills and dunes. Tall, graceful shade trees, flowering and fruit » smaller trees, and colorful shrubbery flowers of all kinds now dot the grounds. Linking these and the symmetrical modern buildings in panoramic view are vast expanses of lush green lawns.

When one first sees the neat, clean appearance of the campus, he finds it hard to believe that more than 4,000 students and faculty members walk back and forth across it every day. The 15 or 20 students on the grounds crew believe it though, for they are the ones who daily work keep it that way.

Each is assigned a section of the campus,, and everything down to the last little piece of paper or trash is picked up and everything is swept clean. "Cleanliness is next to godliness" is a proverb they live by. And this is a familiar maxim to the students, too.

One student sweeper acquired a special reward for his diligence in cleaning gutters. He found a $100 bill one day which became his - after a reasonable length of time had passed with no claimers.

The grounds crew has been particularly thankful for a new refuse removal system that was installed on the campus recently. This system, called "Gar-bax." features special refuse holders placed in strategic spots around the campus. Containing disposable paper bags, they eliminate the necessity of transferring refuse; for the bags can just be lifted out of the holders, sealed and discarded.

Bob Jones University has been featured in the nationally distributed "Gerbaxnews"--the trade publication of the International Paper Co.--for its effective use of this system.

The lawns at BJU have been greener this summer thanks to a huge new grass cutter, Jacobsen F-10, purchased last March. Mowing in 15-foot swaths, it shears the grass clean and fine.

Dick Murr, manager of grounds at BJU, said that "a section that used to take 3½ hours to cut now only takes 35 minutes.

The grounds crew also has four rotary riding mowers, eight small power mowers for trim-out work, and a six-foot Toro professional mower.

FRUIT TREES

Trees and shrubbery that bloom and have fruits at various times of the year have been placed in various parts of the campus. Large pine trees, some with seven-foot bolls and 12 feet in diameter, have been moved to more advantageous places where their effect might be more picturesque.

Forsythia, hydrangea and various types of spire dress the campus in the spring. Also, peach, plum, apple, pear, fig, apricot, cherry, wisteria and pink and white dogwood vie with one another to make the campus beautiful and fragrant-a place that students leaving at the end of the school year will never forget. When the peaches and plums mature, they add succulent taste treats to the dining common menu. The apples, harvested in the fall, give the new home economic classes plenty of practical experience in making jelly.

This past March, 1,000 azalea plants that were donated to the university were set out in beds; and all of the plants bloomed. The Greenville Garden Club counts in its beautification of Greenville competition the number of new azaleas and dogwood trees that are added to the BJU campus each year. Mrs. Bob Jones Sr. and Mrs. Bob Jones Jr. are both members of the club.

ROSE GARDEN

The rose garden planted near the dining common last winter and spring provided fragrant beauty during the summer. Red crape myrtle and orange pyracanthra add the bright touch of color to the campus in the late summer, as well as the red apples of the flowering crab trees. The maroon-leaved barberry bushes lining the drive between the Administration Build. ing and highway provide a neat contrast to the green lawns.

In the fall and winter, pyracantha, Mandela and holly trees and bushes of many varieties have their limbs bough gracefully under the weight of their vivid fruit. Holly lines the walkways to the dining common and fills the three large flag basins in front of it.

Boxwood, abelia, wax leaf ligustrum, and various evergreens keep the campus verdant and attractive through all the seasons of the year. Oaks, pines and other shade trees keep it cool and restful appearing. Many of the trees and shrubs have been donated by residents of Greenville.

Of special interest at BJU are the Bible land trees set out in front of the Fine Arts Building. These include thorn, hackberry, salix, acacia, olive, spikenard, and rose of Sharon.

Flower beds are rotated to provide beautiful, colorful effects during the various seasons. In the early spring, pastel-colored crocuses, showy narcissus, and yellow and white daffodils appear, followed later by multi-colored tulips and pansies. These give place in the summer to geraniums, petunias, cockscombs, and cannas of all hues.

WORDS IN FLOWERS

Mums and Joseph's coat take predominance in the fall. Using Joseph's coat with its multi-colored leaves, it has been the custom in the fall to spell out in the beds in front of the alumni building such phrases as "God is Love" and "Jesus Saves."

In the garden area of the university are glads, dahlias, zinnias and asters. John Ludwig, superintendent of buildings and grounds, uses these to form lovely bouquets of flowers for the church services held at BJU, as well as for the Information Desk. He also provides the dining common with some of these flowers to dress up the tables.

A number of cymbidium orchid plants were recently donated to the school, and these are kept in the university's large greenhouse. These will begin producing 7,000 blooms, which will be sold in the school bookstore to young men for their special dates.

The geraniums and Joseph's coat are also kept in the greenhouse when not in use. Azalea plants and camellias are kept there until late March, when they are set out for Bible Conference time in the center divider near the entrance to the campus. If a rather bad frost is predicted at this time, these plants are all dug up and taken in for the night, to be set out again the next morning!

A lake shows forth its mirror-like surface behind the maintenance building. White rocks--rip-rip from the Campbell Limestone Co.--have been placed around the lake. An island in the lake was developed in June; and now crape myrtle, dogwood, Japanese maple and a little white walk of wash river rock grace it. Eventually, a bridge will reach out to the island from the mainland.

Weeping willow trees are going to be planted along one side of the lake near the dam, and also near the dining common.

Where rain drains come into the lake, waterfalls will be built out of white rock. And flower beds will be made in various spots around the lake.

On the far side of the lake are picnic grounds with fire-places, tables, and tall pines. These are used by student and faculty groups for outings.

Dads and boys find the fishing pretty good at the lake. Mr. Murr said that one of his assistants caught in one evening on an artificial worm four lovely 15-inch bass. Bamboo growths are around and near the lake, and these make one think of fishing poles.

The grounds crew feed the lawns twice a year. They also landscape new homes that are built for faculty and staff members, and they take care of the grounds around the homes. All told, they have the care of about 140 acres at BJU. Les Ollila, an ex-logger from Michigan who became a student, has given the trees on the campus some much-needed pruning during the past year. He had gained tree trimming and surgery experience with tree surgeons in his home state before coming to BJU.

That lake? That would become “Omega Lake” back campus. By the time this archivist was a student, it was a campus joke, not this idyllic vision.

[feral-dumbass]

Somebody to Love

Chris Evans/ Female Reader

Summary: Chris decides to treat you right and wake you up with oral before you fuck.

Includes: Consensual Somnophilia, Oral (Female receiving), Unprotected sex

Words: 1,046

A/N: My hand slipped and I wrote more RPF smut. Can we pretend to be surprised that I have another one in the drafts? Title credit to Queen. Tagging @babybluestan​ @gagmebucky​ @heresyoursnackdumbass​

Masterlist

Chris wakes up with sun, too used to a gruelling work schedule while filming. Usually he’d get up and do something, maybe take Dodger on a walk, but he wants to save those walks with you. Chris finds himself enjoying more of the small moments with you. He’s less eager to leave the bed. Less eager to leave for work. Wants to take longer walks with you and Dodger. He will do anything to make you smile. It’s what he finds being his mission most of the days. He stretches out his limbs as he glances at you. 

You’re so beautiful. Rays of sunshine start to creep up on you with little flyaway hairs sticking up in some places and his sheets tucked underneath your chin. Chris finds himself smiling as he tucks a tendril of hair behind your ear. God, he loves you… and you’re wearing no underwear (per his request). That thought alone has him groaning out loud. 

He doesn’t know whether he wants to cuddle you or fuck you and that’s the internal war he deals with on the daily. You’re so good to him. He tries to remember the last time he’s done something nice for you. It’s been over twelve hours. Too long he decides. He gently tugs you on to back and takes the blanket out of your fists. He moves to hover over you and kiss your cheek, semi-plush lips trailing kisses down your neck to your chest. 

He spends some time giving your chest attention, sucking hickeys into your skin. Chris can feel your body twitch by the time he decides he should move on. He makes sure to leave a couple hickeys on each breast before ducking his head underneath the covers and kissing down your stomach. He spreads your thick thighs as gently as he can. Chris trails kisses up your inner thighs, making sure to leave at least one hickey on your thigh. He blows gently on your pussy and then kisses your clit.

He licks a fat stripe from entrance to clit before sucking your clit into his mouth. As you become more twitchy in your sleep, Chris rubs two fingers through your quickly accumulating wetness and slips his fingers inside of you. His thrusting fingers search out your g-spot as his tongue swathes your clit in attention. 

“C-chris?” And sleeping beauty finally wakes up. You moan as you thread your fingers through his long hair.  He doubles his efforts now that he has an audience, pumping his fingers faster and sucking your clit harder. “Coming.” Your breathy pants are a symphony to his ears. He could eat you out for hours if that sound was the outcome every time. Chris doesn’t let up even as you’re coming down from your orgasm. “Baby, too much.” You tug on his hair and he gets the memo, but not before cleaning you up a bit. He crawls back up your body and comes out of the covers with an infectious grin.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” You smile back up at him.  Chris leans down to kiss you, his beard rubbing against your soft cheeks. 

  “Morning.” You greet him back. Your legs are stretched around his hips, his hard on contained in his boxers rubbing against your wet pussy. “Jesus Christ.” He grinds his hips down on you.

“You feel how hard I am for you, honey?” 

“Impossible not to. You could always fuck me instead of trying to tease me.” He reaches back down to kiss you and trails them down to the corner of your mouth to your neck. 

“Is that what you’re gonna let me do? You gonna let me pound that pussy?” 

“Oh, Chris, if you don’t fuck me in the next five seconds, I’m getting out my vibrator.” 

“As much as I’d love to watch…” He trails off as he tugs down his boxers with one hand. His dick is free and you can’t help but glance down. Chris pumps his dick with his hand as it stands proud. His girthy cock reaches your navel. He doesn’t wait very long to bring it down to your entrance. He drags his cock through your folds, his blues eyes trained on your pussy. He barely gets his head in your entrance before you stop him. 

“Chris, wait!” He glances up to check in on you. “You’re too big!” He rolls his eyes as he slides the rest of the way in, causing you to gasp out.

“Nice theatrics, baby, but you weren’t complaining about my cock last night.”You might have had trouble accommodating to his size when you first met, but by now you’re a pro at taking his cock. He grinds his hips, your walls always stretch nicely around him. He loves being in you almost as much as he loves you. He kisses you deeply, tongue included, before he really starts thrusting. One of your hands slips into his hair as the other grabs his bicep. You move your hips meeting his thrusts. He changes his angle to find your g-spot. It doesn’t take long for him to find it. He can feel your muscles tense as he hits it over and over again. Your thighs start to shake. You’re closer than Chris originally thought. 

“Cum for me, Baby.”  He kisses the sensitive part of your neck before biting down as you cum around his cock. Your breathy moans fill his ears again. “So fucking beatiful” A few more pumps into your trembling pussy and Chris cums. He groans, collapsing onto you. He buries his head into the crook of your neck. You move your fingertips to trail up and down his spine. 

“You good?” He nods his head as he sighs. “I love you, but you’re kind of crushing me.” Chris moves both of you to the side, the weight of him off of you. He looks into your eyes as he apologizes. 

“I’m sorry. Why don’t you hop that cute ass into the shower-” His large palm smacks down onto your ass, making you jump. “-and I’ll start breakfast, hmm?” 

“Or you could join me in the shower?”

“Have I mentioned that I love you? Race you there.” Both of you scramble out of bed to race to the bathroom.

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 37

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​ Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers

The vast sitting area of the rooms was where Loki and you spent the rest of the night. It was a comfortable place, clad in silks and velvets, but there was a certain tension in the air that prevented you from enjoying it fully. 

The sounds coming from outside, mostly from the wilderness of gardens beyond the balcony. They were nothing of what you might've experienced on Earth. The wild shrieks followed by soft cooing and voices unnervingly similar to child's laughter sent shivers down your spine whenever you tried to imagine what sort of creature might make them. 

And how close it was.

There was fruit left on the table in a large bowl polished to the point of mirroring whatever came close to it. Some of them resembled in shape what you knew from Earth, but there were many that didn't. 

You reached for a yellow roundish one and peeled the skin off. It had a sour taste of overripe mush. 

Loki munched on small blue berries while he sat by the fire. He did his best to remain calm, but his foot kept twitching nervously every now and then. 

"How many assassinations have you been through?" you asked when you sat next to him. He turned to let you put your head on his knees. 

"Two for political reasons, back on Asgard. Some idiots thought they could wipe out the ruling dynasty and take over. There was one more when Thor and I have been sent as ambassadors to a place newly conquered and visibly unhappy about it. And one when I just didn't get along with some noble. To this day I have no idea why," he stated with a smile that said otherwise. 

His finger followed the plane of your brow tenderly. 

"Sounds like you were a dick to the wrong person. You have that effect on people." 

"...could be."

A soft knock at the door ended the moment. You looked through the balcony. The colors began to shift. 

A man you'd never seen before waited for you in the corridor. You weren't sure if he was a guard, but the thin, needle-like sword by his side suggested so. Or maybe no one there felt safe anymore. 

Loki took your hand as you followed the silent man. He was as tall as the High Prince and the Queen, but of a slender build, almost as if he would break should any pressure be applied to his bones. What startled you the most was that you were finally able to see him clearly. The shadows still seemed to cling to him as a second skin, but there was no blurriness that made your head hurt like yesterday. 

His sharp and cold eyes noticed you watching him. There was no softness to his features. The untamed darkness of his skin shifted wildly as a storm front would swallow the sky in endless hunger. 

He guided you through winding paths between the pillars in shades of off-gray, partially hidden under the climbing ropes of tiny flowers. The breeze snuck between them, careful as to not make a sound. 

The man led you to a terrace bathed in shadow from overhanging roses. Their thick thorns and sturdy branches intertwined savagely, forming a close-packed, unbreakable surface. 

"High Prince." Loki bowed his head toward the lord waiting underneath the roses. You quickly followed suit. . 

The guard left you without a word, walking away on silent, bare feet. 

The High Prince wore a tunic of deep blues and intricate patterns of interlaced branches, or maybe animals, or maybe spiders with their long, thin legs creeping from behind whatever tried to run. The design shifted whenever you thought you finally grasped it. You turned your eyes away before it became impossible. 

"Despite the outrage among my people," he said in a tone rich with shimmering starlight, "I still hope this mess can be solved bloodlessly. And quickly." 

His head was close to the concentrated woven wall of thorns and roses above him. The Prince didn't seem to bother staying careful. His horns, painted with a silver dye, glinted sharply. 

"We'll do our best," Loki promised. "What happened on the day of the murder?" 

"Nothing beyond the usual. Asgard's ambassador had taken a liking to our library, and spent most of his days there, along with one of the librarian's assistants. And then one day, they were found right there, bloodied and cold." His hand moved. The long, spindly fingers were tipped with claws. 

He motioned towards a niche under the overhanging roses. When you first entered the balcony, you thought it was bathed in dense shadow. But shadows could never be red. 

"The lord had of course faded by the time his remains were found, and not much was left of him. We have moved the Asgardian’s… body to the rooms he used to occupy, and spelled it to remain intact had you any need to investigate it."

"We are terribly sorry for the loss," Loki said, watching the dark splotches of dried blood. Judging by their expanse, no one bothered to clean them. 

You wondered if, in a world where its inhabitants simply faded, and their life energy was returned to the core of their world, they were surprised to see such a mess left. You looked up at the roses in full bloom, their flowers meaty and wide open to the endless light of the sky without sun. 

The Prince followed your gaze. 

"Beautiful, aren't they?" For the first time since arriving, he addressed you. "I have never seen them bloom. The assistant's link to the core wasn't strong, but even it was enough to revive a part of it." 

Despite the warmth of the castle, you shivered. There was nothing human in the eyes regarding you with calculated care. 

"We'll do our best to bring this matter to a swift end," Loki said, taking a casual step ahead, cutting through that stare. "And investigate everything thoroughly." 

The smile he wore like an armor was edged and unpleasant. In a place where thoughts shaped reality, words could be knives, used carefully and meticulously. 

"I hope so." 

The High Prince left the balcony, his horns scratching the unyielding surface of roses. One of them was cut, and rained down in tears of red petals. The spiraling patterns of the lord's tunic seemed to look at you as he walked into the bright corridors with his hands clasped behind his back. There was something wrong with the shadows circling beneath his feet. 

You let out a breath you hadn’t noticed you were holding. "I try really hard, but the longer we stay here, the harder it gets to find at least one normal thing in this place." 

"I promise that once we're done here, I'll show you a world less… corrupted."

"I honestly can't wait." 

You walked over to the place where two people you'd never get to know had their lives ended. There was nothing special about the crumbling stone, corroded by the passing of time and the shifting currents of energy in the air. 

Loki reached into the depths of his magic in hope of finding any trace of whoever was behind it. But the Edge's magic was wild and tangled, and whoever paid a visit there, left no magical footprint. 

Loki came closer and reached over your shoulder. The curtain of roses lifted a little, showing a hole where the balcony's railing should've been. Beneath it, the castle's wall was in a rough state, with pieces missing. You both looked down through it, toward the ground. 

"I may not be an expert climber," you said, "but I have a feeling getting on this balcony through there wouldn't really be a problem." 

"I am an expert climber, especially when it comes to castles," Loki judged the distance and crumbled stone, "and it definitely wouldn't. The only question is, why not actually use the stairs?" 

"If I was a 7 foot tall High Prince with murderous intent, I'd prefer to stay out of people's sight too. And if I knew the whereabouts of the most hated person in my kingdom, I don't think it'd be hard to sneak into the place he passes on his way from the library every day."

"That sounds oddly specific, darling, and almost as if you suggest that the most important lord on the Edge wanted to murder that ambassador, but not in a way that would immediately start a war. Why do it sneakily and request an investigation? That sounds like extra steps leading nowhere." 

"That is a hole in my theory," you admitted, walking away from the dried swaths of blood. "But you have to admit he acts a little off. Literally everything is suspicious about him. And it would actually make sense if he started murdering people in order to keep himself from fading. You've seen what it already did to some roses. If he used more people..."

You leaned on the railing and Loki followed. The gardens the balcony overlooked were a tangled chaos of branches, flowers, and trees leaning heavily to the sides, as if in the middle of moving. Huge statues of people you had no knowledge about rose through them, staring with blind eyes. If anyone wanted to use them as cover to get to the wall, it wouldn't be a problem. But what for? 

You put your head on Loki's shoulder and felt his arm wrap around your waist. 

"My theory makes no sense," you said into the leather of his armor. 

"We don't have enough clues yet to make a sound one. Don't worry about it, we just got here." 

He sent you a soft smile, one he rarely let anyone see. It often caught you off-guard with how much tenderness could be found in his smallest gestures. It was a relief to have someone by your side, wherever you went and whatever you had to deal with. There was something reassuring with knowing that even in the vast expanse of the universe, you weren't alone. 

"Thank you," you muttered into his lips softly. 

Standing so close, you felt the moment his surprise shifted into something else. 

Loki pulled you closer into the kiss, with need and joy digging his fingers into the nape of your neck. He didn't force you, though, and when for the briefest moment something else caught your eye, he didn't stop you moving away. 

His lips were pink and the breath they caught, ragged. With heavy lids, Loki followed your gaze towards the gardens behind you. 

The Queen stood as still as if she already were one of the statues overlooking the gardens and the narrow, gravel paths winding between them. Her gown was made out of silk as ethereal and delicate as moonlight, and on anyone else, it would look regal and grand. But the fading was a cruel destiny, and one that paid no favor to those afflicted. The Queen clad in silks and jewelry like falling stars was barely there, gray despite the light bathing the world. Despite the remnants of life still dwelling deep inside her. 

Her eyes were empty to the home around her, no recognition or emotion showing on her face. She looked at a patch of flowers climbing over one of the statues, but it was uncertain if she actually saw them. 

An appropriate distance away, another figure stood. It was a woman with a headpiece covering her squat, stunted horns like morning mist on a spiderweb. A scar ran down her right cheek, old and badly healed. Her eyes were trained on the Queen, but her pose was stooped and bored. She must've been a guard delegated to ensure the well-being of the fading ghost of the Queen. 

"I might've just shifted into detective mode, because something is telling me that maybe we should think of looking for witnesses," you whispered. 

Loki shivered, feeling your breath brush his neck in a gentle caress. 

"Talking to her would be considered a great offense," he said with a slight rasp to his voice. "The ones who are fading are supposed to be left alone to reconcile with the core as their essence fades. It's a tradition, and an important rule." 

"When do we break it?" 

Loki eyed the guard. 

"...once she's alone. It shouldn't be difficult to find her, even though everyone seems to overlook her." 

"And that's why she could be a witness to so many things," you said with newfound hope. Something clenched in Loki's chest as he watched your face lit up. It was a beautiful sight. 

"Looks like we have a plan." He offered you his arm. "But before we spit on tradition, how about we pay a little visit to our lovely corpse?" 

"Of course." You took it. "I can't wait to see what he has to offer." 

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Out Tonight (Part 4)

<- Part 3 | Part 5 ->

Summary:  The morning after your drunken hookup with Rafael Barba, continued. More awkwardness and unpacking the dubcon.

3,294 words

You had been nervous waking up next to a stranger. You knew you’d both been drunk, and caught up in a karaoke dream. Now that the night’s carefree energy had worn off, and the glamorous glow of stage lights were replaced by the garish light of day, you were worried things would be awkward.

Of course, you had pictured something more along the lines of, he would think you were ugly, or you would freeze up and blurt something stupid, or he’d slip his wedding ring out of his pocket, put it back on his finger, and smack you on the ass as he swaggered out, and you’d feel like an idiot.

You had not expected the shitstorm of him not remembering anything.

He was drunk, but with the way he was spouting off legal advice, you would never have imagined he was blackout drunk. You never imagined waking up to being accused of drugging him. God—this was what you got for letting loose for once. It always seemed so glamorous when your college roommates brought guys home after a night of partying, but of course the one time you do, you’re a sexual predator. Fuck!

Then again, it was starting to make sense. Because immediately after accusing you, he practically tried to arrest himself. The open, flirtatious charmer you met at the bar was so unlike this tightly-wound ball of anxiety, he must have been down to his last brain cell last night. It was just that each and every one of his brain cells happened to contain the entire New York bar exam.

But that didn’t make you a predator, did it? He was fine. Maybe not fine, but not… It wasn’t like he was unconscious. Oh, god, was that really how low you wanted to set the bar? It’s fine to take advantage of drunk people so long as they haven’t passed out yet? Or so long as they’re men? Your stomach turned. Everything he said about filing charges against him… suddenly you were certain you were the one who should be standing in front of a grand jury.

***

Barba waved the compact hotel-provided blow dryer over his freshly washed and rung out boxers. His pants and shirt would need to be ironed before he would dare leave the hotel room (it was bad enough that he had none of his usual hair product and was already dreadfully fuzzy), but the large ironing board wouldn’t fit inside the small hotel bathroom. He would have to go back out there, but he didn’t have a change of pants. He wondered if would be appropriate to walk around in just his boxers. You had already seen him naked, he supposed. Maybe. He didn’t really know what happened between you, but it seemed a bit late to be feeling shy.

Then again, he still could not be certain he wasn’t the one who pushed himself on you. As he got into the shower, he had smelled you on his fingers, and the scent was so intoxicating he had to stop himself from licking them. A little clip of memory returned, your lips warm and inviting against his, the taste of your tongue, his hips rolling desperately against yours, and he realized what that feeling was that he could not quite place. It was attachment: a deep, carnal, passionate, bond. Probably the product of oxytocin or… pheromones? Some lizard-brain part of him had developed an irresistible need for you.

It wouldn’t be unusual for a victim in your situation to act friendly toward her abuser, if you hadn’t fully processed yet. If he had taken advantage of a drunk woman at a bar, he certainly had no desire to traumatize you further by strutting around half naked.

He put on his toasty boxers and mostly-clean undershirt, and knocked at the bathroom door, poking his head out into the room, eyes averted. “Sorry to ask, but do you have a pair of sweatpants that might fit me?”

There was a flash of movement, and a loud sniff as you jolted up into a sitting position. He looked up, and noticed you hadn’t moved from the spot on the bed where he had left you, and you were facing away from him, rubbing your eyes.

“I… I might have something,” you said, trying to hide the waver in your voice.

Without thinking he rushed out, closing the distance in three steps, then stood awkwardly by the side of the bed, suddenly aware that he had no idea what to do. “Are… are you OK?” he asked. A knot tightened in his stomach. It was him, wasn’t it? You must have remembered something he did.

Your big eyes looked up at him, red and glistening with tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you whimpered.

Oh. He dropped onto the bed beside you, staring at his lap.

“I didn’t think you were… You wanted it so much! You didn't seem…. But you were. God, you were crying! You hugged me at the bar and cried into my shirt, I should have known you were in a vulnerable place. I took advantage of you. I’m sorry. I don’t know what to—what do I do to make this right? Are you going to press charges? I’ll do what you said you would, I’ll plead guilty.”

His lizard-brain had the strong impulse to pull you into his arms and tell you it was all alright. His lawyer voice answered automatically, “There’s no case. You committed no crime in New York State if I consented at the time, so long as I was not drugged against my will. Which you… didn’t?” he hazarded a guess. “Even if there was a sexually based offense here—a male victim and female defendant? No jury would ever convict you. The D.A. wouldn’t touch it without ironclad proof of wrongdoing.”

“Th-that’s not the issue! And that’s terrible!”

“It’s… the system,” he gave a commiserating shrug. “Justice has never been blind.”

“But if I hurt you…” You fell silent, and were quiet for awhile, not sure what to say, or do. His words were not exactly comforting, but they weren’t condemning either. You were more confused than ever.

“If you want to make it up to me, start by lending me some pants?” he asked with a smirk that was somewhere between rakish and about-to-die-of-embarrassment, dragging a corner of the blanket over his lap.

***

A tiny cloud of steam puffed from the clothing iron as Barba methodically pressed the appropriate creases back into his dress pants while smoothing the unwanted wrinkles out. His ejaculate had not left a permanent stain, and, vain as it was to admit, that had him feeling significantly relieved about the entire situation. That, and vomiting his guts out, taking an aspirin, and downing several cups of bad coffee from the coffee maker.

“Alright,” he said, taking his eyes off the iron just long enough to give you a probing look where you sat, cross-legged on the bed, “Walk me through everything that happened last night. Step by step.”

His gaze, though brief, was intense, like you were a witness for the defense and he was ready to poke holes in anything less than the full and complete truth. Yet it was harder to be intimidated now that he was wearing your pink and blue plaid Vermont Flannel pajamas, looking very domestic in front of an ironing board. And since you had noticed his pink heart socks that matched the color of his tie.

“What’s the last thing you do remember?”

The flash of memory of your warm lips sprang, unwanted, into the forefront of his mind. He pushed it away, and dug further back. “The McCaskey trial ended. Everyone took the verdict hard.” His lip twitched but he restrained himself from saying aloud that it was all his fault. Nobody needed a pity-party. “Everyone else had their own Friday plans, so I went out to drink alone. Don’t give me that look, I drink alone all the time.”

The look you were giving intensified.

“OK, I see how that sounded worse. I drink moderately. I have never done anything like...” He lifted the iron and used it to gesture to the entire waking-up-drunk-in-a-strange-hotel-room situation. His brow knit as he tried to peer deeper into his memory, but everything grew dream-like from there. “I need to know how this happened.”

“Do you remember singing?” you prompted.

“I sang?”

“We did half the soundtrack of RENT.”

“Dear lord…” In his stunned embarrassment, he stopped moving the iron and nearly burned his pants, jerking the iron up at the last second.

“You have a beautiful voice,” you smirked, suddenly quite enjoying his bewilderment.

“Oh god,” he moaned woefully.

He folded his pants and set them aside on the chair with his jacket, which also needed a bit of care, but would suffice enough for the walk of shame back home. He spread his rumpled dress shirt on the ironing board.

The thin fabric of his undershirt stretched over his chest, so that every movement showed off the working of robust muscles. Its low cut neck revealed a swath of dark chest hair. The overall effect made you fight with your inner voice not to run your hands all over him.

“Anything coming back?” you asked hopefully, but he only glanced up and shrugged. They say music has a profound connection to memory, so you risked singing a few bars. “What’s the time? Well it’s gotta be close to midnight...”

At first he just gave a wry little chuckle, focusing on ironing his shirt. Then his head snapped up, eyes focused far beyond the wall of the hotel room.

“They set up karaoke in my bar?” He set the hot iron aside as his mind worked over this bizarre realization as you nodded your head, confirming it was not some weird dream he had. He covered his shameful face with a large hand, pinching the tension building in the bridge of his nose. His eyes darted down at you between his fingers. “We sang together,” he breathed. He raked his hand slowly down the length of his face. As his palm brushed over his lips, the sensation of yours came back to him again: a supple, giving pressure, your tongue wet and eager and sweet like strawberry. A racing, fluttering in his heart made his breathing hitch. He felt sweaty.

He was just breathing now, staring down at you with such intensity in those leaf-green eyes, the urge to run your hands down his chest returned. But it was more than that. For the first time since you woke up, his eyes were looking at you with something like recognition. You almost glimpsed the friend you’d made, the one whose absence you’d been feeling like a hole in the gut. Then he shook his head, and it was gone.

“Tell me what happened next,” the prosecutor said.

***

The Rafael Barba of this morning was much more like what you’d expect a big-shot city lawyer to be. Now that you had seen him sober it was obvious how drunk he was already before he got up to sing. Everything you told him turned his face and his neck a new shade of red.

By the time you finished the story, he had finished ironing and changed back in to everything but his jacket and tie. He sat down next to you on the bed, his weight sinking into the mattress so you had to resist gravity not to lean into him.

“So we didn’t have sex?”

“No. I could tell you were too drunk to consent. You just fingered me. I probably shouldn’t have let you get in my pants at all, but I… I guess I really wanted to.” You blushed and your head fell, trapped between wanting to savor the delicious memory and ashamed of your conduct.

He groaned, pressing his lips thin into a tense but smug smirk. “Legally? Everything about that statement is wrong. New York law states that someone who becomes drunk voluntarily is not deemed mentally incapacitated to give consent.”

“I know. You’ve said that twice already. What’s legal isn’t always the same as what’s right.”

His bright eyes sparkled when you said that. “Agreed. But irrelevant,” he brushed off your interruption. “For the purposes of determining criminal sexual assault, New York law also does not distinguish between penetration by penis, finger, or foreign objects. In other words—if, hypothetically, New York changed its laws regarding intoxication and consent—I would be guilty of raping you.” He said it in his callous, matter-of-fact voice, then after thinking about the weight behind his conclusion, looked as if his head might explode. His eyes fell across the marks still visible above your collar. “The way you tell it...” he began hesitantly, low and shamed, “It sounds like I’m the one who got drunk and pushed myself on you.”

“No!” you cried immediately, with a force that startled you both, and aggravated your headaches. "You didn’t push. If I said no, you would have stopped… I checked,” you added with a small laugh.

He exhaled in relief. “Really?” he raised a soft brow with a bit more blond in it than his hair.

“Yep. You’re quite the gentleman, even blackout drunk. That’s why I didn’t think you were…” You trailed off.

“Well. It’s good to know there are lines I won’t cross.”

Your hands were folded tightly in your lap. He was hunched over with his chin buried deep in his fist. You opened your mouth to speak, but he spoke first, and you apologized at the same time for talking over each other.

“You first,” he said.

“I just… I’m sorry, Rafael. Mr. Barba? I don’t…” you sighed, and gave him a weary smile. “Last night was a lot of fun. We had fun together. I liked getting to know you. I’m sorry it turned into such a shit show. I should have just gotten your number and said goodnight.”

“I don’t know which one of us to blame,” he said with finality. You looked so helpless and small, the fierce urge to protect you welled in his chest. He hated to think of you carrying guilt over his own stupid mistakes. “I don’t blame you.” He reached an arm behind you to pat your back, but his hand froze, shaking, without making contact. He didn’t know how you’d feel about him touching you.

You leaned into the open space his arm created, turning your head into his shoulder in a side-hug. The primal impulse fighting him for control screamed in victory, taking in the smell of your hair and relishing it. His hand patted your upper back stiffly, three times, like a good soldier obeying conscious, sober, higher-brain Barba. You pulled back and stammered an apology, cheeks darkening.

“Well. Then.” He stood suddenly, swallowing. He bustled about the room collecting his things, touching up his hair, getting ready to leave.

***

You leaned against the wall by the door, waiting to say goodbye, debating and mentally practicing the words you wanted to say. Finally, he stood in the narrow entryway, and you had your chance.

“Hey. Maybe this is too forward, but… do you want to hang out again?” you asked, eyes having trouble deciding whether they wanted to gaze deep into his or avoid him entirely and stare at the ground.

“What could be forward about a date after this?” he shot you a look from under his eyebrows. “The fact that I would remember it?”

Ground. Your eyes made up their mind; you stared doggedly at the ground hoping it might open up and drop you eleven stories to merciful death on the lobby floor.

“It’s nothing personal,” he began buttoning up his jacket, “it’s just… this was a mistake. I do not have time to be frolicking about like a sophomore at a liberal arts school. I let myself get out of control. Whoever you met last night is not who I am.” He tugged the jacket to straighten it for emphasis, though all the while his heart was fighting against the bounds of his rib cage. You looked so downtrodden. Apparently you had a wonderful, magical time singing musical theater karaoke with his drunk alter-ego, and in less than an hour sober he had already made you cry once, and seemed poised to do it again. “You don’t know me,” he sighed. “I know you even less. I doubt you would like me very much.”

“But maybe I would,” you said, finally returning his gaze with fragile determination. “I’d like to at least get to know you sober. To see if this… meant anything. I don’t want to believe this was all a mistake, that everything I felt—that I thought you felt, too—was a lie. I don’t know if you’ll like me, either, but how do you ever get to know anyone if you don't give getting to know them a chance?”

His jaw tightened with the obvious answer that he didn’t. Barba had work, and he had his lonely Scotch at his usual bar (which it now looked like he might have to replace if it was turning into a karaoke dive).

“Aren’t you lonely, Mr. Barba?” you asked, as if reading his mind.

“No,” he said tersely, but then softened his answer, “My work keeps me too busy for relationships. I don’t have the time.”

“Is there no room in your schedule for one date? I’m not asking for a relationship, just… a half hour to do something fun. I feel awful about how bad this was for you. I just want to leave you with something to remember me by… that you’ll actually remember.”

He did have more fun with you than he’d had in years. Even from the handful of scrambled memories that came back to him, he could tell that much—how good it felt to let go and belt out songs he only ever sang in the shower, to have a partner singing back to him, completely in sync with each other. He remembered babbling on about laws, and you patiently listening like it was actually interesting and not obnoxious. As you fidgeted nervously awaiting his answer, you added a coy, “¿Por favor?” and his mind filled in por favor, papi. It brought with it another snippet of memory. A song you were singing, together, your beautiful eyes looking right into his, pleading. “The heart may freeze, or it can burn.”

He grumbled and shifted feet. “I have a lot of prep for my next case, but I should be finished with it by nine,” he said. His tone was so flat and sharp it took you a long moment to realize what he meant. “If you want to… have dinner.”

You beamed ear to ear, pushing off from the wall to bounce on your toes so vibrantly you made yourself nauseous and had to stand still. Then your face fell. “Ah—you mean tonight? I can’t tonight, I’m going to Hamilton with my parents. How about tomorrow? I’m getting dim sum with a friend at Radiance. She’s bringing her girlfriend so I’ll be a total third wheel if I don’t have a date.”

“You want to bring the stranger from your drunken hookup to lunch date with an old friend?” he grimaced. “Won’t that be, I don’t know, awkward?”

“Oh, incredibly. But we can lean into that, for fun, and science!” you grinned dangerously.

“How about breakfast,” he offered. “Coffee?”

“Coffee would be great.”

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tags: @beccabarba  @caked-crusader @itsjustmyfantasyroom@thatesqcrush @dianilaws @permanentlydizzy@eclecticreader2020  @mrsrafaelbarba @da-po 

[worldwidemochiguy]

Milk And Cookies, Part III of the Play Date Trilogy

➵ Jungkook’s sickly sweet ‘love’ tastes rancid on your tongue, as rancid as the lies you have to tell him to satisfy his immature moods. Perhaps, it’s time for another game of tag, but this time, you’re determined to avoid his capture…

➵ Play Date Trilogy Masterlist

➵ Warnings: Yandere Jungkook, Kidnapping, Molestation, Unhealthy thoughts, Hints of Stockholm Syndrome, Drugging

➵ Word Count: 5.2K

➵  Masterlist for all my other fics 

Every day Jungkook left you down there was pure agony. He could barely eat when thinking about you, alone, cold, most likely hungry by now. It’s a lesson, Jungkook told himself sternly, She deserves to be punished for her behaviour. If you don’t do this she’ll never learn.

Still, after four days in your absence Jungkook could no longer restrain himself from checking on you. He rushed into the basement, impatience hurrying his steps now that he had finally given into temptation.

When the light from the doorway fell on your body, pathetically curled as far away from the dead body as physically possible, Jungkook almost cried. The room was filled with the stench of death, the dried pool of blood now sticky, webbed across the ground like mould. 

“…Jungkook?” You croaked, your hesitant voice rasping against your hoarse vocal cords. Jungkook immediately shushed you, rushing to cradle your head in his hands, planting kisses on your squinting eyelids. 

You instinctively flinched away from the light spilling into the basement — burning your retinas after days of complete darkness — but soon you were pressing into Jungkook desperately, shamelessly.

“Please, please, please,” Even in this context, Jungkook burned with satisfaction hearing you so needy for him, “Please take me out of here, Jungkook, please. I can’t stand it, take me with you, please.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay with Jimin?” The only response his probing tone received was a full-body shudder from you, pressing yourself even deeper into his arms — which was now possible due to Jungkook’s swift release of your restraints. You didn’t even notice it, you were so weak with hunger and fear and desperation.

“No, I don’t want to stay with… it, please Jungkook. I want to go with you, please don’t leave me again.”

“Okay, baby.” Jungkook cooed, sweeping you into his arms now that he had fully released you from your restraints. 

You whimpered as he brushed against the raw skin of your wrists, but he ignored it, securing you tightly in his hold. It was so easy to carry you like this, Jungkook thought giddily, you were so weak and needy now that he had given you this lesson. It had been difficult, but it was more than worth it.

As Jungkook left the basement, he lingered with one last smug glance at your detestable former-boyfriend’s body. You were Jungkook’s, and he was determined that you would always need him as much as you do right now. 

You tugged on his shirt, drawing his attention back to you with an amused chuckle.

“Jungkook,” you whined, and he bit back a smile. You were so pretty, all broken and shaking, blood and dried tears crusted on your cheeks. However, you would probably feel more comfortable once you were clean. 

He carried you through the house, refusing to set you down as he moved upstairs to the master ensuite bathroom. Your eyes were screwed shut — so fucking cute — you were probably not used to the level of light after being in the basement for so long. Well, Jungkook didn’t mind carrying you everywhere while you adjusted, or even after that.

He placed you gently on the toilet, cover down as a temporary seat while he filled up the bath, pouring in sweet-smelling bath salts to help you relax. Once the warm water was flowing, he turned to you again. You were staring into the distance vacantly, and you didn’t protest as he began to lift your shirt over your head, undressing you in preparation for the bath.

Jungkook sucked in a breath as your body was slowly revealed to him, bruised and weakened after so long being restrained. He had never seen a more beautiful sight. He had to convince himself not to just carry you straight to the bedroom, but he did allow the indulgence of his straying hands as he lifted you into the now full bath.

He quickly shucked off his own clothes and joined you in the warm water, sliding in behind you and looping his arms around you, tugging you against him until his front was pressed flush against your back. You offered no complaint as he lathered his hands with soap and began washing you, not dissenting even when his hands roamed to your breasts and gave them a firm squeeze.

He let out a quiet groan. You were just so soft and perfect beneath him. He loved you so much. You were relaxed, completely plaint against him and Jungkook could just do whatever he pleased with you. The feeling was intoxicating.

Jungkook kept you in the bath until the water got cold, filling the time by rubbing shampoo diligently into your scalp and then teasing conditioner through the silky strands, planting apologetic kisses on your nape whenever his fingers snagged on a tangle. Once he decided you were fully clean, he stood up, guiding you out of the water and immediately swathing you in a large towel.

Jungkook just couldn’t get over how cute you looked, so delicate and fragile with your wet strands plastered against your face, all warm and tender after your bath. He sat on the lid of the toilet and tugged you onto his lap, humming to himself as he ran a brush through your hair.

You sat there listlessly, watching as the now-murky water rushed away, all the traces of blood and dirt Jungkook washed off you disappearing into the drain, like they never even existed.

Your days were different after that. You no longer woke up to the sound of Jungkook coming down the stairs, but with the feeling of his arms tightly woven around you, and his breath fanning across your forehead. You no longer lived in darkness, but in the bright rooms of Jungkook’s home, and now your home too, he said. 

He never left you alone, not even for a second. He was plastered to your side from the morning, when he would insist you come to the kitchen and sit on the counter while he made breakfast so that you were easily in kissing distance. The two of you finished each day with Jungkook curled around you in bed, softly brushing your hair back from your face and telling you he loved you. 

Eventually, you started to say it back. Started to believe it. With all Jungkook’s protective quirks, the way his attention was always pinned solely on you, and the tenderness with which he treated you, it was hard to believe he didn’t love you. And… he was all you had. 

Thoughts of escape began to drift from your mind like leaves in the autumn wind. But, unexpectedly, you found that spring had returned with a vengeance when you caught another glimpse of your long-forgotten ‘medicine’. 

The sleeping pills Jungkook used to feed you…back when he was holding you hostage…but wasn’t he still holding you a hostage now? You weren’t sure anymore. You hadn’t even touched the front door, let alone checked if it was locked. You knew that if you tried it now, even if it wasn’t locked, Jungkook would be curious as to why you had bothered in the first place. 

If you loved me, you wouldn’t care if it was locked or not, you could picture him saying, Why would you want to go anywhere when I’m right here? Who are you so desperate to see, if not me? In your head, his voice warped into the same bitter, deranged tone he had used when you told him about Jimin.

Jimin. You hadn’t thought about him in a while, you weren’t sure how long. Certainly not since Jungkook murdered him. 

When had you stopped thinking about Jimin? When had you stopped hating Jungkook? When had you become so… complacent? 

Without realising it, your fist had closed around the half-empty bottle, drawing it into you protectively. You didn’t realise most things nowadays, but you started to feel the kindling of a burning passion in your chest, a reigniting of the once burnt-out embers. 

You couldn’t let Jungkook win. You had to fight back, and now that he thought you were finally obedient, it was the perfect time to escape. 

“Jungkook?” Your took care to keep your voice deceptively sweet, fixing a smile to your face as Jungkook’s eyes fluttered open to look down at you, your head resting against his chest. He returned your smile with one of his own. The genuine happiness reflected in his crinkled eyes, and the way his front teeth stuck out endearingly almost made you second guess yourself. 

“Yes, baby?” His voice was thick with sleep, and you tamped down the feelings of affection it brought with it. Since when had you become so… fond of your kidnapper? You forced yourself to continue, thoughts tinged with disgust as you reminded yourself of all that Jungkook had done to you. He deserved this. 

“I… I wanted to make breakfast in bed for us this morning. I-is that okay?” Jungkook visibly softened at your stuttering, a sleepy nod giving you permission to leave. But, when you shifted off the bed and placed your bare feet on the carpeted floor, Jungkook began to get up with you. He pouted, confused as you pressed his chest back down again.

“Breakfast in bed, silly.” You forced giggle, hoping it didn’t sound as strained as it felt, “That means you have to stay here while I make it.”

“But what if you get hurt in the kitchen?” Jungkook questioned, worry colouring his tone, “Baby, you need me there to look after you.” 

You looked down demurely at the sheets, not having to fake a blush, your cheeks colouring of their own volition out of shame. 

“I, uh…” You laughed nervously, “I wanted to serve it to you in bed, like, I’d bring it upstairs and then I could sit on your lap while you fed it to me? I don’t know, it’s probably dumb, you’re right-”

“No, no, that’s, uh-” Jungkook swallowed hard, now fully awake, his eyes wide as they took in your flushed cheeks, nervous posture and bitten lips. He couldn’t believe you were real, you were so perfect for him. “I’d like that. You can do that, you know, if you want to.” 

Jungkook remained ramrod straight, watching you leave the bedroom with a final self-conscious wave. Ever since he had punished you, you had been such a good girl for him. He was so thankful that, even though it was hard on him, he had fulfilled it to the end, because it was clearly the best decision he had ever made. You were his, and you had finally, finally accepted that.

While Jungkook was musing on your perfection upstairs, you were fretting over the amount of pills you should use to drug him. You didn’t want to kill him with an accidental overdose, but you were sure it would take a lot of sleeping pills to knock him out long enough that you had time to escape, and swiftly enough that he wouldn’t be able to do anything before he lost consciousness. 

You peered at the pile of tablets cupped in your hand. Was it even possible to overdose on sleeping pills? You weren’t too sure. You chewed your lip nervously, caught in an unpleasant coil of indecision. 

Maybe you shouldn’t be doing this anyway, a traitorous voice hissed in your ear. Just think of Jungkook. He loves you, more than anyone has ever loved you. More than Jimin loved you. 

“Baby!” 

Jungkook’s voice — raised so that you could hear it from a different floor — startled you. Your wrist tensed up, hand tilting ever so slightly. You watched as if from a mile away as, one by one, the tablets fell off your palm and into the eggs you had been beating. They laid there, suspended in the viscous mixture, incriminating little dots of white. 

“Jungkook?” You yelled back, trying to keep your voice free from hysteria as you frantically crushed the pills with a fork, blending the powder in with the eggs until all that was left was a frothy mixture. 

“Why are you taking so long?” You could hear the pout in his voice from a floor away, making you smile despite yourself.

“I’ll be back soon, I’m just… I want it to be perfect.”

“As long as you make it with love, it will be perfect, baby.” 

“And what if I make it with hate?” You muttered to yourself, dipping the first slice of bread into the tainted concoction, praying that it soaked up enough of the dissolved powder, before slapping it onto the frying pan.

“French toast!” Jungkook exclaimed as you walked back into the bedroom holding a steaming plate, covered with the fried slices. “I could smell it as you were coming up the stairs!”

Jungkook was sitting straight up in the bed. He looked like a child the night before Christmas, right down to the innocent twinkle in his eyes, and it was disturbingly easy for you to giggle at his endearing behaviour, reaching down to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear.

He looked up at you like you were his whole universe, and, not for the first time, you felt a small tinge of guilt.

You brushed it off, sitting down in his lap like you had promised, and his arms curled tightly around your waist just like you had expected. He inhaled deeply, eyes closing in an expression of bliss.

“It smells so good, baby. Thank you.” He punctuated his statement by squeezing you affectionately.

“You think so?” You questioned, faking self-consciousness. This was it, the lead up to the execution of your plan. Jungkook nodded, his face heartbreakingly open, heartbreakingly sincere. 

Soon, his face would be completely blank, relaxed and unguarded. Perhaps then would the demon that prowled underneath his unblemished skin be revealed.

“Try some of it then,” You forced a teasing smile onto your face as you brought up a slice to his lips. He smiled back, tilting his head at you.

“I think since my baby’s worked so hard, she should get the first bite.”

Oh God. He knows. Does he know? How can he know? 

You forced down the alarm with a practised sigh. 

“Jungkook,” You whined, pushing at his chest. “Please, I want to see what you think about it. I’ve never cooked for anyone else before…” 

Jungkook’s eyes widened in amazement. “You’ve never cooked for anyone else before? Ever?”

“No, just you.” You lied, praying he would take the bait. 

He leaned forward and took a mouthful of the poisoned food. He moaned around it, stuffed lips curving up into a smile, a few discarded crumbs falling out of his mouth. 

“It’s good, baby.” He praised your insincere efforts, muffled through the food. 

“Mm, are you sure? I tasted some of it earlier after making it and I think it’s bad…” 

Your face was the epitome of dejection. Just like you expected, Jungkook reached for the plate and began stuffing the slices in his mouth frantically. He was so predictable.

“See, baby?” Crumbs of the tainted breakfast sprayed across the blanket, “It tastes good, see?” His movements seemed to be slowing slightly, though his brain still hadn’t caught up yet, “I love it.”

The plate was empty. Jungkook slumped against the headboard, head tilted back and throat working as he tried to swallow the last dry mouthfuls. You watched as it all went down, into his stomach, into his bloodstream.

“…Baby?” Jungkook’s voice sounded distant. You didn’t reply. “Uh…baby?” His voice sounded slightly panicked now. “Wuh-W-What’s… happening… to me?” 

You remained silent, simply watching as he blinked a few more times, hands twitching like he wanted to grab you, wanted to stop you as you slipped off the bed and away from him. It was odd, watching the effects of the pills. You had only ever experienced them yourself. 

You well understood the nausea he was feeling, the odd filling of his stomach — in his case it was probably exacerbated by the French toast — the way his limbs became heavier, the growing panic that seemed to melt before it could form anything solid. 

You watched it all, forcing yourself to be dispassionate, and the only reaction you let yourself have after he finally fell asleep was a sigh. 

You didn’t let yourself check his pulse. You simply strode out of the bedroom, closing the door behind you as if you were giving Jungkook privacy, as if he had just fallen asleep and you didn’t want anyone to intrude. To be fair to yourself, it was accurate on one account. Jungkook had just fallen asleep. Unless he hadn’t. 

Unless you had killed him with an overdose of chemicals that you didn’t know how to use.

Unless he was just feigning unconsciousness, and was about to come storming down the stairs to punish you for disobeying him, to lock you up again in the basement with the darkness, with the sleeping pills, with Jimin.

You dragged one of the chairs from the dining table upstairs. It was difficult, and took longer than you would’ve liked — your muscles were severely weakened after all that time in captivity. You checked briefly that Jungkook was still unconscious on the bed — he was — and then jammed the back of the chair under the handle on the outside of the door. At least that would delay him for a while.

You choked the little voice inside your head. The one that whispered, soft-spoken and yet harrowingly honest, There’s nothing on this Earth that could stop Jungkook from finding you eventually.

You grabbed as much cash as you could find, not naïve enough to steal a credit card, and left the house. It felt less monumental than it should have done. The sun felt like it had always felt against your skin, and the air smelled only a little stranger. 

You were in a suburban neighbourhood, and it did not take long for you to find a bus stop. It took even less time for a bus to arrive, and only a second’s hesitation before you stepped on.

It felt bizarre, the mere experience of being outside again. You could feel the eyes of the other people on you, looking at your oversized, ill-suiting clothes — Jungkook’s — your flinching figure and sallow complexion. It felt awfully vain to worry about how you appeared to random strangers when you had just escaped from the most traumatic event of your life, but you couldn’t help sniffing yourself subconsciously, just to see if you smelled bad.

You couldn’t smell anything, but perhaps you had gotten used to the scent of death after a week watching Jimin’s corpse decay before your eyes.

When you glimpsed the reassuring blue of the police station, you shot up from your seat. You practically flew off the bus, all the excitement you had expected to feel upon your escape hitting you in one exhilarating rush. You were out, you were safe. Everything was going to be okay. 

There was something so comforting about being asked to sit down in the waiting room, provided with a cookie and a kind smile from the receptionist. 

As soon as you walked into the police station, you had been ushered into a specialised department, They deal with all the abductions and kidnappings, the uniformed officer informed you in a hushed, sympathetic voice. You supposed that’s what you were now. A kidnapped person. A kidnappee? 

“Miss L/n?” A deep voice roused you from your musings and you looked up to see what looked like a supermodel in a police officer’s uniform. 

You felt embarrassment coil unpleasantly in your gut, imagining what you looked like to this Adonis in human form. You swallowed down the mouthful of your reception-administered cookie and desperately hoped no crumbs were left on your lips. 

“Yes?” You answered hoarsely, and he nodded to himself.

“I’m Officer Kim. My partner, Officer Min will be with us shortly. Now, tell me, what did you say your kidnapper’s name was?”

“Uh, it was… Jungkook.” It felt strange to say his name. Everything felt strange now, even your own skin felt artificial under the fluorescent lights of the department. 

Officer Kim had a file clasped in his oddly beautiful hands, but he didn’t open it, preferring instead to study your face intently, as if he was searching for clues.

“And how long has he held you hostage?”

“I don’t know, it’s not like I had access to a calendar down there.” You snapped, and immediately regretted it.

Officer Kim drew back slightly, surprise colouring his expression before it smoothed out into understanding.

“I apologise. That was a foolish question.” You accepted his apology with a grumble, taking another bite of your cookie, allowing the sugary sweetness bursting on your tongue to mellow yourself out.

Another Officer entered the room. You caught a glimpse of his office as the door shut — a desk covered in scattered papers, a phone lying next to the receiver, as if it had been discarded carelessly. You didn’t see any family photos on his desk. The door shut.

“Just got off the phone.” The officer — Officer Min, you recalled — murmured. His voice was quiet, almost relaxing if it wasn’t for the disconcerting lack of emotion. Officer Kim nodded at him, humming in understanding, before they both turned to you again.

They surveyed you almost clinically, like they were looking for the proof of the crime on your skin. You felt almost obligated to announce your innocence. 

“Were you calling my family?” You asked instead. Before, you probably would have thought of Jimin as your emergency contact, but now…

You had a harrowing realisation: You would have to tell Jimin’s mother what happened to him. 

“Yes.” Officer Min replied, “I called someone to collect you. They’re on their way now, they should be here soon.”

“Good.” You said distantly, thinking about the expression on Mrs Parks face when you told her what her son’s last words were. Should you lie? Should you pretend he was brave in his last moments? Or did she deserve to know the truth? Did you deserve to tell her?

You took another bite of your cookie, trying to fill the space in your head currently being overridden with things that made you want to cry in a police station in front of two strangers. You made a small noise of complaint when you realised you had finished your cookie, and Officer Kim — you could tell by the state of his immaculate nail beds — handed you another. 

“-long until he’s here?”

“Oh, only about another five minutes or so.” 

“Good. I don’t enjoy playing babysitter.” You heard as you tuned back into the conversation. You hadn’t realised you had tuned out in the first place. 

“You called… my dad?” You guessed, judging by the use of a male pronoun. As you spoke, your tongue felt oddly swollen in your mouth. Had you somehow developed an allergy to cookies whilst you were trapped in that basement? God, what else was Jungkook going to take away from you? 

A gruff laugh. Officer Min?

“No, sweetheart, not your father. Though you might call him daddy.”

“Ugh, Yoongi,” Officer Kim’s scandalised voice drifted in, “Gross. You’re too old to talk about stuff like that.”

“I’m just about two years older than you.”  

“Yeah but, mentally, you’re- like, fifty.”

Your mind was still caught on a segment of the overheard conversation — something you weren’t meant to hear, they were talking like you weren’t even there, were you really there? — like a record caught on a scratch, retracing the groove over and over.

“You… didn’t call my dad?”

“God, you’re slow.” Officer Kim muttered. 

A cackle. “That’s probably why he likes her so much.”

“…H-He? But… wait. No. Oh, please, no.”

“…And the penny drops!” Officer Min crowed. Officer Kim released a reluctant chuckle as your head swam, vision blackening as you lurched to your feet.

“I…I have to go.” You murmured, stumbling to the door. 

Neither Officer moved to stop you, perhaps they thought it to be pointless with the way your balance kept shifting, barely steady enough to keep on your feet, but they were wrong. You were determined to escape. You had to escape. Your hand curled around the door handle, the cool metal a refreshing hint of freedom, and then-

You stumbled back as the door opened, pushing you away and into someone else’s arms. Officer Min? Officer Kim? Jimin? Was it Jimin, come back from the dead? Were you in hell, and was he there to comfort you?

Your vision blurred dramatically, but not enough to conceal the face of the figure that was coming ever closer. Not enough to hide the eyes, once filled with stars, now tinged with hurt, and betrayal, and so much anger. 

The last sight you saw before you lost consciousness, half-eaten cookie laced with sedatives falling out of your grip, was Jungkook, coming once again to catch you.

A hand was carding through your hair, slowly, reverently, as if each strand was being meticulously counted. You stirred, a flicker causing the shadows casted by your eyelashes to shift along your cheek. The hand paused, then gave your hair a decidedly sharp tug. 

“Ow~” You moaned, your sensitivity to pain making itself known before common sense could muffle it.

“Oh no,” uttered a soft voice, a familiar voice, “did I hurt you, baby?”

“Uh huh,” You mumbled, absently nuzzling against the hand which had now trailed down to cup your cheek.

Even if the way it caressed your skin felt odd, and somehow daunting, it was warm, and it felt like it would support you. You let your neck relax fully as you leaned into the hand, head still fuzzy and muddled from the cookies. The cookies? Maybe you were just feeling the after-effects of a sugar rush. 

“I’m sorry, baby. Truly, I am.” The voice spoke, and it sounded sincere. Troubled. You cooed in sympathy. “I didn’t realise you were still confused, otherwise I would never have made it harder for you like that. You must have been so scared, all on your own like that, lost. You must have felt so guilty. My poor baby.”

“So guilty,” You murmured, knowing it to be true. You could feel the aftershocks of terror and pain still echoing through your body. You couldn’t remember what caused it, but you were sure the voice would tell you soon enough.

“You were very smart to find my friends. They helped me to come and get you, and you were there waiting for me like a good girl.”

“…Friends?” You mumbled. You remembered — a flash of blue. Reassurance. The sweet taste of cookies. They’ll make you feel better, love, trust me, now just go in and take a seat. An Officer will be with you in a moment. 

“Yes, baby, Yoongi and Taehyung, remember them? They gave me a call, to let me know I had to come and get my girl.”

I called someone to collect you. They’re on their way now, they should be here soon.

Officer Min had mentioned a person, but he had never mentioned a name. Come to think of it, how would he have called your parents? Their contact wasn’t on your file, your emergency contact was down as-

Your eyes snapped open, immediately focused on the spot in the corner, underneath the ceiling beam which rattled sometimes in thunderstorms. There was nothing there, except a dark brown stain, persistent enough to withstand a thorough scrubbing. He must have moved Jimin’s body. 

“Baby! Your eyes are open!” 

Jungkook gripped your jaw, forcing your gaze to meet his own. Unlike when you saw him last, frantic and betrayed and angry, this Jungkook looked relieved, and the slightest bit upset. 

“I’ve waited a while for you to wake up.” Jungkook admitted, a sheepish smile directed at the floor, “The stuff they put in those cookies is much stronger that what I normally gave you — I never wanted to risk actually hurting you, of course — so you’ve been out for a few days now.” 

“I… what?” The futility of it all was pressing down on you, barely allowing a word to slip out of your mouth. All that planning, all of that freedom, and you were just… right back where you started. Caught.

Jungkook huffed an impatient sigh.

“The pills you used in the French toast? They’re weak. Very weak. Especially for someone strong like me.” He smirked, flexing his biceps proudly. You noticed his knuckles were blistered, like he had injured them recently. Like he had punched his way through a locked door.

“Baby,” His serious expression had returned, solemn as he placed both hands — matching bruised knuckles — on your shoulders, leaning in to press his forehead against yours. “If you were that upset, you could’ve told me. I don’t think you understand how important you are to me, baby. I’ll do anything for you.” 

He’d kill for you. 

“J-Jungkook,” You sobbed, tears springing from where they had once dried up the moment you watched the love of your life die before your very eyes, “Just- please, if you love me that much… if you want me to be happy, just let me go.” 

Rather than displaying hurt, or anger, he only looked confused, leaning away to tilt his head at you quizzically. 

“Baby,” He started, as if he was explaining something to a child, “Why would I let you go when I know I can give you whatever you need to be happy?”

He continued as your sobs worsened, speaking continuously as if he was in a trance, possessed by passion. 

“All I want is you. All I’ve ever wanted was you, from the first second I saw you I knew you were mine.” 

His hands trailed into your hair again, pushing it away from your face so he could watch you without obstruction as you cried, and cried, and cried.

“I can make you so happy, you just have to let yourself be taken care of, and protected. You were happy with me, I know you were, you just had a little slip. You panicked.” He interrupted himself with a reassuring smile directed at you. With your head in his hands, you had no choice but to look at him, horrified to your core.

“Yes, you were scared, and that’s okay! Love is scary sometimes! But, it did show me that you aren’t ready yet. Don’t worry,” He quickly added as you began to shift restlessly, fear at being punished pumping through your veins.

“I know you will be ready soon! Just not yet. But I’m patient. I can wait.” Jungkook began to draw away from you, drifting back to that staircase that led away from the darkness, but at the same time, only led into another prison entirely. 

Jungkook smiled as he watched you thrash in the seat, desperate to not be left alone. A month should do it, Jungkook decided as he left, pausing at the top of the stairs, adding almost as an afterthought chucked over his shoulder carelessly:

“I’ll see you tomorrow, baby.” 

[vancilocs]

|ʘ‿ʘ)╯

The weather had been miserable all week, perhaps longer - felt like the days melded together when on the road, and you could barely distinguish night from day for how thick the cloud cover was and how heavily laid the foggy dew on the forest floor. He hadn’t avoided rain, either, and discomfort was now a constant rather than an unwelcome visitor, weighing him down further on top of the mournful sky and his own heavy thoughts.

He had hoped to have seen him, come across him by some accident or miracle, deliberately choosing his route to pass through his usual haunts and places he knew he’d like. To no avail. Wherever Goose had gone, Elk didn’t know, and finding him when he didn’t wish to be found seemed like an impossible task under the weary conditions. He was stubborn, Elk knew that, but how stubborn could he be? To what point? It was no time of year to live under the elements, Goose would know that, but how far would he push himself to prove a point he likely didn’t know himself? It was unusual, and it was worrying, as the man Elk had grown to know and love was nothing apart from an easygoing, loving fool - as crude as it sometimes felt to say, a fool was an apt descriptor, something Goose himself had accepted graciously many years past. Yet now it had taken on a more negative flavor.

It had begun in his typical manner, grabby hands digging through sand and cliffside nooks for interesting things, something to keep him busy and engaged while Elk was on his long assignments through the woodland and unable to keep him company. The things he found were harmless - mostly, as there had been a time Elk had returned home to a man picking sea urchin spines off his hand - and mere trinkets in nature. Seashells, dried starfish, shiny rocks that lost their luster when they dried and were demoted to decoration in the small garden he tried cultivating. No wonder a large, intricate, beautiful conch had seized his attention so. Seized all of it, to the point he had picked it over his husband.

And now he was somewhere out there, no doubt still digging through sand and every nook and cranny he could find along the coast, conch on his hip in its pouch, alone. Was he cold? He was probably hungry. Even that thought felt like a piece stuck in Elk’s throat, and he couldn’t even entertain the darker ones of a miserable fate lurking at the edge of his consciousness.

He hadn’t seen Goose in over a week.

He had no idea where he was - and even the last sighting of the man was far away, a glimpse before he had disappeared into the coastline caverns. Elk tended to the hearthfire, kept the house warm and food on the table in anticipation that he’d return before nightfall, but by the third day the anticipation had turned to bitter worry in his mouth and even with the fireplace roaring, he had felt cold. He couldn’t stay in the house, waiting for days on end, he had duties to attend to. It was with a heavy heart he had left, the house remaining still and dark, awaiting his return. Goose had a key, it was his home after all, and all Elk could hope for was that he hadn’t simply moved further and further along the coast, never to return.

But he was returning now, hours after sundown, emerging from the mist of the silent forest to the coast. The gentle lapping of the waves against the rocks felt welcoming, almost, the faint smell of salt refreshing, but into the slight sting of salt another scent scattered into, turning Elk’s attention to the small, yet cozy hut near the edge of the forest. He’d built it with his own hands years ago, made it into a home for himself and his beloved. And now, as quiet and still it sat, a thin strip of smoke rose from the chimney and drifted in the night wind.

Quietly, hopefully, he rose the short stairs to the porch, cracking open the unlocked door, pushing it open as it gave way with only a slight whinge. He was greeted with a silent warmth, only lit by the dying embers in the fireplace. It took a moment to get his eyes used to the darkness.

Crumbs on the table, empty bowl near the washbasin, water ladle left on the barrel’s crooked lid, a cabinet door left ever so slightly open and a stool pushed in front of the counter for a shorter individual to reach for the dried bread. Yet an empty bed, save for a single, worn, once hand-stitched shoulder bag tossed in the middle. Elk stared at it - and felt a cold sting of something nefarious stare back. The man who snuck in as the sun set and ate his first proper meal in over a week surrendered his own bed to a lousy, spiny, sharp seashell, its aura malignant and dominating, making the hairs at Elk’s neck stick up in offense. But the shell wasn’t his priority now.

On the bear fur laid in front of the ever-dimming fireplace was the small form of a man, loosely curled up on his side, salt-crusted and damp cloak wrapped over him, facing the warmth and sound asleep. Carefully, aware of the noise his armor could make, Elk stepped forward and knelt besides Goose. For a moment it didn’t even seem like the man was breathing, so shallow were his breaths and so little was his side rising with every intake, but there he was, alive. Elk removed one vambrace, heavy glove as well, brushing his fingers ever so gently across Goose’s cheekbone. Sharp, sharper than before, and the shadows under his eyes were never so deep even if Goose had always carried with him an aura of perpetual wear, giving him a wily, sinister look.

He reacted to the touch, drawing in a slightly deeper breath, but moved no further, even as Elk took his hand to his hair. Unwashed, unbrushed, knotted at the neck. The salt had clung to Goose deeper than just on the edges of his cloak and his boots, now the wear of the road had brought up wide swaths of silver on his temples which made him look even more worn and aged. Grey was nothing new to Elk, either - they had joked about it in the earlier years, how the constant worry had brought on the salt in his hair - but it was new on Goose, and the sheer speed at which it had gathered worried Elk even more.

He got on his feet, carefully, moving to the opposite side of the hut to remove his armor to avoid waking Goose - knowing him, a good night’s sleep had been scarce recently, and he didn’t want him to awake for no reason. With his armor removed, he slipped into clean, comfortable home clothes, placed a few more logs into the fireplace to keep it going through the night and turned to the ominous baggage on the bed.

“Listen here”, he almost hissed through clenched teeth. “I don’t like you, and you don’t like me. But you’re in my house, and will abide by my rules.”

It felt stupid to talk so to an inanimate object, but he had long known there was something more to the seashell, something alive and sinister. No more words spared, he grabbed the bag’s handle, slowly lifting the shell off the bedding and moving it across the room to the dinner table, placing it so it was deliberately as much covered as possible. The conch didn’t like him touching it, much less handling it so, but Elk wished he had avoided whatever wrath it could incur by not technically directly touching it. At least for tonight.

And then he carefully walked to the bear rug and as gently as possible slipped his hands under Goose’s sleeping self, lifting him off the hard floor and into his arms. Gods, he was light - he was too light, he had always been diminutive in stature but Elk’s guesses of him not being able to eat properly must have been right. He felt fragile in Elk’s arms, cold and weak, mumbling something in protest but not opening his eyes. It was like returning a fallen baby bird back into its nest, almost, as Elk placed Goose into their bed, carefully pulled a blanket over his body and himself laid down next to him, taking the man into an embrace as if to warm him up with his own body heat. Held tightly against him Goose felt even bonier, his elbows sticking into Elk’s ribs, his hands cold against his but still Elk felt a feel of relief wash over him - Goose was home, at least, he was home and he was warm and he was fed, and without argument or cold shoulder. All Elk could do now was hold him close for as long as he could, was allowed to.

“Hun”, he heard a quiet mumble.

“Shh”, said Elk back. “Just rest. Just rest, beloved.” Goose didn’t struggle in his hold but turned his head ever so slightly, eye open just enough for Elk to see a dim glint of gold. “Where’s the-” Goose began.

“On the table. Nevermind it. Rest.”

And he did. Not leaning into Elk’s embrace but accepting it, falling back into a restless sleep.

And as the morning rose, so did Elk, alone. The fire was fed, half a loaf of bread was missing, and the table empty. Whenever Goose had left, he had done so without a word, with his personal devil firmly by his side and no doubt guiding him to a purpose Elk couldn’t allow.

How far would this go?

[awhilesince]

Monday, 2 August 1830 (travel journals)

5 25/..

11 1/4

ready in 3 /4 hour – saw them all off at 6 20/.. – then went to the barracks near an hour there 88 in 1 stable 28 young in another – fed every 2 hours – ordinary allowance per day 8 lbs. [pounds] avoine 12 fourrage 15 straw (paille) besides sonde (mashes)? at noon – 1 very strong large norman (gray) 3000/. others 1500/. to 2000/. price – all stalons – some as colts bought at 400/. from 15 to 50 mares allowed them per annum – several crosses between this Country breed and barbes – some English horses – the man said they got thicker in the neck by the climate 8 of the horses aux caux – some sent every year – one a very fine gray sent because he coughed a little and they were afraid of his wind – some Turkish horses some de Limoges and some Norman, and some pure breed of the Pyrennees Gray or dark bay pretty little clean legged animals 1 man to 4 horses – all apparently very gentle all done by kindness – the manège not so fine as I expected –

drizzling rain from 6 25/.. – thick no view – back at 7 1/2 wished to be off in an hour – no horses till 2 – breakfast – went to my banker – all business at a stand – choice whether to take 25/. or not – yes! for £50 circular –

appalling news from Paris paid the bill here for us all – always give 6/. to the servants find Jean gives 2/50 more for the servants – so it seems we give altogether 8/50.! Sat writing journal and to my aunt till 2 –

off at 2 6/.. – Tarbes really a nice little town – 3 churches – the cathedral a small poorish concern, nor much of transepts near side aisles at all – the church I was in this morning (St. Anne’s) a poor little place, but almost as good as the cathedral – the steeple that seems to have belonged to a tolerably good church is merely part of what is left and now filled with forage for the cavallery – neat barracks (saw them this morning) built for them very lately – I have been more comfortable at Tarbes than anywhere – have nowhere had so good a room –

drizzling rain Till from 6 25/.. to after 12 – then began to clear a little and on leaving Tarbes fair and streets dry and atmosphere clear enough to leave the mountains pretty distinct – quite a farce to compare them with the alps – Tarbes seems placed at the foot of a wide Extended circular gently rising rich fertile plain stretching out obliquely on the right into a sort of isthmus or neck

the high pyrennees sweeping about 1/5 of the circle left Towards the front – and below them a low range of hill extending all round to the neck closed in by a low range quite in the distance the low range in front covered with wood – the other parts yellow with corn stubble (harvest everywhere since before Bordeaux got in) or ploughed land; or wooded or green under vine cultivation – the lands here seem no where more than 4 feet English at most – look like filons, threads – great deal of bled de Turquie – just out of Tarbes pass thro’ orchards of peach trees oppressed with vines –

Fahrenheit 74° at 2 40/.. and quite cool and pleasant – the dust just agreeably laid – the church of Ibos high squary mass (left) a fine object – 1 small tower – the houses of the town not seen till one mounts the hill – and seems a large one had been taken down as low as the roof of the nave –

at 2 began to feel a little indigestion pain and now at 2 3/4 feel it more was it the mutton last night – I never by any chance touch meat without feeling it, and have it not when I stick to my vegetables! –

as we reach the wooded range of hill 3 traverses up it, get out – walk to the top of the hill and 1/2 way over the ridge in 20 minutes and got a good heating in spite of the fine cool hair for the man urged his horses up as fast as he could without stopping and it was hardish work to get much before him –

mountain side wooded chesnuts – near the top heather – top brackens which completely subdue the heather and merely a bit here and there to be seen thro’ it – a few black sheep (hill and heather always make good mutton) and a few horses, i.e. mares and foals – a little scattered generally straw thatched? village – small enclosures – hedges full of thorn and sloe and wild roses hedge row trees – chiefly oak – a few chesnuts gravelled road – fine oaks each side the road and straw thatched and some blue slated neat farm houses here and there vines, a few peaches and much maize –

picturesque straw thatched cottages – women with their red capulets bound with black spinning with a distaff under their arm and the bobbin Twirling against their aprons – beautifully green pastures – fine chesnut Timber as well as oak, hiding the picturesque cottages –

how I enjoy this – I might be – could fancy myself in England save for the capulets, and odd little low narrow waggons and bells and clumsy gear of my 3 abreast carriage horses –

another village – fête here too and dancing to a fiddle and clarionet – peaches and nectarines in the hedges – have no where seen hedge cut and laid – always or buckheaded rather short or clipped – great many pollard oaks, particularly in hedge rows – these pollard oaks form capital hedges for shelter – wherever not cultivated the top of this ridge covered with bracken, and right look up pretty little valley – mountain-top valley evidently small green enclosures by hedges –

road mended with pretty well broken boulder of mountain (primitive?) limestone – dark coloured, veined with quartz? have only seen one patch of oats – standing and another in swathe nothing but maize and a few potatoes –

at 3 55/.. neat white washed hotel des voyageurs a few little accacias and platannes round it and shearing (a man and woman) a good plot of oats – a man and woman courting by the roadside he putting his hand into her right pocket hole and another pair walk amorously set me wrong between three and four which ended in incurring cross about four

about 1/4 hour on the top of the hill and at 1 1/4 very fine view descend into the beautifully wooded rich charming vale of Pau? sprinkled in all directions with towns villages and pretty thatched white washed cottages and farms – water would make it lovely quite – ‘route bordée et ombragée de bois touffus (pollard oaks) – de chênes and châtaigniers all along – the at 1st thro’ a forest and very beautiful Itineraire Midi page 70 says ‘ou est Toujours dans les riches et fertiles plaines de Tarbes’ – these ‘bois touffus’ pollard oaks are really beautifully and thickly umbrageous – should not have dreamt they could look so well – pollard from a thick trunk perhaps 10 feet high from the ground – small enclosures – pretty low hedges – small dun cows picturesque straw thatched or blue slated white washed cottages – charming (very small dun oxen dragged the little waggons and carts on the Top, the plateaus of the hill – pigs lying and feeding under the oaks –

at 4 29/.. good post house in the very picturesque scattered one long street (trees and gardens between the neat houses) village of Les Bordes-d’Expoey red-dun cows with bells and regular dun mare with one young mule and a brown mare with ditto – green champs Elysée of oaks at this end of the village under which herds pigs lying and feeding – Lombardy poplars – Charming the women here with white bound with black capulets and black aprons and spinning as they walk – lock under the left arm and spinning with left hand and twirling the spindle with right hand – said George 10 sols de payé – oui – said the postillion ce quelque chosée pagata –

off in 8 minutes – all the walling done with boulder stones in a cement chiefly blue slated cottages – vines creeping high in the trees – wood côteau – low line of hills right – higher range wooded at bottom heather at top (right) – groves, as it were of pollard oaks – why pollard? postillion from here whip slung round his shoulder with a large worsted tassel as the german postillions sling their bugle horn – the men wear Ayrshire caps – white with red tassel at the top – or one postillion as have observed before wellington blue without tassel –

I enjoy today’s drive exceedingly –

Long straight road before me from Bordes d’Expoey the hedge row trees generally pollard oaks forming sort of avenue all along – all the women spinning but have only once seen some women heckling short line – woman astride white black bound capulet and white handkerchief and blue coarse linen? small white spotted gown with her long petticoats covering even her toes – I think she had her knees much stuck forming a hump on each side not ungraceful under the petticoat and certainly not looking masculine –

so many people afloat on the road near all the villages must be a general fête? – quite in the basses Pyrenées now – left the high pyrennees on descending the hill into the beautiful valley of Bordes d’Expouey or does mist hide everything (left)? at a little distance (right) a low nicely wooded fertile range which wheels round towards the front of me but soon wears itself out –

a great many of the country waggons on the road – most of them drawn by 2 little dun oxen and 2 little horses wrapped up in linen sheets white first the leaders – the road all along quite gay and in places thronged with waggons and people –

the women that ride have their petticoat slit open fore and aft I see and thus it so covers gracefully will covers the whole leg and foot – get prints of all this and the waggons at Pau – pass malle poste at 5 3/4 – strange to find common sense only among the Pyrennees – where else do the women ride astride! where else do they not torture their horses and themselves by a position equally dangerous to the one leg unnatural and uncomfortable to both? –

at 5 3/4 a little drizzling rain begins – Fahrenheit still 73° – all alive in Pau a fair or fête or what? a fair? enter by long small boulder stone paved street (paved or boulder-stoned as at Tarbes) – desperate to walk on in thin shoes – a sort of gateway (2 posts) spacious street – of splashed dirty white good 3 story houses – full of people carts and business –

at Hotel de France Pau at 6 – heard all the news from Lady Stuart – dinner wrote to my aunt not directed at 7 1/2 – came to my room at 10 20/.. – Fahrenheit 74° at 11

left margin:

Fahrenheit 73° at 4 1/4 p.m.

reference number: SH:7/ML/TR/5/0027 - 0031

[memorylang]

12 Months’ Pandemic Chronicled | #51 | March 2021

Happy Palm Sunday yesterday, and Happy Passover from the night before! Right under two weeks ago, March 16, 2O2I, marked the one-year anniversary to the close of my first Peace Corps Mongolia service. While I’ve continued to serve virtually, I’ve done so informally as a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer. Having lived these past 12 months back in the States, today’s tales chronicle that year. 

Also commemorating the one-year anniversary, I’ve uploaded dozens of photos from my first nine months serving Mongolia. You can find those on my Instagram and Facebook, from February and March. I begin today’s stories with those. From there, I chronicle my journey across the year. 

Evacuating Mongolia (February 2O2O)

February’s final week, on Ash Wednesday 2O2O, I was in Mongolia celebrating the third day of Tsagaan Sar, its Lunar New Year. Returning to my apartment from my last supper, I read an email from Peace Corps Mongolia that we were evacuating. I pulled an all-nighter packing my apartment. Shortly after sunrise, I visited a Peace Corps neighbor’s apartment to pack theirs. Then in my final two days, I said hasty goodbyes to community members, exchanging parting gifts. 

Sunday morning, which began Peace Corps Week and March 2O2O, I and fellow Volunteers loaded into Peace Corps vehicles and rode in our caravan till evening. Then the snowstorm caused us to need to stay overnight in a hotel coincidentally located in a city that my cohort would frequent during our summer 2OI9 for training. My evacuation group reached Mongolia’s capital Monday afternoon, with briefings from staff throughout Tuesday. Mongolia had already begun to enforce mask-wearing and physical-distancing, so we couldn’t do much with our final hours in Mongolia. Indeed, since mid-January, many public places had already closed due to quarantine. 

Wednesday night, the week after my peers and I had received notice of our evacuation and now mere hours before my group would depart the country, we awaited the arrival of fellow Peace Corps peers to the capital. For, Peace Corps staff staggered our arrivals into and departures from the capital to account for both the time drivers would need to assemble us from across the nation and the limited flight options still going out of the country. Those of us who remained awake through our final night enjoyed getting to see and embrace peers for our final moments together. 

Over the course of Thursday, March 5, my group flew first from Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia, through Moscow, Russia, to Berlin, Germany. Many of our itineraries diverged. From Germany, I and a few flew to Amsterdam, the Netherlands. From the Netherlands, I and a couple others flew to New York, New York. I slept four and a half hours’ in a hotel. Then I flew alone Friday from New York to Las Vegas, Nevada. I returned to my home of junior high and high school in North Las Vegas. 

American Twilight Zone (March 2O2O)

My first few weeks in the States felt weird, not just because of reverse culture shock. Back in Mongolia, fellow Peace Corps Volunteers, particularly Health Volunteers, had followed American media and read that our presidential administration had been downplaying the COVID-19 pandemic. Problematically, too, when leaders acknowledged it, some labeled it the “China virus” and accused Asians of spreading it. These set the tone. 

When I arrived in New York, I felt perturbed by the lack of mask-wearing and physical distancing. The morning when I’d fly out, I felt annoyed when the worker who checked me into my flight joked that I might have the virus since I’d flown in from Mongolia. Mongolia had no COVID cases—and wouldn’t have its first community transmission till November 11, 2O2O. Friends, too, when I said that I’d come back, distrusted that I couldn’t have the virus. So, although Peace Corps peers and I had already been quarantining nearly a month and a half before returning to the States—and very much craved to reconnect with folks—we found ourselves again isolated. 

Then Vegas felt weird. Nevada had reported its first COVID case the day before I returned, yet Mongolia hadn’t any. Yet Mongolia had shut down, and Nevada hadn’t. Society moved as though little was happening. My brothers still had school and were gone most of most days. Dad worked weekdays out-of-town. Thus, while I lived again in the States, even inside my family’s home, I was the only one around. I felt lonelier than how’d I’d felt before leaving my life abroad. 

The Filipina family of my father’s fiancée was perhaps the most understanding of my circumstances. The oldest daughter was celebrating her birthday that first Sunday, March 8, since my return to the States. So, I got to join them in enjoying the occasion. As I’d come to learn, Mongolia and the Philippines had more cultural similarities than I’d expected. I’d also feel dismayed to learn that people weren’t treating the youngest daughter kindly in her food service role, for some customers believed that her being Asian meant that she had the Coronavirus. 

Resettling Into Lent (March 2O2O)

Most every morning, my first few days and weeks, tracks from Disney's “Frozen II” became my anthems. I’d seen the film that Friday, March 6, when I’d flown alone back to Vegas. I’d connected especially with “Show Yourself,” “Some Things Never Change” and “The Next Right Thing.” I started to learn the lyrics not only in English but also in Mandarin Chinese and Spanish. 

My local church was still open. Meanwhile, in Mongolia, our church had been closed for nearly months. So, I attended services daily. I overheard old parishioners wondering what all this pandemic talk was about. I visited Reconciliation and a Stations of the Cross service. I applied to sing in the choir with which my late mom sang. 

My second week in the States, church and schools closed. Meanwhile, Peace Corps announced its global evacuation. My peers and I weren’t to expect to return to Mongolia this summer and instead were to expect that fall would be the soonest. My youngest brother’s hs senior spring ended abruptly, so he stuck around at the house. Our oldest brother left to quarantine with his girlfriend and her sisters. 

I cleaned much in and around the house. My greatest achievement early in the pandemic was to lead a garage clean-up with all siblings when my sisters visited. The task enabled us to at last park a vehicle in it once more. My siblings and I donated, too, decades of belongings. 

Among the unearthing, I dove deep into family history. I wrote up my understanding of my father's and my late mother's ancestries, which were also mine. Months later, I'd join WikiTree, talk to distant relatives and migrate large swathes of history onto the platform. 

Easter in Action (April–May 2O2O)

Gloom seemed to enshroud the world by Easter. I saw from the telly the Vatican's Lenten services, witnessing Pope Francis’ words from his city to the world and for Holy Week. His Good Friday Way of the Cross felt especially moving, for prisoners had written beautiful reflections that made me realize how little of a prison our quarantine was. 

My younger sister in LA had also returned to visit Vegas. I resumed daily exercise routines, including trying to concurrently complete handheld video games and walk miles on the treadmill. This began my May push to make the most of my days back in America. I kicked up a daily Duolingo habit, rising through leagues, and talked regularly with Mongols during early mornings. Such helped my sanity, especially when state offices gave me a hard time trying to get the unemployment assistance to which lawmakers entitled evacuated Returned Peace Corps Volunteers.  

Around Memorial Day, an uncle and aunt visited from Kansas to celebrate my youngest brother’s high school graduation online. The relatives also took my siblings, a family friend and me on my first national parks trip in years. We saw Saguaro, Great Basin and Capitol Reef. During the trip I’d grown my Goodreads library and soon enough uncovered the Libby app. The journey led me too to begin a pensive look back on my life. 

Summer in Reno (June–July 2O2O)

Dad remarried on June 6, 2020. Shortly thereafter, I relocated to Reno to help Pa and Stepma (“Tita”) handle copious amounts of yard work. With more time to reflect, I took up the request of a homebound friend to pray rosaries daily over the phone with him. 

Another friend of mine was going through a dark patch too but had a love of films. So each morning I’d rise early to see one of his recommendations then discuss it while working the yard if I wasn’t praying a rosary. I fondly recall the conversations while trimming plants, as I wander the Reno backyard even now. 

Near the same time, the friend and another encouraged me to tell my stories. So I began to write a memoir, on which he’d give feedback. The other friend had me appear on his podcast. Both experiences made the summer feel very whole. In memory of my first summer in Mongolia 2OI9, I also wrote a more detailed series on those experiences. [Arrival (June 2OI9), Meeting Host Family (July 2OI9), Summer’s End (August 2OI9)]

I celebrated my 23rd birthday in Vegas with an overnight vigil, praying 23 rosaries alone and with Catholic friends from around the globe. I felt such joy to reconnect meaningfully with so many across languages and cultures. Languages became a growing theme for me. I’d also begun again playing Pokémon GO after having not played since 2OI6. 

That summer, I finished seeing “Star Wars: The Clone Wars” (Season 7) as well as relevant bits from “Star Wars: Rebels.” I kept up with the Japanese episodes of “Pokémon Journeys: The Series.” Those, I’ve watched with English subtitles to know what’s happening. I’d also begun to read chapters of the Bible daily, at that time checking in weekly with an ol' friend. I started with Acts then Proverbs, Ephesians then Psalms. Meanwhile came Hebrews and John. Then were Ruth and Matthew. Now I read 1 Kings and Mark. I’d grown to appreciate both the Hebrew and Christian Bibles with renewed interest. 

Autumn Languages (August–September 2O2O)

Much of that fall, I was back in Reno. Yet, my younger brother had also come to Reno for his undergraduate fall semester. The guest room where I’d stayed quickly became his room, which left me a tad displaced. Still, I stuck through. Mornings, I rose early to read through a Latin textbook before daily conversations with a close friend who’d majored in classics as an undergrad.

Meanwhile, I’d stepped up to arrange meetings with Congressional lawmakers on behalf of the National Peace Corps Association. I’d also taken on roles within my alma mater Honors College and within the Social Justice Task Force for the American Psychological Association’s Society for the Psychology of Religion and Spirituality. I kept people organized and took notes during meetings. Meanwhile, my siblings and I had been starting a scholarship foundation, so I’d taken point on negotiating a partnership with the Vegas-based Public Education Foundation. 

As a nice break, I joined friends I’d met in high school on their near-monthly trips to national and state parks. These sights included Lassen Volcanic, Burney Falls and Tahoe’s Emerald Bay. Realizing that I wouldn’t return to Mongolia that fall, I booked a Department of Motor Vehicles appointment to renew my learner’s permit—The earliest appointment would be in December. 

In entertainment news, I’d finished seeing “Queer Eye: We’re in Japan,” “Love on the Spectrum” and “Midnight Gospel.” I’d also started playing “Pokémon Masters EX” when I’d heard that it included characters from multiple generations. I enjoyed how the stories felt new yet nostalgic. 

National Park Winter (October, November, December 2O2O)

October was a great month for my spiritual life. I got to attend my youngest sister’s Confirmation. I enjoyed my first retreat in years. I also got to tape videos for my alma mater. 

Then I returned to Vegas some weeks to complete more yard work. I’d also relocated belongings in different rooms and was able to have my own bedroom back in Vegas. This gave me a decent space in which to work. From November, I’ve also been hosting weekly video calls to help Mongols from my community abroad continue to practice English. 

I’d also listened to Riordan audiobooks, “Blood of Olympus” and “Hidden Oracle,” and various authors’ financial literacy materials. By December, “Kafka on the Shore” was a real highlight. In Reno, I saw too “The Mandalorian” (Seasons 1–2), emphatically recommended by a friend with whom I’d hiked at Red Rock Canyon. My other friends and I reunited to try again at Crater Lake and succeeded. 

My siblings and I partnered with the Vegas-based Public Education Foundation to launch our family LinYL Foundation to honor our late mother with scholarships for students. Though my formal role’s within outreach, I’ve done a fair bit of organizational leadership given my undergrad experiences. I’ve also been helping another non-profit start-up. Through it, I’ve gotten to meet alumni of overseas programs. 

My family celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas in Vegas with our stepsisters. I’d also celebrated American Independence Day with them. Christmas felt peculiar, as I’d returned from Mongolia to Vegas the Christmas before, too! 

Then my national parks friends and I hit a new record, seeing Walnut Canyon, Petrified Forest, Meteor Crater, Sedona’s Devil’s Bridge and the Grand Canyon. Having successfully renewed my learner’s permit, I scheduled my driving test for the earliest date—February. I returned to Reno and at New Year’s reunited with friends for whom I’d participated in their wedding the year before. 

Road to Rejuvenation (January–February 2O2I)

Following the U.S. elections came the presidential inauguration. I felt more at peace with the state of the nation after that. Though U.S. politics have absorbed media significantly throughout the pandemic, I felt relieved by the calls for unity and returns to political normalcy from Inauguration Day. 

Meanwhile, I sought to kick off 2O2I strong, with renewed optimism and control. I practiced driving almost daily. I’d seen “Daredevil” (Season 3) too and progressed in the Blue Lions story of my younger sister’s “Fire Emblem: Three Houses” copy. At February’s start, after years of challenges, I secured my driver’s license. 

Mid-February, my national parks friends and I saw Utah’s Mighty Five. Our trip spanned Canyonlands, Arches, Capitol Reef (different section), Escalante, Bryce Canyon and Zion. I got to help drive at the end from Vegas to Reno, a major milestone. 

Thanks to Discord, I attended a virtual alumni reunion of my high school alma mater. I experienced our school's recreation in “Minecraft: Java Edition,” wandering into the classroom where I used to play “Minecraft” as a freshman. In “RuneScape,” after 12 years on-off, I’d achieved level 99 in all but the newest skill. I'd even gotten the characters I wanted in “Pokémon Masters EX” and nearly finished my Kanto Pokédex in “Pokémon GO.” (I've never before completed a Pokédex.) 

I finished February recording music for my undergrad parish’s online edition to our annual performance for “Living Stations of the Cross.” I got to lector at and attend a friend’s baptism. I’d also soaked up my youngest sister’s boyfriend’s Disney+ again and saw “WandaVision” entirely. Its takes on grief and joy astounded. 

Social Justice (March 2O2I)

These bring me to where and how I am today. I write from Reno, Nev., where snow had fallen and the weather grown warmer. Spring is here. 

The announcement of increasing vaccines gave me lots of hope. Since I've lost so many people this past year to COVID-19 and other conditions I'm grateful that we may near the end. An email from and a check-in call with Peace Corps confirmed that summer would be the soonest I’m going back abroad. Still, I’ve kept in touch with my people in Mongolia. 

My older brother and his girlfriend moved into the Vegas house, so I haven’t felt as obligated to be there. Thus, I’ve focused more time on the church in Reno. 

A great fount of a spiritual joy for me has been getting to help lector for my college parish’s weekly Proclamations of the Word. I received particular acclaim for my reading from 2 Chronicles, for Lent’s Fourth Sunday, which delighted me. At the time I’d been reading 1 Kings, so I’d enjoyed recognizing parallels. In some ways the exercises are like a miniature college course. Beyond regular Sundays and Holy Week, I’d also lectored for such feast days as St. Joseph’s Day (March 19) and the Annunciation (March 25). 

My siblings’ and my family foundation chose our first year of recipients. It’s been an exciting process, reading and witnessing our inspiring candidates. I hope that I'll get to meet these students someday, but ah, the pandemic. 

I’ve gotten back into “Frozen II,” thanks to its authentic behind-the-scenes docuseries. I've also passed the one-year anniversary of my first seeing the film. Each morning I’ve sought to see something on Disney's platform—real' nice. 

Our psychological division’s presidential task force for Social Justice released our statement about the Capitol riots, which received strong critics but stronger supporters. Then came the Atlanta situation. 

In my U.S. Week 5I (Feb. 19–25), during a walk past the nearby elementary school, I’d had an unpleasant personal experience that led me to feel very grateful when the #StopAsianHate campaign began. I’ll likely share more later, but today’s blog story is about done. 

Hope and Easter 2O2I (April 2O2I)

At the last Adoration activity before Easter, our parish offered Reconciliation, so I returned again. Absolution offers such sweet cleansing for my mind and soul. Now Holy Week begins. I'm still lectoring, too! 

This summer, I hope to write more on my memoir. I’m still revising my research. I'm set to finish all five tiers of Duolingo Latin tomorrow. Then I'll get back to my textbook. 

I still delight in chatting with ol’ friends. My national parks homies and I will hit Redwood next weekend. Then my parish has Spring Retreat. I look forward to getting vaccinated in coming months then hugging folks forevermore. 

You can read more from me here at DanielLang.me :)

[wanderingworldwarrior]

Of Twisted Emotions - Chapter Twenty-Six: The White Witch and the Golden Sorcerer

The fates smile upon them, Sigrid is sure of it. The day has finally arrived and there’s not a cloud in the sky. She had fretted over nothing, just as Asmund had told her.

 She smiles at the thought and turns to look at the man in question, and he gazes back at her with an expression so familiar it threatens to bring tears to her eyes.

 Sigrid is undeniably stunning in her dress and bridal crown. There are strands of white flowers and golden ribbons woven through her dark locks. She’s swathed in fabrics of gold, her jewelry matching. It had cost them a fair amount of coin to have the dress made, but all those who are present find it worth it.

 Asmund looks dapper in his ornate wedding attire, as close to regal as he’ll ever be. He has forgone his sorcerer’s robes for the occasion, which is admittedly unorthodox for a master sorcerer. All ceremonies are carried out in their guild’s attire, as representation of their dedication. But the way he sees it, he’s marrying this woman – the love of his life – as Asmund, not Master Asmund. If the guild wishes to have words with him on the matter, so be it.

 But not today.

 The wedding party is gathered in a small courtyard just outside of Brenna’s home. Sigrid and Asmund’s new house will be across the city, closer to the sorcerer’s guild. Master Hammond had helped them procure it, and while it is not a large house, Asmund knows they’ll have no trouble making it feel like home.

 There’s a tree within the center of the courtyard, its leaves a beautiful green. This is where the attendees have gathered. This is where Asmund and Sigrid are to be wed.

 It is a Friday, as is customary. With their friends and family so few, the gathered group has no trouble finding room to sit or stand. Golden bubbles of magical origin float through the air, and calla lilies bloom around the courtyard where none had grown days before.

 From underneath the tree, Sigrid and Asmund look from one another and briefly scan the small crowd.

 There is Brenna, smiling broadly with tears in her eyes. Also present are a number of their old friends and fellow servants of the palace, as well as a few members of the sorcerer’s guild. Lady Freydis has shown face to support Sigrid, although the duchess looks around the courtyard with poorly concealed distaste.

 The ceremony begins, slightly different from Asgard’s norm, as each is missing important family members of such a union.

 They quote ceremonial texts and ask blessings of the fates. The crowd bears witness to their vows and turns to Brenna when it is her turn to give her approval of the union. Her words are solid and sure, her eyes clear of the confused haze that once plagued her. After years of helpless confusion, at last she is living in the present, and she is happy.

 When Brenna falls silent there is no one else to continue this part of the ceremony. The lack of other family members to bless the marriage does not seem to bother the couple, who both beam happily at Asmund’s mother.

 Asmund does not skip a beat as he moves on to the next ceremonial tradition. He draws a sword from the scabbard belted around his waist, eyes back on Sigrid.

 “I present to you the sword of the family Brennason,” Asmund claims. He flashes the blade towards the crowd – an old silver sword, ornate but dull, with metal spirals and filigree covering its handle. Runes are etched down the blade of the sword; ones of prosperity and luck. “It is to be a symbol of our union, and the joining of our families.”

 He gives the sword to Sigrid, who holds it in one hand, its tip dipping close to the ground. Asmund speaks once more. “It is to show that I swear to protect you. To love you. To cut a path through this life together, until we reach the end of our days. And then ever on, come what may.” He gazes at her while he speaks, and as she sniffles, he says, “You have the strongest will of anyone I’ve ever met. Talented, strong, and beautiful. Oh, so beautiful, Sigrid. I am honored to take you as my wife.”

 Sigrid’s truly crying, although her smile is the biggest and brightest thing Asmund thinks he’s ever seen. It warms his heart like nothing else ever could.

 Sigrid takes a moment to compose herself and then meets Asmund’s gaze. “I’ve no family sword,” she tells him. “The only blade I own is this.” She draws a dagger from the sheath attached to her dress belt. When she holds it up, it is clear that this is the dagger you made for her, so long ago. “Will it suffice?”

 “Of course,” Asmund says.

 “Then I present it to you,” Sigrid tells him, “in good faith, as a symbol of our union.”

 Asmund takes the dagger. It is a blade of darkness. It saved Sigrid’s life, and it was left unburnt in the flames of Asgard.

 He knows what it means to her.

 “Asmund, you are truly the love of my life.” Sigrid’s cheeks are flushed, although she does not waver in her words. “I admire you. From your wit and intellect to your adorable admiration for all things magical. You cared for me when no one else did. I was not an invisible servant girl in your eyes. I am proud to name you not only my friend, but my husband.”

 Asmund’s grin is one unburdened, all else set aside and forgotten.

 As they exchange golden rings, thoughts flash between their minds, images and feelings that come unbidden.

 Memories.

 Talking and cleaning together in the kitchens. Asmund’s boyish smile and Sigrid’s flushed face. The pair sitting across from one another in the gardens right before their first kiss.

 Embroidering a handkerchief with Asmund’s name. Working side by side in Brenna’s shop. Learning magic and practicing enchantments.

 Tearful hugs and feelings of safety.

 Through it all – through war, blood, and death – they’ve kept faith in one another.

 And ever on, Asmund repeats in Sigrid’s mind.

 As the party breaks to adjourn to the wedding feast, Sigrid and Asmund both cast their gazes around the courtyard a final time. They search the darkened alleyways and peer into the shadows.

 Congrats, kiddos, your voice whispers through their thoughts. I’m really happy for you both.

  Sigrid smiles and Asmund takes her hand. They never doubted you, even if they would not have begrudged your absence. They’re well aware you are not supposed to be in the city.

 Asmund and Sigrid never do spot you in your place on a nearby rooftop.

 It’s as Willow always says: No one ever looks up.

 ---

 You’re aware you’re risking everything by coming to the wedding, but even so, you had always intended on attending. Your unstable portals were the only thing that made you hesitate, but your power had been functional enough to get you to the outskirts of the city.

 You stand and gaze over the empty courtyard. A few of the golden bubbles have floated up to your level, and they pop one by one as the magic dissipates.

 You wonder if Heimdall has alerted Odin of your presence in the city. You have no doubt he knows you’re here, although you hope the Watcher will spare you on this one occasion. You’ve kept your word until now, and you’ve been playing nice.

 “I’m leaving,” you say aloud, just in case.

 You hop down from the rooftop, lightly pushing your energy towards the ground to soften the impact. You take a few steps down the alley, blanketed by the harsh shadow of the building. You intend to go back the way you came. You can step into your shadows once you reach the edge of the city and be back in time to report to Destin.

 You tell yourself you’ll do this, but you find your feet won’t listen to you.

 You instead walk into the courtyard, eyes traveling up and up until you’re staring at the top of the distant palace, its golden walls gleaming in the setting sun. You’d done a fantastic job of avoiding it from the rooftop, focusing intently on the proceedings below.

 You grimace and bite your lip. The wordless thought escapes before you can get a hold of yourself.

  Loki?

  Warrior.

  His answer is instantaneous. A short laugh escapes you, born of shock instead of humor. The situation seems quite surreal.

 Here you stand in Asgard, a prince’s voice in your thoughts, as if no time has passed at all. No decrees or betrayals, no tesseracts or scepters.

 You…. Are you in the city? his voice asks. Breaking your agreement with Odin, are you? It took you long enough.

  I had a thing to go to, you reply as you turn away from the palace. Worth it, even if I get smited or something.

  Odin is quite fond of smiting, Loki notes, amusement curling around his words. How long have you been here?

  A while, you say.

  Then perhaps you’ll make it out whole.

  You navigate the streets of Asgard, sticking to the shadows and doing your best to stay out of sight. It’s easier than you thought it’d be. You remember these streets, after all. You’d ran them repeatedly after Asgard had burned.

 What is on your rebellious agenda, then? Loki asks.

 Currently, I’m leaving, you say. I might be dumb enough to risk being here for a bit, but I’m not quite dumb enough to press my luck.

  A shame, Loki says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

 What sort of smile, you wonder. Is he sad? Perhaps a bit wistful? It doesn’t seem right to make such assumptions.

 A shame, you echo back to him. You turn a few corners to avoid the market. You sound… better.

  More like myself, yes, he says, the words coming slower this time. There’s a beat of silence, and then he adds, As do you.

  I am, you say, moreso in hope than belief.

 You’re well, then? he asks.

 You scale the side of the building next to you when you hear voices a little too close for comfort. Well enough, you think to Loki as you take a seat on the side of the sloped roof.

 You’re facing Asgard’s palace again.

 I’d ask to see you. His voice is hushed, and you almost confuse it with thoughts of your own.

  You mean you want me to bail you out.

  He laughs. A soft noise, familiar and… it makes you think of green.

 What a tempting offer that I know you have no intention to make good on, he says, his tone dry but not unfriendly. I wouldn’t ask you to do so.

  Sure, you say. I definitely believe you. A hundred percent.

  There’s no cell keeping you here, however, Loki adds. I’ve been waiting for word of your disappearance, and it has yet to reach my ears.

  You don’t answer, turning away to see how far from the city outskirts you are. There’s still a decent way to go, but at least the voices below are fading.

 Loki says your name. Why linger? he asks.

  You want me to leave?

  No, he says evenly. I’m simply curious.

  I don’t know, you answer.

 Well, we both know that’s a lie, he states. It would be easier for you, if you quit Asgard and rid yourself of Odin’s law.

 You jump to the next roof over, landing as quietly as you’re able.

 I know there are other places for you to go, filled with people that would undoubtedly welcome you with open arms, Loki muses. The Healer has remained on Midgard with your… companions.

  Next roof. You think your feet thudded a bit too loudly this time, but you continue moving.

 And if you don’t prefer the mundane, which I know you don’t, then there’s always your home to return to, Loki continues.

 My home, you say, the phrase repeating and overriding everything else. You see the palace in your mind’s eye, the training grounds, Loki’s room.

 You can’t shake the visage fast enough, and you know he’s seen it, too.

 Even now? Loki asks, his voice quiet as it floats through your thoughts.

 You don’t answer for a while, and he doesn’t press. You focus on the sounds of the city as you jump to the next rooftop.

 Until, at last, you cave.

 Stupid, I know, you think to him. But you’ve always called me a fool, so it shouldn’t be a surprise to you.

  There is no laugh this time, no banter like you expected.

 I don’t understand, he says instead. When you don’t reply, he asks, Why?

 ‘Why’ what? You’re stalling.

 You need to jump down to the street, but you’re frozen in place. He’s asked the question you’ve been refusing to ask yourself, and you don’t know if you’re ready for the answer.

 This time, he’s the one that remains silent.

  I…. Your gaze is drawn to the golden palace yet again. Its windows accuse you of lying to yourself, its gardens and halls holding ghosts that aren’t quite ghosts anymore.

 He’s alive, and so are you.

  You can’t help but think of the wedding. Siggy and her half-pint, making vows and doing ceremonies. You’d never been to such a thing on your home world.

 Your thoughts stutter to a stop when you realize they might unintentionally slip to Loki. Marriage has never been an easy subject. And yet…. At this point, what would it matter? What would it change? You feel like your fear is almost laughable.

  You want to know why I’m still here? you ask.

  Indeed.

  You worry your lip. What if it’s because of… what if it’s something… awkward?

  Those are the best sort of secrets to discover, don’t you think?

  You shake your head and decide you have nothing else to lose. May as well get it all out. Look… I… you already know that where I’m from, my people don’t have ‘marriage’.

  There’s a beat of silence, and before you can continue, Loki says, Well, I can’t say I expected our conversation to take this turn.

  Shut up, just listen. Your heart is pounding in your ears. My race of people don’t have marriage, we have bonds. You try to focus your thoughts so faces won’t flash in your mind’s eye. This is hard enough already. Bonds don’t have to be romantic. Like me and Will, we’re bonded. But when they are romantic… it’s a thing that just… happens. It’s when your life changes because of that other person. It’s when you choose to spend your time, your life, with them. It’s why Willow chose to stay on Earth with Rogers. And… it’s why I’m still here.

  You wait on him to say something – anything – and surprisingly, you don’t have to wait long.

 The bond you speak of…. ‘While you live, I want you.’ Your stomach pinches at his words, and you hear them repeat in your memory, when he first spoke them to you. Loki’s thoughts swim through your mind again, saying, Am I right in suspecting this sentiment could be the beginnings of such a bond?

  That’s all you have to offer him on this topic. At least for today. I don’t want to talk about it, you tell him, words fading to a soft whisper. Not yet. Maybe not even for a long time.

  I see, he replies. And his tone is soft, too. But one day.

  One day. Yes.

  You rub at your eyes. They sting, and it makes you tired. Or perhaps it’s the emotional toll. Either way, you’re exposed by your own doing. He could really hurt you right now. He has hurt you. And yet….

 I… can’t make myself give up on you. It feels strange to finally tell him.

  You force yourself into motion, moving away from the past and its ornate palace. You continue through Asgard’s streets on reflex, your thoughts busy.

 I cannot fathom why, Loki tells you.

 You’ve slowly been feeling more… normal, you say. When you try to talk to me, each time, you’re kind of… you again. Like you mentioned earlier.

  I was always me, he reminds you. Through all of it.

  I know, you say. I was, too. You hesitate, and then add, I guess in a weird way, I’m glad I can understand. Still hurts, but at least I’m not as confused.

  He doesn’t reply for a beat, and you lose yourself in the methodical rhythm of your footsteps.

  I’ve wrongs to amend. His voice breaks the silence, his tone somber. There’s more battles to come. More war. I’ve seen it, and was almost a part of it…. Was a part of it.

  We still need to know more about all of that, you say. It’s something you’ve been thinking about, too. And I feel like you know more than you’re telling.

  There’s no use repeating myself when my warnings fall on deaf ears, Loki says tightly. Odin does not care to listen. Not yet. But it’s inevitable.

  Foreboding, you tell him. Maybe Thor can convince him to do something about it.

  Ha!

  You roll your eyes at his laugh and shift your weight, preparing to dash to the next alley. The sunset has bathed Asgard’s streets in red.

 Hopefully we’ll have things… sorted out, or settled, or something before worse comes to worst, you say.

  If we want to live, I suppose that would be a good start, Loki says, his thoughts laden with snark.

  I think… we both want to live, you reply, ignoring his attitude. Right?

  He’s silent, and you realize you’re standing still. This trek through Asgard is taking forever, and you’re not interested in getting caught.

  Will our lives ever fall back into step, murderess?

  You can sense no ill will behind the old nickname. You dart around the street’s corner, plotting your course in your mind. Loki silently waits, probably seeing your mental map as you focus.

 When you’re back on track, you sigh and turn your thoughts to the conversation at hand. Maybe? I don’t know…. It’d have to be a slow walk. We’ve been through… well…. It’s a lot. You pause a moment, your mind providing you with a plethora of unwanted examples. I know what you did… and what I did. But the scepter isn’t a viable excuse for those actions. So, right now, I’m just… not sure.

  I don’t expect your forgiveness, he says quietly, his voice almost fading completely for a moment. I hope you know that wasn’t what I was implying.

  You grimace, fighting back another heavy sigh. I know. As far as forgiveness goes… I’ve gotta forgive myself, first.

  Your actions were nothing compared to mine, warrior.

  You bite at your lip as you glance at your gloved hand. But it’s not a comparison.

  I see.

  You tug on your glove, pulling it farther down your wrist so that you cannot see the metal embedded in your skin. It truly is remarkable magic. Maybe Asmund will be able to persuade Sig to join him in the sorcerer’s guild. Or maybe Frigga will take an interest in her – she’s seen your hand with her own eyes, after all.

 You still aren’t quite used to it, but you know it’s strong, protective magic. And you will always wish the best for Sigrid.

  I’ll be around, you tell Loki. You and I both know this is just the beginning. I don’t plan on letting some space jackasses get away with all of this.

  I believe we may count among these ‘space jackasses’, depending on who is asked, Loki says.

  You snort and roll your eyes.

  You figure the conversation is over, but after a minute or two, Loki speaks again. It is good to hear your voice.

  It reminds you of being half-asleep in his bed, late in the night, when it is easier to say such things. Yeah. Heh. I guess it is. Maybe we… can talk again.

  I’d like that.

  You must be really bored in there, then, you say, tone light.

  Dreadfully so. Though, I suppose I’d speak to you regardless.

  Always the charmer, you think to him. You drop the sarcasm and realize that the teasing banter is nostalgic and… almost normal. You haven’t felt such a normal in over a year. It’s… good to have you back, Loke. I don’t expect everything to be the same, but….

  The silence stretches, until at last he asks, Are you suggesting we start over?

  No. Your answer is immediate and blunt. It’s impossible to start over at this point. We’re not really wiping the slate clean…. There’s stuff on our slate that isn’t gonna come off. But we can still wipe it down, and whatever stays… well, I guess we can go from there and see what happens.

  You think on your own words, and it makes you feel as if you’re at the beginning of a mountain trail, preparing for the long trek to its peak. Intimidating. It’ll take work.

  Naturally.

  Such a thing will be quite the hike, yes… but you think it might be possible.

  Is that what you want? he asks.

  You know Loki’s question encompasses everything. Everything, including him.

 To be soft, even through the hurt. To relearn one another and fall back into step on the road ahead.

 Is that what you want?

  Yeah, you decide. Yeah, it is.

  Then I thank the Nine.

  ---

 You hear his approach, the whoosh of air and heavy thud of his landing. You’re surprised at just how familiar the sound has become since you first arrived in Asgard.

 “Warrior.”

 You stop in your tracks, not two steps over Asgard’s city border. “Thor.”

 You turn and face the god of thunder. He’s a few strides away, but neither of you moves closer. It takes you back to the first time you saw him, a mystery man on the back of a horse, across a bloody battlefield.

 Emotions war across his face, and when he meets your gaze, your heart hurts.

 “I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I know I’m not supposed to be here.”

 His expression slowly clears, and he gives you a small grin. “And you aren’t.”

 “Heimdall?” you question.

 Thor shakes his head. “No. I’d heard of your previous servant’s nuptials and came to my own conclusions.”

 “Yeah,” you say, “couldn’t miss their ceremony. I figured I’d risk it.”

 “I’d expect no less,” Thor says with a chuckle. “And I see I’ve caught you on your journey back.”

 “Yeah…. I don’t want to push it. Not supposed to be here, and all that.”

 “Which you aren’t here,” Thor reminds you.

 “Exactly,” you agree, matching his brief grin.

 But the smiles fall, and the two of you are left staring at one another with too many words left unsaid.

  “I’m… sorry,” you say, not referring to your presence in the city this time.

 A cool breeze whips the flags posted near the city border. You get the urge to tug on your glove, so instead you squeeze your hands into fists and wrap your arms around yourself.

 Thor shakes his head. “It has been too long. These absences… both you and Loki… it reminds me of the time just after he left. I do not care for it.”

 You wince. Of all of your blurry, distant memories… that one is painfully clear. “I… don’t either. But there’s nothing to do about it, really. I’m going to keep… doing what I’m doing.”

 “Fighting with our army, just as before,” Thor states.

 “We both know there’s still something bad coming,” you tell him. “Gotta stay ready. Just in case.”

 “Is that truly why you choose to stay?” Thor asks.

 “Yes.”

 The answer comes quickly, but it’s hollow. And you can’t lie to Thor.

 You drop your gaze as you say, “… No. It doesn’t matter.”

 “I want you to stay. I am glad you have made such a choice, more than once now.”

 That makes you look up. Thor’s eye is filled with somber determination, and though he appears calm, a low rumble of thunder echoes in the distance. His red cloak swirls with the wind, his silver armor and winged helm reminding you that he is both a warrior and a prince.

 “I’m going to change things,” he says solemnly. “When I am king, I will welcome you home.”

 You uncross your arms, tug at your glove, and then adjust your sword belt. Any excuse to blink your tears away.

 At last you look up at Thor Odinson. The man that had carried you, broken and bleeding, into a new life you’d never anticipated. The man who had become your friend. Your almost-brother.

 You turn away and tear a rift into the dark, the edges fuzzy and periodically sparking with light. You aren’t sure how to answer, your feelings so scattered, but at last you land on, “I’d… love to see that day.”

 You hear footsteps, and when you look back you see Thor walking to you. You face him, and he comes to a stop with his hand extended.

 You watch him for a moment, hesitant. He seems so sure of such an unsure future. It is hard to admit that you want that hope, too. You want it so bad it hurts.

 At last, you hold out your hand, and Thor grasps your forearm firmly. You mirror the action, wrapping your glove around his forearm as well. It is a gesture that has never made you feel as grounded as it does now.

 Secure.

 Hopeful.

 “I swear it,” Thor says.

 And you believe him.

---

And that's a wrap, my friends.

I'll post an epilogue, which will briefly go over a few things regarding Loki and our warrior's future, but this is officially the last real chapter of this series. I can't believe we're finally here!

Thank you all for reading, whether you were here from the very beginning, or if you're just joining us now. I can't thank you enough for taking this journey with me.

I wish the best for all of you, and thanks again.

With love, W

@littlemisssyreid @thedoctorlivesthroughbooks @imthinkingaboutthis @verryfuckingpunny @shadows-echoes @auria223 @white-chocolate-mocha-fan @agentpiku @bookscoffeeandracoons @lokibarncs​

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[diddlesanddoodles]

Dumpling ch 34

She awoke to the sound of Lolly entering their room carrying a tray and Nenani sat up slowly, bleary eyed and yawned widely. The sound of the tray being sat down drew her eyes to the Matron who was idly shifting the items on the tray about, but as they were so small compared to the tray, she could not see what was there. Her mother was already up and having been so for some time, she was occupying herself with sitting on the window sill and looking out onto the calm morning.

“Did you sleep well?” Lolly asked Oira.

“Better than I have in a very long time,” the woman said mildly and in a soft voice. “Thank you.”

“Well, I find that very encouraging,” said Lolly, pleased. “Gods above know you all need some good rest after all that’s happened. Now, I’ve brought you a few different things to choose from for your breakfast. I wasn’t sure if you felt up to eating something solid yet or what you would like. I have some porridge, some eggs, bread, and some jam. And some tea, of course.”

Nenani was startled to alertness when Haiyer, who had been sound asleep just moments before, practically leapt up from the nest of his bed and scrambled gracelessly over to the edge of the platform just behind Lolly. “I want jam!” he said with great delight, hopping up and down, and then paused to add a belated, “...please.”

Lolly turned to look down the little boy with an affectionate smile. “Well, thank you for remembering your manners, young sir.” She turned back to the tray to grab something before presenting Haiyer with a small bowl of porridge; a generous glob of black currant jam adorning the middle. It looked hilariously small in her hands, but she held it out to him with with same grace as she would someone of her own size. The little boy squealed with joy as he took ownership of his breakfast and promptly found a place to sit and eat.

“Ah-ah-ah. Use your spoon,” Lolly reminded him sternly when he made as though to dig his fingers in. Haiyer frowned, but obligingly reached for the wooden utensil sitting just inside the bowl. He wasn’t very graceful at eating with a spoon, but his stubborn conviction saw him through and continued to shove careful spoonfuls into his mouth. A fat glob of porridge, streaked with purple, fell from his spoon just as he opened his mouth and it landed on the front of his tunic with a wet splat.

“Uh-oh...”

Lolly had just handed Nenani her own bowl and they both looked to Haiyer who was then trying to scoop the spilled porridge back onto his spoon. Nenani started to laugh and Lolly merely shook her head.

“Little man, you are just a mess,” she said, but her eyes sparkled with humor, bringing up her apron in her hands to carefully wipe clean the front of his little shirt.

“Do you think I might be granted some fabric?” Oira asked as she watched. “I’d like to make him some proper clothes. He grew out of his old shirt and trousers nearly two months ago and that was all I was able to make with what we had with us.”

Lolly shook her head. “No need. I’ve already set some of my girls working on some for him. He’s a good bit smaller than Jae was when he first came to us, but with a little alterations it should do just fine. They’re taking in a few of his oldest clothes. In fact, I believe I may even have some shoes for him. I’ll go fetch them now while you all eat.” Lolly said the last portion with a pointed look to Oira who nodded.

“Eggs and some bread sound very good, thank you.” Once Lolly had been thoroughly pacified, she left them to their breakfasts and went to collect whatever clothing was ready for Haiyer.

Oira picked at her food without much enthusiasm once Lolly had left and Nenani felt a twinge of concern. “Mama?”

“Hm?” she said, snapping from her own thoughts to turn to her daughter. “Yes, baby?”

“Are you all right?”

“Oh, yes. I am...I’m fine,” she said, looking down at her plate. She had been left with a hearty plate of eggs and a piece of the flatbread and Oira had settled down next to her children to eat. “You were right, Nenani. This place is very lovely. Reminds me of how I remember it before the war. I use to love coming here as a girl.”

“To see the prince?” Nenani asked.  

“Yes,” her mother replied. “But more than that. I was always treated so kindly. It’s strange to think on it now. How one can hold all images of this place; the before and after and the now. I know I should feel safe, but...I can’t. Not wholly.”

Nenani ate a new bite of porridge quietly as she considered. Swallowing, he looked back her mother and asked, “Because of Aidus?”

“Always because of him,” her mother, her voice bringing with it a tinge of ire. “But also...” She paused and shook her head. “Never mind. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t trouble you with all this.”

“I want you to, though,” Nenani pressed. “I want to help you. I don’t like seeing you so sad.”

Oira pulled her daughter to her and pressed her forehead to her own. “You’re more than enough help just by being here with me, my sweet. More than you know. I just...need to sort myself out a bit. I’ve spent a long time twisted up. It’s hard to untangle.”  

“Alright. But you still need to eat, though,” Nenani told her mother firmly. “Please.”

Oira regarded her child with some surprise. “I will. I just get lost in my own head and sometimes...it’s awfully hard to find my way out again.”

“There’s nothing hard about it,” Nenani said, reaching to her mother’s plate and grabbed up the spoon to scoop up an egg and brought it to her mother’s face. “You just put the egg on the spoon and then ahhhh...”

Oira was giggling, leaning away from the approaching egg. “Nenani, stop...I can feed myself.”

Nenani wiggled up to sit onto her knees in order get better leverage and pressed the spoon closer to her mother. Shaking with suppressed laughter, Oira obediently opened her mouth and took in the rather large egg. She pressed her hand to her mouth as she chewed, snorting unladylike as Nenani scooped up another egg and brought it back up. Waving Nenani off and shaking her head, Oira tried to say something, but it was simply gibberish when spoken through half chewed eggs. She finished her bite, swallowing hard and then said with breathless amusement, “Alright, fine! I’ll eat.”

“All of it,” Nenani demanded.

“Yes, ma’am,” her mother replied, reclaiming her spoon. She paused for a moment, looking at Nenani was an odd expression. Gratitude, amusement, surprise...love.

“What?” Nenani asked.  

“You’re so much like him,” her mother said.

“Who?”

“Your father...”

Lolly returned close to a quarter hour later with a small bundle, looking very pleased with herself. “I have a little something for you both,” she said, looking to Haiyer and Oira. “First, let’s see if these fit.”

She sat the bundle down and plucked up a small red shirt and brown trousers and handed them both to Oira who took a moment to admire them. She looked to Lolly and said, “These are quite fine...”

“Yes. The King was always spoiling Jae,” Lolly replied. “Especially when he was very young and skiddish. Of course, you’d never suspect that looking at him now. But these were the first set of clothes the King had made for him when first arrived.”

Oira pulled the soiled tunic off of her son and helped him slip into the red shirt, admiring it as he stood there, feeling the fabric between her fingers. “It’s still a bit big, but that’s perfect. He’s been growing so fast of late. It’ll fit perfectly by next week.” Next came the trousers. They fit well enough, but were overly long so the bottoms were scrunched up over his feet and they made use of the draw string along the top to cinch it snugly around Haiyer’s waist. Oira admired her son for a moment, smoothing his hair down. “Well, you look very handsome, I think.”

Then Lolly produced a pair of tiny shoes. They were big on the little boy, but were deemed close enough of a fit. After all, it seemed better to have him wear too large of a shoe than have him continue on barefooted.

“And this one is from Ginger,” Lolly said, pulling out a swathe of sea-foam blue fabric and as it unrolled through her fingers, a dress took shape. Oira starred at it, quite taken aback. Lolly was grinning excitedly. “They cleaned out one of the storage houses last winter and there was a box of human items from before the war and this was one of the dresses inside. Most of the others were too damaged to salvage, but Ginger’s been restoring this one as practice for her embroidery. She’d be very honored if you might try it on.”

Oira didn’t say anything for a long while as she inspected the fine embroidered flowers and doves along the dress’s bottom hem, the neckline, and cuffs. It was a gorgeous thing to behold and even Nenani starred at it with a mingling of awe and jealousy. The threads were far larger than one done by human hands, but it did not tarnish the imagery in any way.

“It’s beautiful...” Oira said and let the sleeve she had been inspecting fall away. “I’d hate to ruin it or...”

“Nonsense,” Lolly said cheerily. “I’ll help you into it. And I won’t hear any protestations. Besides, if it fits, it’ll give me a chance to mend the one you’re wearing.”

“No, I can do it myself,” Oira said, suddenly very apprehensive.

Lolly clicked her tongue. “No protestation, I said.”

“No, it’s just...” Oira swallowed nervously, not able to meet Lolly’s eyes.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Lolly continued in her firm commanding way. “Now off with it.”

Oira looked crestfallen as she slowly pulled her arms from her sleeves and slipped her shoulders out from her dress. Lolly gasped. Oira’s neck had been marred by scaring, but her shoulders were far more gruesome. Long claw like scratches and discolored scar tissue all long healed, covered her from the nape of her neck to her biceps and further down still. Her upper back was similarity marked and Lolly found herself all at once horrified by the sight and her own carelessness.

“Did he do this?” Lolly asked quietly, gently running the tip of her finger down the poor woman’s back. “That mage?”

Oira couldn’t speak passed the lump in her throat so she settled for a nod. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Oh, you poor woman,” Lolly said, her own voice choked with emotion. “I’m so sorry. I...I didn’t know...come now, let’s get this back on. You don’t have to wear the dress if you don’t want to.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to...” Oira managed to say at last. “I just...seems a waste for me to wear something so lovely looking as I do.”

Lolly’s soft sympathy abruptly sharpened into indignation and she snorted. “It isn’t for anyone else’s benefit but your own. You’re not a doll, Oira. And if I hear one criticism about how you look, I’ll throttle the lot of ‘em and send them weeping to their mothers to learn some manners. So now I’ve changed my mind. You’re wearing the dress and we’re going to do you up proper.” Lolly turned to Nenani. “Help your mother into the dress, sweetie. I’m going to fetch Ginger. We’re going to make your mother feel as beautiful as she is.”

Before Oira gathered enough of her senses to strike up a protest, Lolly was already closing the door behind her. Nenani picked the dress up from where Lolly had left it and walked over to her mother. She had pulled her tattered dress around her bosom, but her shoulders and arms were bare to the world and Nenani couldn’t help but look at the lines etched into her mother’s skin with a growing sense of rage.

Oira looked over her shoulders and caught her daughter’s eyes. “Baby, you’re catching...”

Her arms were open flames and it was sneaking up her shoulders. “I don’t care anymore,” she replied, not bothering to suppress the feeling. “I hate him.”

“They’re not painful anymore,” her mother said, a paltry offering of comfort. But it only made Nenani all the feel more wretched. She walked up to her mother’s back and to plant a kiss on her back and then pressed her forehead against her skin. Her mother reached back to pat her head. They said nothing for a long moment before parting. Oira allowed Nenani to help her into the new drew dress, pulling the thicker, stiff fabric up over her thin and pale frame. It slipped onto her easily and once the back and had been laced and fastened up, Nenani stepped back.

The dress fit beautifully everywhere except the bust. Oira did not have a large chest and her malnourished state left the top of the dress fall forward in a depressed sag. She pressed the excess fabric to her and looked down at the flowing skirt. “It’s so pretty,” she murmured appreciatively.

When Lolly returned with Ginger in tow, both ladies immediately began to praise the dress and Oira for looking so fine in it. The neckline was wide and showed off her neck and sternum, but Ginger grinned as she held up a swathe of cream fabric. “It won’t be a problem at all if we’re a bit creative with a shawl.”

Oira’s face colored and nodded to the ladies, giving them her consent. They pleated the cream colored fabric and tucked the edge down into the dress’s front to not only push out the rest of the bodice, but so it covered much if not all the scars. The rest of it was draped across her head much in the same way Lolly’s was and once they were done, both Oira’s scars and short hair were all but invisible.

“You look lovely!” Ginger said, clapping excitedly. “And the frock fits you so well! Oh, I am just pleased a punch!”

Their moment of levity was abruptly interrupted by a firm knock at the door. “Who is it?” Lolly asked.

“It’s Donal, Miss Lolly,” came the muffled response. Nenani did not recognize the voice. “I am terribly sorry for intruding, but I have a message for her royal highness.”

Oira winced at the honorific, breathing slowly through her nose as though to keep herself from saying something unkind.

“Oh! Master Donal, of course,” Lolly went to the door quickly and opened the door and stepping aside. “Please, come in, sir. We’re all quite decent I assure you.”

A giant Nenani had never met before stepped through and blushed at Lolly’s remark. He cleared his throat and set his mouth back into firm placidity; a true herald of decorum. “Ah, yes. Very good, ma’am.”

Donal was at least as tall as Yale and lankier still, wearing a plain, but finely made doublet and jerkin with trousers, all black, and he wore a green cap on his head; a single large white ploom jetting up like the tail of a peacock. He was an older man and his cheeks were somewhat gaunt, but not in an unhealthy way. His silver hair was trimmed in a bowl cut along his scalp and the ends of it peeked out from under his cap. Large, intelligent brown eyes took in the room and its occupants and settled onto Oira. He gave a short bow and said, “I apologize for the intrusion, m’lady. His Majesty extends an invitation to you to join him in the great hall this morning to discuss matters at hand.”

Oira looked very uncomfortable, but managed to wrestle her nerves enough to nod and speak, “I would be happy to, sir. When will he be expecting me, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Not at all, m’lady. Within the next hour, if it pleases you.”

“Ah, well...” Oira looked torn as he looked back to Haiyer who was happily playing with the strings on his new trousers. “I will need someone to watch Haiyer...”

“He can come with me to the kitchen camp,” Nenani offered quickly. “He can help me make tonics.”

Donal’s attention was drawn to Nenani and he fumbled with his words for a moment, the flash of displeasure quickly fading back into polite neutrality. “Oh, I beg your pardon, Princess, but I don’t feel it quite right that you would occupy yourselves with such things. Given your new positions, it wouldn’t be proper...”

Whatever misgivings Oira may have had with her youngest child spending the day with a group of rough cooks, close to knives and fire and all sorts of possible dangers, Donal’s claim that such a thing would not be proper seemed to set her mind for her and she suppressed a grim frown. Straighteneing her back and inclining her head deftly towards the Stewart, she replied in a sweet voice, “Thank you for your concern, sir. But I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Farris and I’m fully confidant he is more than capable of watching the children. And I am delighted that Nenani is learning such a useful skill. If you would tell the King that I would be most honored to meet with him, I would be endlessly grateful, sir.”

Donal looked as though he wished to press the issue, but conceded with a nod. “Very good, m’lady. I will do so immediately.”

When Donal departed the room, Lolly was pinching her lips closed as though trying very hard not to smile. “You handled that man with more grace than I have seen in a very long time, Oria. Bravo.”

“Master Donal is...” Ginger considered her words. “Well, he likes things done properly and done right.”

“He’s not a bad man, mind you,” Lolly added. “He’s a very gentle soul. But he isn’t ones to not say his opinion.”

“Of which there are many,” Ginger added with a giggle. “You should have seen his face when they told him Jae was to be his assistant! The poor man looked ready to quit on the spot, but nope! He accepted the assignment with dignity. Though I must say, Jae had been doing a fine job of it. I think even Donal might’ve been a bit impressed.”

“Yes, but enough of all that,” Lolly said and looked to Oira. “When did you meet Farris?”

“He came to see Nenani last night,” she replied. “We were all asleep actually, but I suppose she heard him and was banging on the door, demanding to be let out.”

Lolly looked to Nenani as though to admonish her, but she just shook her head.

“He asked if I had any objections against Nenani continuing to learn under him,” Oira explained. “But whatever hesitations I might have had, when I saw him with her...I couldn’t say no. And I wasn’t lying to Donal just now. It’s very useful to know how to use plants and herbs properly. My limited knowledge saved us plenty of times in the wilds.”

“Well, though I am tempted to agree with Master Donal on the matter,” Lolly replied. “I know a losing battle when I see one. And she’s spent the last few months with the boys, I don’t see it doing much hard letting it continue. But Haiyer is awfully little to be around them. They are good boys, but they are...rough.”

“Compared to Aidus,” Oira said, looking at both her children. “I’m sure they’re as gentle as lambs.”

…………………………………………….

Lolly sent along a note to Farris beforehand to let him know to expect both the Daelg children and that they would be accompanied by a guard and that she would not be swayed against it. The task went to one of the guards posted outside their door, a younger man named Peyton who was willing to spend his day standing around near the kitchen camp rather than standing around in the hallway.

“Sounds like an improvement to me, ma’am,” he said to Lolly with a cheeky grin and then seemed to recall himself and stumbled gracelessly over his words. “Not that I don’t like my postin’ ma’am, just that it’s quite here and down there might be a bit more...more.”

Lolly had it in her mind to send Peyton along with both Nenani and Haiyer, but decided last minute to accompany him down. Oira and Nenani had to spend some time explaining to Haiyer what they were going to do so as not to frighten him when he realized his mother would not be going with them. He did start to look as though he wanted to cry, but Nenani reached out and grabbed the blue rock she had given to him the other night and pressed it into his hand. “Remember to keep your magic rock with you,” she said. “It’ll make you brave.”

Haiyer looked down at the stone, sniffing. “Oh...okay.”

“Are you gonna be a good boy for mister Farris?” Oira asked, petting his hair.

Haiyer nodded glumly.

“Y’know,” Nenani said as sudden inspiration struck. “The kitchen is where they keep the jam.”

If ever there was a magic word, Nenani had just uttered it and Haiyer perked up, his eyes growing into saucers and smiling with glee.

“Could I have some?” he asked.

“If you ask really nicely,” Nenani replied, grinning in triumph. “But you have to be good and mind Farris. He doesn’t like it when you don’t mind him.”

“I can do that,” Haiyer assured her. “I can!”

…………………………………………………………..

Saen was waiting for them at the corner just before the camp and when he caught sight of Lolly carrying Nenani, he smirked and called out, “Yer late, Dumplin’!”

Nenani stuck her tongue out. “No, I’m not. Farris said after breakfast was okay.”

“Aye, it’s nearly an hour after breakfast,” he replied as Lolly came into range and he reached out to pluck Nenani from her arms. Lolly didn’t make a fuss this time, merely rolled her eyes. Saen held the little human up to his face, eyes narrowed in mock anger. “So yer late.”

Nenani reached out and pushed his nose. “Not late.”

He laughed and tucked her into the crook of his arm before turning to Lolly. “Now what’s all this about ye turnin’ the kitchens into a nursery, Lolly? We actually have work to do, lass.”

“It’s just for a little while,” Lolly replied. “The King wanted to speak with Oira –ah, the Princess and there was the question of who would watch Haiyer.”

“I’m sure ye have plenty of girls who’d love to play Mum fer a few hours,” he replied.

“That’s true enough and that’s precisely where my mind was set,” Lolly said with a suppressed grin and tilted her head to Nenani. “Then that one suggested he come with her for today and then she said the ‘J’ word and well...there was no swaying him after that.”

The cook tilted his head. “What’s the ‘J’ word?”

“Jam,” Nenani replied knowingly and sure enough, Haiyer’s little face popped out from the curl of Lolly’s arms where he’d been hiding. Saen blinked at the small boy and broke out into a fit of laughter.

“Gods above, Lolly!” he laughed and bent down to peer at the child. “Ye can’t be serious. He’s so small, we might actually lose the poor lad. Might have to tie a string ‘round ‘im to keep ‘im from wanderin’ off.”

“He’ll be with Nenani the whole time,” Lolly said and then added with a bit more bite to her tone, “And you better not lose him or you can explain to his mother – who is a fire mage by the by – just how it was that you lost her son.”

“I’ll watch him,” Nenani replied quickly. “I won’t lose him. Besides, he won’t wander off. He’s kind of a scardy-cat.”

“Am not!” Haiyer protested with great offense. “I am not a scardy-cat!” He then gave a startled yelp when Saen leaned towards him.

“Skiddish little lad, ain’t ye?” said the cook with a light chuckle.

“Where’s your rock?” she asked her brother hastily as Haiyer looked as though he might begin to cry. He dug into his shirt and held the bluish stone up.

“What’s that?” Saen asked.

“It’s my magic rock,” Haiyer replied, eyeing Saen with trepidation. But no tears. Nenani privately patted herself on the back.

“Magic, eh?” he asked, sounding impressed. “What’s it do?”

“Ellis said...she said,” Haiyer stammered over his words as he became more nervous. “That it would protect me...from the bad stuff.”

“Ellis?” Saen asked looking up at Lolly. “And who would that be?”

But Lolly shook her head, smiling.

“Ellis is my friend,” Haiyer answered. “She’s a fairy.”

Saen’s eyebrows rose as understanding struck and he nodded and smiled indulgently. “Ah, so yer friends with fairies are ye, lad?”

“Just Ellis...”

“Ye know what they say about fairies don’t ye?”

“Well, yeah,” said the little boy. “But she says she can’t take me to the fairy kingdom because she’s not allowed there no more because she did a bad thing.”

“A bad thing? Like what?”

“She won’t tell me...”

Saen laughed and looked to Lolly, nodding. “Fine then, hand ‘im here. We’ll play nursemaids. Just don’t be expectin’ any a’ us to be puttin’ on no frock.”

Lolly carefully sat Hiayer into the crook of Saen’s other arm and regarded the cook seriously. “Do be gentle with him, Saen. He’s a dear little thing.”

He took a moment to study Lolly’s face before nodding. “Ah, ye worry too much, lass. He’ll be fine. Promise. We’re not so heartless as all that.”

“You all had a good laugh at me when I thought you wanted to eat me,” Nenani replied contrarily and eyed the giant.

“Aye,” he said with a twinkling amusement in his eyes. “But ye were a different matter. This one hasn’t stolen from the King, has he?”

Nenani pursed her lips in a defeated frown and only shrugged noncommittally.

“Leave him alone near a jam pot and that will change,” Lolly said with a twittering laugh. “Oh, and before I forget. Peyton is going to be stationed here for the day.”

Seeming to just now notice the armed guard standing just behind Lolly, Saen looked at her quizzically. “What fer?”

“Just extra precautions.”

“Suit yerself,” Saen shrugged, not seeming all that bothered at the idea. “This way, then. Peyton, ye said?”

“Yes,” the guard said and obligingly followed Saen into the cook camp.  

“The masons are makin’ quick work of the kitchen,” Saen said to Nenani as the rounded the bend and down the small path that had been worn into the grass over time. “We’ll be able to move back into the barracks soon and the ovens only need another day or so for the repairs to set proper like. So we’ll be havin’ proper bread again.”

“And sweet rolls!” Nenani said excitedly and the cook laughed.

“Aye, that too,” he agreed and turned to look at Peyton over his shoulder. “How ‘bout ye Peyton? Looking forward to proper bread again?”

“Certainly,” said the guard. “But I don’t mind the flat stuff. My Gran’s from Ibronia and she use to make bread like that when I was a boy.”

As they entered the camp proper, a curious sound drew their focus; the straining of several voices and the creaking of wood. Nenani could see Bart and Farris standing near the lean-to tent with the lipper barrels and passed them, Herit and Gjerk were trying to pry the lid off of one such barrel. By all appearances, they seemed to be having a rough time of it.

“Come on! Put yer backs into it, lads!” Bart barked with a loud laugh. Gjerk had a prybar wedged under the lid and was pushing down with all his strength with Herit just below him, holding onto another portion of the bar and using his full weight to help pull it down. But still the lid did not move. Avery had a hold of the barrel, steadying it as the tenderfoots worked. Both younger giants were red in the face with exertion. Their strength gave out all at once and both boys released their hold on the prybar, sinking into the grass.

“I think I pulled somethin’...” Gjerk said, wincing as he stretched his back.

“Fuckin’ hells,” Herit panted. “How tight did ye make it?”

“As tight as it needs t’be,” Farris laughed. “Won’t do much good fer the whole damn thing to spoil ‘cause ye didn’t bother t’seal it proper like. Avery, go on and show ‘em how it’s done.”

With a grin, Avery stepped bodily over the tenderfoots and grabbed up the prybar. He cheekily twirled it around in his hand and with a single thrust, jammed it under the lid. He turned to look down at Gjerk and Herit and with a single firm jerk, the lid popped off and flew over their heads to land harmlessly in the grass behind them all. Both younger workers growled and collapsed onto the ground, muttering curses and whatnot.

It was then that Saen caught Farris’s eye and the cook looked pointedly down at the two human children in his arms. Nenani sat placidly and was grinning down at the tenderfoots as they nursed their bruised prides, but the smaller lump that was supposedly the other child seemed to be trying to bury themselves under the bulk of Saen’s arm.  

Farris glanced down at the tenderfoots. “All right ye two, get to rinsin’ them lippers and then ye can get to the rhotas in a bit. Bart,” he said turning to the butcher. “Do ye know if there’s anymore of that redweed powder left?”

“Not but a pinch,” Bart replied gruffly as he helped Gjerk onto his feet. “Yaesha’s grabbed up most a’ the rest of it, but there’s that blue jar still with a bit left.”

“Make sure they remember to put some into the brat’s food,” Farris said. “They’re wakin’ ‘im up today and I’ll bet he’s gonna have a decent appetite.”

“Will do,” Bart said and went off into the storage tent to presumably acquire the aforementioned redweed powder. With everyone knowing their work, they all dispersed and Farris walked over to meet Saen as he approached.

“Yer late,” Farris said to Nenani with a look. “Not sure what time yer keepin’ lass, but it’s more than an hour passed breakfast.”

Nenani opened her mouth to defend herself, but the look Farris was giving her silenced her protest so she simply said, “Sorry...”

Farris grunted in reply, but then turned his attention to the small boy gazing up at him warily who turned away as soon as his green eyes were set upon him. Nenani privately sympathized. She had found Farris to be downright terrifying when she first met him. For his part, Farris merely snorted when Haiyer turned away and glanced at Nenani. “Suppose this is yer brother then?”

Nenani nodded with a smile. “Yup.”

Haiyer had curled in on himself and was pressing his face into Saen’s shirt as though meaning to disappear and the cook could not help but laugh mildly. “He’s a wee bit on th’ skiddish side, boss.”

“Aye, we do ‘ave that effect on the lil’ buggars, don’t we? All right. Let’s see this lil’ prince then,” Farris said as he carefully scooped Haiyer up into his cupped hands. The little boy whined with uncertainty, little hands reaching out for purchase on the spice master’s fingers. But Farris shushed him gently. “Oh, none of that mess now. Yer all right.”

Farris held him up and studied the little human as Haiyer clutched at the large fingers around him, looking even smaller in Farris’s larger hands. His eyes roamed around, unable to meet the spice master’s stare. Farris huffed a small laugh and looked to Nenani with a smirk. “I can tell he’s yer kin, that’s fer sure.”

Nenani looked between her brother and Farris, titling her head curiously. “You can? How?”

“Aye,” he said returning to studying the boy. “Ye both have th’same face, same nose. Different hair and eye colorin’, but yer assuredly kin. What’s yer name, lad?”

Haiyer fidgeted and in a nervous little voice said, “H-haiyer...”

“Alright then, Haiyer,” Farris said, slipping into a firm tone. “Ye Mum’s set me with ye today so I’m gonna be puttin’ ye and yer sister to mixing some tonics and yer gonna behave yerself, understand?”

Haiyer blinked, a little confused, but nodded. “Nenani said I have to mind you...”

“Aye,” Farris replied with a grin. “And she’d be right.”

“And she also...also said...” Haiyer battled against his own nervousness to as he tried to talk. He looked away, seeming bashful. “...I could...I could have some jam, too.”

“Tell ye what, son,” Farris said, amused. “Ye behave and mind me well an’ I’ll see that ye get some jam later. How’s that sound?”

An excitable glimmer lite up the boy’s face and he nodded fervently, his fear suddenly forgotten. “I can do that!”

[twelvefifteencomic]

Bonus Special! - Prologue - 7:00

The sun was skimming low over the city, the warm rays of evening glancing off of skyscrapers’ windows to contrast with the lengthening shadows in the streets below. It was the teetering season between late spring and early summer, and the daylight hours were long. Somewhere in the middle distance, church bells had just finished tolling seven, but it would be some time yet before evening darkened into night.

Neither the time nor the beauty of the day’s end registered to Dee Loveless at the moment. He was busy, partly with lugging a heavy bag out of the backseat of a taxi cab, but mostly with getting shouted at by the driver, who he had nearly forgotten to pay. He’d been lost in his thoughts and now no amount of apologies or assurances seemed to ease the cabby’s annoyance. In the end, it was only after receiving a far heftier tip than he was owed that the driver stopped calling Dee names and left him alone. Hauling the bag over his shoulder, Dee watched the taxi pull away from the curb. He briefly considered tossing a rude gesture into the man’s rear-view, but decided against it. He didn’t particularly fancy being the victim of road rage today. 

Sighing, he turned away from the street. The building that rose up before him matched the address written on the scrap of paper he pulled from his pocket now to double-check. At least, the bronze number by the door and the name of the street sign down at the corner matched what he had been given. When it came to the actual appearance of the place itself… well, he hadn’t really known what to expect. He didn’t know this part of the city well, an eclectic mix of old homes and new businesses. Neon signs and sandwich boards called out their various wares from shopfronts all along the street, but the building in front of him was nothing of the sort. It had the look of a once-magnificent townhouse, with stately stone steps now marred by lichen leading up to a worn oaken door. There was even a large bronze door knocker, like the sort Dee had seen in films. This one was shaped like a lion, a heavy ring clutched in its jaws. Dee stared at it. It seemed to stare back, challenging.

“You’d be much more intimidating if you weren’t right beside a tea shop,” Dee told it as he climbed the steps, pointing at the door knocker’s neighbour. Indeed, in the shadow of the old house was a quaint little storefront, with brightly-lit windows proclaiming a wide assortment of teas and other cheery beverages. “Sorry,” Dee added, patting the lion’s metal mane. It said nothing at all, for it was, in fact, just a door knocker. Dee took a moment to feel a bit daft.

To his mild dismay, this moment was all his brain needed to conjure up all the doubt and unwanted thoughts he’d been doing his best to push to the back of his mind all day. He hesitated on the doorstep. What was he even doing here?

Stop it, he told himself. You know why you’re here.

He’d given himself a talking-to while getting ready that afternoon, the sort that involved a lot of staring at himself sternly in the mirror while engaging in serious internal rationalization. Tabitha would be annoyed with him, he knew. They’d had this get-together planned for ages now, months really, and as much as he had assured her over the phone that he’d still make it in time, a little wheedling voice in the back of his head knew that he wouldn’t. That would defeat the entire purpose of taking this gig in the first place. But Tabitha liked being annoyed, he reasoned (slightly unfairly), so this would just give her fodder for future griping. Hardly the end of the world.

The ring in the lion’s mouth was heavy and Dee, who had never before had the occasion to use a door knocker like this, hesitantly tapped it against the door a couple of times. It made a surprisingly resounding noise. He rocked back on his heels and waited for some sort of response. 

There was a narrow pane of glass set into the centre of the door, allowing the sliver of a view into the house within, overshadowed by Dee’s own reflection staring back at him. While he waited, he looked over his appearance in a final last-minute check:

Hair, looking alright. He ran a self-conscious hand through the dark strands, reinforcing the backward sweep of the quiff. There was just enough gel in it to keep it from getting out of control, without being too obvious. 

Clothes, simple but nice. A plain black shirt and jeans, plus his favourite jacket. Nothing too over the top. He didn’t know how fancy of a party this was supposed to be, but the woman on the phone hadn’t said anything about a dress code, so he’d gone for comfort more than anything. He’d never been big on black tie events anyway.

Face, the same as ever. He’d been told he had a nice one, which was always good to hear. Angular features, clean-shaven at the moment, and sad eyes. He tried on a smile. It didn’t stick. Even in the semi-transparency of his reflection, it didn’t look convincing. He let it fall away and settled for what he hoped was an expression of polite apathy. 

Just in time, too. The sound of approaching footsteps reached his ears and a moment later, the narrow view into the house was blocked by what appeared through the glass to be a mountain of red velvet and hair. The door swung open and Dee had to hop back a step to avoid getting hit by it, nearly stumbling over a potted tree beside the door and backwards down the steps. He caught himself on the iron railing and bit his tongue to keep from swearing. So much for a good first impression.

Standing in the open entryway, the man who had answered the door wasn’t as big as Dee had initially thought. He was tall, to be sure, with several inches of height over Dee (who wasn’t short himself), but not as looming as he had first appeared through the glass. He was broad-shouldered and muscular, though, with a cloud of curly red hair and beard swathing the large majority of his head into hirsute obscurity. He’d made the questionable fashion choice of wearing a full red tracksuit.

“Fuu----uuuh hi!” Dee rallied. He straightened up, adjusting the bag over his shoulder and trying to wish away the flustered colour rising in his face. “Hullo, um, I’m here for a gig?” He had a bad habit of turning statements into questions when he was anxious. Which was often. And, more frustrating still, a habit of being hyper aware of this tic. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m Dee. I’m the singer who was hired for the party.”

“Hm,” said the not-so-giant giant. Dee waited for more. The big man was staring down at him, expression hard to read through all of the hair. Dee got the impression that he’d inadvertently entered a sort of staring contest and after only a few seconds he looked away, uncomfortable.

“Er,” he said. “Is… is this the right place? I’ve the address here--” He started to pull the scribbled address from his pocket again, but the man in the doorway was already nodding. 

“You’re where you’re meant to be,” he told him. He had a deep voice and a rolling, hard-to-place accent. 

“Oh,” said Dee. “Um. Right. Good.” This was turning out to be stressfully awkward. “Can I, er, come inside, then?”

The man stepped aside, allowing him room to walk through the door. The inside of the house maintained the same grandiose, slightly derelict atmosphere as its exterior. Dee looked around. He was in a fairly large entry hall, with high plaster ceilings and a dusty wooden staircase leading away to the upper floors. He’d barely made it three steps into the room before he found himself being pulled up short. A large hand had grabbed the strap of the bag over his shoulder and was holding fast.

“What’s in the bag?” asked the man. His thick brows were now drawn in suspicion.

“Equipment,” Dee explained, perplexed. “Mic, speakers, that sort of thing. The woman who hired me -- Ada? -- she didn’t say whether you lot had any equipment here.”

The explanation seemed to be enough. The hand let go of Dee’s bag, resting briefly on his shoulder before it fell back to the man’s side. “Arden,” he corrected simply. “Good. Follow me.”

Now thoroughly certain he hadn’t asked for enough money for this, Dee followed in the big man’s wake. The stairs creaked under their feet, the only noise as they made their way upstairs. Whoever lived here didn’t seem to put much stock into housekeeping, Dee thought, glancing around. The wallpaper was faded and peeling in places, and everything seemed to be covered in a fine layer of dust. Could be that it was a party house, he supposed, abandoned save for events like this one, when the dwindled grandeur of the place was part of the fun.

They reached a landing on the second floor, but didn’t stop there. As he was led up another flight of stairs, the strains of music and conversation reached Dee’s ears. It grew louder as they reached the third floor landing, where the stairs ended in a long corridor. A grimy stained glass window cast dim coloured light across the carpet at the other end of the hallway, catching the dying sunlight outside. The door closest to the window stood ajar, the music and chatter issuing from within.

“So what’s the party for?” asked Dee, uncomfortable with the contrasting silence there in the corridor. There were unhappy butterflies running amok in his stomach. No matter how many gigs he’d done, no matter the size of the venue, he could never shake the nerves that welled up before a performance.

“Big night,” answered the man in red. “Sort of like a birthday.”

“Sort of--?” Dee was ushered into the room at the end of the corridor by a large hand at his back before he could finish the question. Inside the room, he was greeted by the sight of a larger crowd than he’d been expecting. Normally for things like this he arrived before most of the guests, in order to have time to set up and coordinate with the hosts before the event got underway. If the eclectic group of people already chatting over drinks and swaying to music on the stereo was anything to go by, this party was already underway. The butterflies in his stomach beat their wings harder, unhappy with being caught off-guard. A few people looked his way at the sound of the door shutting behind him and his guide, but no one showed much interest, soon returning to their conversations. Dee felt a brief pang of wistfulness for times past. He hoped that the people here would be a bit more enthusiastic once he started singing. Tonight was already shaping up to be awkward enough, he didn’t need a disinterested audience to top it off. 

“So, uh, any requests?” he asked the big man. It occurred to him that he hadn’t asked the fellow’s name. Then again, he hadn’t been offered it either. “For songs, I mean.”

For the first time since he’d greeted Dee at the door, the other man smiled. Or at the very least, he showed his teeth. “Think you should sing your favourites, mate. The ones you’d sing if it were the last night in the world.”

“Riiiight,” said Dee. 

This was going to be a weird night.

[fangirlshrewt97]

Geralt Whump Week Submission Day 5

TITLE: I Walk a Lonely Road

SHIPS: Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier|Dandelion (Platonic or Pre-Slash)

PROMPT: Loneliness

MEDIUM (Netflix, Books, Games, Hexer): Netflix

WARNINGS: NA

SUMMARY:  Excerpt:

And yet, Jaskier had followed him. Jaskier followed him despite his grouchy demeanor, his taciturn nature, his ostracism at the hands of the general pubic. And not only did Jaskier follow him, he befriended him. In his long life, Geralt had come across the whole swath of humanity, from the saints to the scum of the earth, but very few had had the courage to be able to look him in the eye for more than a few minutes at a time. And even less had thought him to be someone worth knowing. Jaskier was the first, and only, human brave enough to ask to be - no not ask, declare himself to be Geralt’s friend.

Alternate title: Geralt misses Jaskier and ponders on having a friend.

WORD COUNT: 1483 words

AUTHOR’S NOTES:  Additional Tags include Geralt Whump Week, Loneliness, Introspection, Friendship, Angst with a happy ending, Geralt deserves better, Geralt has abandonment issues, Geralt has trust issues

AUTHOR: Fangirlshrewt97

CHARACTERS: Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier

LINK TO AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25089355

                                                         ///

It was odd, how unsettling the silence was the first time Geralt and Jaskier parted for the season after they started to travel with each other for the majority of the year. Geralt heading towards Kaer Morhen, and Jaskier back towards Oxenfurt.

The world seemed to be amplifying the specific absence of nonstop chatter and mindless strumming, so that even the existing chirping of birds, the rustle of leaves against the wind, the rush of the stream down the hill, all of it seemed to be background noise to the silence.

Geralt urged Roach into a light trot instead of the sedate pace she was currently on. Maybe distance would lower the volume of the silence.

Jaskier was closer to Oxenfurt than Geralt had been to Kaer Morhen, so Geralt had led them towards Redania after they finished their business in Temeria. It was simply because Geralt did not want to cause the bard further difficulties as he made his way back to his winter roost. It was challenging to travel during winter even for a Witcher, it would be even worse for Jaskier.

Roach started to slow down after nearly two hours of trotting, so Geralt decided to make camp, dismounting from Roach and leading her by the reins as he scanned the area for a good campsite. Finding a small clearing a little ways from the road, Geralt tied Roach to a tree and settled down saddle bags. He removed a small dagger and went in search of food.

After a quick hunt and a large rabbit that had had the unfortunate luck of crossing his path, Geralt gathered firewood and created his fire for the evening with Igni. He went through the motions of cleaning the rabbit and cooking it, eating mechanically.

It was difficult to believe so now, having travelled alone on the Path for nearly seven decades now, but three years with Jaskier were all that Geralt had needed to become used to him. There were some days when the bard was too much, too loud, too colourful, too much frenetic energy. But other days, he was the one bright spot of sunshine that reminded Geralt that while most humanity hated him for his existence, his duty was done for people like Jaskier, people who made life worth living.

Who brought some joy into a world of cruelty and death, a breath of fresh air through the stink of decay and destitution. Who was brave, and smart, and courageous. But who also was not afraid to fight for what he believed in, or who. Geralt had lost count of the number of fights he had stopped Jaskier from getting into over himself, but the surprise of someone fighting for him was there every time.

If Jaskier had been here, he would have been complaining over the blandness of the rabbit, and prattling about buying spices at their next stop at a town so it did not feel so much like they were eating barely-cooked meat.

Geralt felt his lips twitch upward at the thought. Even without being beside him, the bard had wound his way into Geralt’s head and life. It had not actually been too difficult, Geralt had never had to properly set up walls to protect himself beyond the insults hurled at Witchers. Why bother, what human would ever want to be around a monster like him? And sorcerers? Please, they were so stuck up with their inflated senses of selves, Geralt found it incredible some of them did not simply fly away with egos. Other Witchers were so few that he crossed paths with. And his brothers? Well they had always had a place there.

So. Geralt had skin thicker than the hide of his armor, but his walls crumbled at the slightest show of affection, or understanding, or kindness. Or even just being treated as a person and a not a killing machine.

And yet.

And yet.

And yet, Jaskier had followed him.

Jaskier followed him despite his grouchy demeanor, his taciturn nature, his ostracism at the hands of the general pubic. And not only did Jaskier follow him, he befriended him.

In his long life, Geralt had come across the whole swath of humanity, from the saints to the scum of the earth, but very few had had the courage to be able to look him in the eye for more than a few minutes at a time. And even less had thought him to be someone worth knowing. Jaskier was the first, and only, human brave enough to ask to be - no not ask, declare himself to be Geralt’s friend.

Geralt did not know how to react to this, he had been brought up being told that Witchers travelled alone, their duty was one observed alone, their lives a sacrifice for the greater good, not their own.

His earliest memory, well, second earliest was of his mother abandoning him on the trail that lead to Kaer Morhen. It was calling out for her and stumbling down the path until nightfall, disoriented, hungry, and scared. It was being terrified of being eaten by the hulking figure with golden-yellow cat eyes that glowed in the dark until that figure revealed itself to be a Witcher.

Among his fellow trainees, his brothers to be, Geralt felt the first sense of family. He felt like he was part of a cause, like the hero of the stories people were going to write. And then they went through the trials. He watched, as one by one, most of the boys he considered to be his brothers died painfully, screams echoing through stone halls. He remembers very little of his own trial, knows it was just as scream-filled, but it is their voices that haunt him on the nights when he is most isolated. He also recalls the first time he left to venture on the Path, the beginning of the rest of his life, saying goodbye to the few constants in his life. Returning the next winter, weathered and worn by a world that had shown itself not to be kind. Returning to a hall where, of the handful of brothers he had stepped into the Path with, only Eskel returned. He learned then more than ever the true meaning of the words of his teachers. Friends were a liability, connections were distractions, and distractions got you killed. Help those in need, help your comrades, but above all, make sure you go into a situation with a clear head.

Geralt shook his head from his musings and cleaned up the remains of his dinner. After putting everything away, he took out his sword cleaning kit and settled by a rock next to his fire pit, using the whetstone to sharpen his blades before running over the swords with oil. He polished the blade to perfection as he had been taught, and placed the two swords back in their scabbards in Roach’s saddle.

He stretched for a bit, still feeling a little restless, but feeling too filled with energy to meditate. The cracks from days of laying on hard floors and riding make themselves known, and the stretching leaves him feeling pleasantly sore and limp. He makes his way to his bedroll, dropping gracelessly onto the mat and rolling onto his back. The clearing he had chose was well hidden from the road, and the circle of trees were tall enough to provide further cover. But straight upward? There was a large opening unobstructed by plants that allowed for a view of the starry sky.

The moon’s beams were at the edge of the circle of trees, lighting up the sky to give him a view that reminded him just how small he was in the larger scale of their world.

One of the lessons that was drilled into Witchers during training was to learn the night sky, and use it as a compass to orient themselves anywhere on the Continent. Geralt had not been the quickest at identifying them, but had enjoyed the lessons nonetheless. They were one of the few that taught the trainees the beauty of their world, rather than the violence and horror of it.

Geralt stayed staring up at the night sky until his eyelids grew heavy and he fell asleep to the sound of the woods, the rustling of the trees, the distant calls of owls, the scampering of small wildlife out on a hunt.

He had lived for the majority of his life believing himself destined for a life of loneliness. But he had found himself a bard - no, a friend. Someone who was voluntarily spending time with him because he enjoyed to do so.

The thought brought a smile to Geralt’s face, and he fell asleep underneath the canvas of the night sky like that.

Full of happiness and pride, humming a familiar song that had been written about him.

[ladykeane]

for the fic prompts: reg and bertie adopting a cat!!!

Prompt filled!

I decided to cut to the chase. ‘I could not help but notice the pamphlet from Battersea sitting on the coffee table.’He now simpered at me boldly. ‘Come on, Reg… you know how dearly I want one! I’ve already cleared it with Mr Manglehoffer. Anyway, he has those yappy shih tzus. Couldn’t you just imagine curling up on the sofa with a little ball of fur, purring sweetly away in your lap? We can get it some toys and a scratching post, and stick its litter tray in the second lavatory. I could even get one of those mini vacuum cleaners to deal with the fur.’Clearly, he’d anticipated all of my possible protests.

For the majority of my life, I have considered myself a fairly guarded and self-contained man. Coming from a large and boisterous family, with siblings that loudly vie for attention and prominence, I have instinctively adopted the role of careful observer. Learning to read human character, and applying that knowledge to best improve my own situation, has become a lifelong skill that has aided me in both my career and social standing.

By contrast, Bertram is naturally carefree and open, largely unconcerned by how his interactions with others affect his own situation. I theorise this may be due to his status as an only child and an orphan, who has had to seek out love and approval by pleasing his extended family and his peer group. The claustrophobic clamour of my own demonstrative family has driven me to be quite guarded.

Of course, that is not to say that Bertram entirely lacks guile. I have noted his novice study of the psychology of the individual (I am not too humble to say that my modus operandi has been his primary inspiration), and he has slowly become more canny in his negotiations.A prime example of this occurred only last week.

I returned home from work. Instead of encountering the usual disarray of empty mugs, unfolded laundry, and errant clutter strewn about the place, the flat was impeccably tidy. The strains of my favourite Tchaikovsky concerto floated from the stereo system, interspersed with muted metallic clangs echoing out from the kitchen. The sound of my beloved singing to himself could also be discerned.

‘What ho, Reg. Dinner will be on in about five. Just got to finish the potatoes. I thought we could eat in the dining room tonight.’Curious, I peered into said space. The table was set for two, accented by a swathe of lit candles and a fresh bouquet of white peonies as a centrepiece. This sort of ceremony was usually reserved for birthdays and other such occasions. As I put away my work things, I pondered what Bertram’s motive could be. I prayed that he hadn’t broken anything irreplaceable. Or, even worse, invoked the wrath of one of his aunts, thus requiring my help to, as he is wont to say, ‘pull him from the soup.’

As I crossed back towards the dining room, I spied one piece of clutter which remained conspicuous on the coffee table: a pamphlet from Battersea Dogs and Cats Home. It reported on the unfortunate spike in abandoned animals that occurs after each Christmas, as well as the purported advantages of taking in a rescue animal as a family pet. 

Bertram met me at the table with two plates of juicy sirloin, and an attractive smile. He had donned his pale blue, fitted Cuban collar shirt, which displayed the graceful lines of his neck and collarbone most fetchingly. ‘There’s tiramisu for dessert, too. The one from Angelo’s!’

As we dined, I fought between savouring the exquisite trappings that Bertram had laid out, and the fizzle of exasperation at the imminent pitch that I was in for.Bertram has always been enamoured of cats, and I had long known that I would have to deal with his desire to adopt one as a pet. I am certainly not averse to the animals - in some cases they are charming companions, elegant and affectionate, and less intrusive to a household than a dog. However, they can also possess a changeable temperament, and the scratch-marks and fur they can leave on one’s furniture is, at least in my view, a major detriment. Not to mention the ghastly odour of their litter trays.

I decided to cut to the chase. ‘I could not help but notice the pamphlet from Battersea sitting on the coffee table.’He now simpered at me boldly. ‘Come on, Reg… you know how dearly I want one! I’ve already cleared it with Mr Manglehoffer. Anyway, he has those yappy shih tzus. Couldn’t you just imagine curling up on the sofa with a little ball of fur, purring sweetly away in your lap? We can get it some toys and a scratching post, and stick its litter tray in the second lavatory. I could even get one of those mini vacuum cleaners to deal with the fur.’Clearly, he’d anticipated all of my possible protests.

I pushed a mound of green beans about my plate, and huffed to myself. There are a number of inadvisable fancies that I have striven to cure my fiance of: garish fashion choices, toxic acquaintances, and not least of all a phase where he attempted to learn the banjo. But this, I fear, was more deep-seated.The poet Baudelaire had much to say about the comfort of feline companionship: ‘Viens, mon beau chat, sur mon coeur amoureux.’ Likewise the prophet Mohammed, Catherine the Great, even the sublime Freddie Mercury. My Bertram counted among this group. His beautiful loving heart was eager to make a comfortable home for some lucky beast. While my fastidious habits still balked at the adjustments of taking on a pet, I knew deep down this was a battle I could not win. Especially considering that a softer part of me would be delighted by the little creature’s presence, despite any potential mess.

He interrupted my rumination. ‘I mean, since we’re well settled in to our flat now, and will soon don the spongebag trousers to exchange our vows… I figured it was about time, you know. Expand our little family and all.’While I knew the pleading look in his large blue eyes to be mostly a crafty design, it still had the effect of melting me utterly.

‘Well…’ I said slowly, ‘I insist that I be present at the selection of the animal. I should like to have input as to which one we choose, and the chance to assess its temperament prior to adoption.’‘Of course, old thing, I wouldn’t have it any other way! It’s going to be your cat, too.’‘Be that as it may, cleaning and feeding will fall entirely to you, my poet.’‘Right ho.’

One upshot was that he washed the dishes entirely by himself, and later allowed me to undress him and ravish him in all the ways that pleased me best - though I warrant this last perk was certainly a mutual one.

***

‘Oh Bertie, I’m ever so glad that you’ve come to rescue one of our little sweethearts!’ Ms Bassett, eyes shining, led us cheerfully through to the cattery. ‘You know, Roddy and I just found the perfect baby brother for Piglet, a dear little fox terrier cross named Snowy. Just like the doggie in “Tintin”!’A thoughtful mien passed across Bertram’s face.‘A doggie, eh?’‘No, Bertram.’‘Oh, alright.’

The cattery was a bright, clean space, with the cats kept individually in large perspex enclosures. I confess I was not unaffected by the rows of bright emerald eyes and twitching velvet ears that we beheld.‘Let me know if you would like to meet any of these precious angels, and you can go in and introduce yourselves,’ Ms Bassett informed us.‘I say, I like this one!’

Bertram had already been drawn to one inmate, who’d padded right up to the front of the enclosure to gaze up at him curiously. A small, delicate thing, with grey tabby markings on her mask, back and tail, and white underbelly and legs. As Bertram kneeled to greet her, she chirruped away in a light, dulcet voice.‘Puccini likes you, Bertie! She’s not usually so friendly with visitors.’‘Puccini, eh? We could call her “Poochy” for short, eh Reg?’‘Most amusing, Bertram.’

We entered her enclosure, and she wasted no time in winding herself about Bertram’s legs, still chirping at him. She was rewarded with a gentle scratch on the head, and she purred loudly. I could sense that this was love at first sight.‘Who’s a good Poochy, then? Do you behave yourself for Ms Maddie?’‘Mrowr.’‘Jolly good.’

He plopped himself down, and spent the next hour playing with Puccini. He giggled as she batted at his outstretched wriggling fingers, stroked her plush fur as she gently headbutted his arm, and even let her lick his face with her sandy pink tongue. All the while he cooed at her, while she responded in kind with a lyrical stream of mews and tweets and squeaks.‘Little chatterbox, isn’t she?’‘Like attracts like, Bertram.’

It seemed inevitable - we would not need to see any other cats. After a while I approached Ms Bassett. ‘I believe we have made our selection.’‘More like Puccini has made hers,’ she remarked. ‘But I’m afraid that it’s not that simple. Puccini came from a house full of cats, you see, and doesn’t do well on her own. The policy for adopting her is that she must have another kitty housemate.’

My heart dropped to my stomach. One cat was enough of a compromise, but two cats could be potential bedlam. My mind roved to images of troublesome cartoon siamese, broken ceramics, and overwhelmed house guests.

But then my gaze settled on Bertam cradling the purring Puccini in his arms, a look of pure bliss cast across his lovely face. A heavy sigh escaped me.‘Bertram, we must adopt a second cat in order to take Puccini home. Shall we select one?’

He looked up at me, partly surprised and noticeably moved.‘Oh… are you sure, Reg? I mean, I’d be over the moon to get two of them, but…’I swallowed my diffidence down. ‘I could no more bear to part you from your new friend than I could part the Red Sea.’‘Reg… you are a marvel. Well… since I chose this one, why don’t you choose the second for yourself?’

I left the two of them to seek out our next adoptee. Here I rallied my sound judge of character. Puccini appeared to be bubbly and perhaps a little capricious, so I reckoned that a cat with a steady, serene temperament would prove to be the best influence for her.

I passed the rows of prospective pets, paying careful attention to demeanour and body language. The friendlier, more extroverted cats I discounted right away - they would no doubt prove to exacerbate Puccini’s friskiness. I instead paid attention to the cats who remained calm and still. Some were simply grumpy, and they would not do. Nor did I consider the animals who were sluggish and entirely unresponsive - that could possibly be a sign of poor health.And then, I saw him.

Perched atop a tiered scratching post, this long lean beast was the very picture of feline elegance. He was pure white, with a long tail that was swishing about slowly and gracefully. His face was not soft and round but aquiline, almost lionesque. His eyes were closed in contemplation. The long neck was tilted slightly to the side - all the better to show off his wonderful profile. Had I not known better, I would have deemed him a fine marble sculpture.‘That’s Vasily. Handsome, isn’t he? Would you like to say hello?’

Ms Bassett let me into the enclosure, and I carefully approached him. ‘Good day, Mr Vasily.’At this he opened his eyes, and I was astounded to discover they were a similar hue to Bertram’s: brilliant, summer sky blue. He meowed at me, a low, husky drawl.‘Vasily is a nice chap, very calm. I think he’s the least anxious cat I’ve ever seen,’ said Ms Bassett.

I held up a hand to him, which he gently headbutted. His coat was like silk. He purred at my attention, deeper and more resonant than Puccini’s delicate timbre.I could well picture myself lounging about with a good book and a glass of wine, with this exquisite animal draped upon me. He had a look of such serenity and intelligence, the exemplar of his species.

While I was not eager for his white fur to meet my dark apparel, I spent some time with Vasily, basking in his natural tranquility. Ms Bassett suggested introducing Puccini to him.The smaller cat eagerly jumped up to join him on the scratching post platform, making a very forward introduction in licking the fur on his back. He responded to this by drooping in ecstasy.‘They are both desexed, are they not?’Ms Bassett nodded, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Well, Reg, I think we’ve found ourselves a fur-baby family, what?’

***

We brought our new pets home with a cosy sort of excitement. The first task was, of course, to allow the cats free reign to explore the flat, and get comfortable with their new home. I had made Bertram set up the litter tray that morning, to prevent any accidents.

They padded cautiously about, sniffing at the furniture and seeming to conduct a little conversation of their own:‘Meow.’‘Mrowr?’‘Miiiaow.’‘Prrrt!’

Bertram sat upon the sofa, encouraging them to join him. Puccini quickly snuggled into his lap.‘Awfully nice spot to watch telly here, Poochy. Or possibly listen to a good recording of “Madame Butterfly!”’

It was at this juncture that a magnificent crash sounded from the kitchen.I rushed in to find my elegant Vasily clambering about on the workbench, knocking down the tea things with his long swishing tail.‘Mr Vasily!’‘Miaow?’‘Get down from there at once!’

He blinked at me with serene, uncomprehending blue eyes.I shooed him off the counter, and he leapt to the floor, spilling a jar of tea leaves in his descent. As he scooted out of the kitchen, he bumped into the rubbish bin.

Once I had cleaned up the mess, I found the culprit sitting next to Bertram on the sofa. Puccini was still curled up on his lap, her tail swishing as she dozed. It was inadvertently smacking Vasily in the face. Each time he was hit, he recoiled with surprise.  But not once did he think to get out of the way. It was almost comical to watch this cycle of stupid endurance.

‘That was Vasily making a racket in there?’ Bertram asked.‘I regret it was.’‘Hm.’ He examined the feline, still being helplessly swatted by his new housemate’s tail. ‘You know what, Reg? Not for the first time, I think you’ve fallen in love with a blue-eyed himbo.’

***

Thus far, Vasily has broken three pieces of glassware, one mantlepiece clock, shredded Bertram’s favourite purple long-sleeve tee (no great loss), knocked several books off their shelves, and repeatedly interrupted Bertram and I in flagrante. He has also accepted his place as the second banana, as Puccini has asserted herself as pack leader without room for argument. Last night, he spilled my cup of tea across the dining table, almost ruining my laptop.

And yet, every time I look into his blue eyes, completely helpless as to the chaos that he leaves in his wake, I pang for the sweet, silly creature. He has very quickly claimed a place in my heart. Upon cleaning up his messes, he is all too eager to snuggle with me as I peruse Spinoza or Wilde, and his purrs are deep and soothing. Without malice, without coldness, and without any bloody common sense. My Vasily is a welcome addition to our little family, and with him I am a less guarded, more loving man.

***NOTE: Vasily and Puccini are inspired by my brother’s cats (I being the owner of a darling doggie). Vasily crossed the rainbow bridge in 2018, but he has a happy forever home with Jeeves and Bertie. I can attest that the real Vasily was just as much of a clumsy, heedless dumbass, while also being singularly beautiful (reminds one of a certain Drone, no?)

[utanoprinces]

Dragon Route: Natsuki

After a long stretch of months in the creative pit, I have been very busy on my selfship blog but otherwise quietly sticking to work I have emerged with one of the first of my written commissions! Commissioned by the very kind and longsuffering @eldritchdoctor, who waited far too many months for it to be completed, the first of the Starish routes is here to be read at your leisure. This one, like Reiji’s, will not be in narration-player format like the others but is instead a very long one-shot. I hope you enjoy!

Tale of: the Merchant and Citrine Dragon

The first time you met him, you thought it’d be the last night you’d walk the earth. To this day, you wonder if—had you not crossed paths with him—it would have been. Your cart had broken down in the middle of the mountain crossing, right on the curve overlooking a valley. Normally, that would spell doom, as the kingdom at large is well aware that the area is rife with the Fae and all their mischief, tricks, and traps laid to ensnare unlucky or unsuspecting mortals. It’s said that even straying a meter from the man-made path is enough to get yourself caught up in a wild goose chase after false lanterns or end up some unknown creature’s meal, so when you’d nervously sat down on the grassy hill beside your broken cart in despair only to minutes-later be met with a sudden, gentle voice, you had immediately assumed it was the end.

“Cute, little human~!” The voice called. “Did your wheel box fall apart?”

Wheel box? You thought to yourself very absently, unable to think much else with a chill running down your spine. Realizing he meant the cart, you looked up—and froze in place.

He was tall, so tall. Broad-shouldered, but with a softness about his entire demeanor that nearly made you forget the danger you were in, and clad in a long, smooth coat that graduated from rich yellows to soft browns. Farther up, you were briefly entranced by the green of his eyes, like grass in sunlight, framed by a pair of filigree spectacles and wavy, beige-gold hair that twisted in so many shiny, pleasant ways that you were nearly bowled over by the very unprecedented desire to dig your hands into it and run your fingers through to the ends.

However, the most arresting part of the open, inviting face gazing down at you was not any of the features you’d normally consider yourself familiar with. Instead of his pale skin, his gentle smile, or those eyes that threatened to capture you once more, it was the twisting, bronze horns curling across his forehead that most caught your eye. 

He tilted his head, face shifting into a concerned expression with wide, owlish eyes.

“Hm? Can you not hear me…?” He kneeled before you to reach your eye level, still smiling far wider than was appropriate. He waved his hands in front of your face—his fingertips had claws!—and hummed. “Are you all right, human~?”

“What are you?” You blurted. His face broadened in surprise before he smiled once more.

“A friend. Here to help you.” He turned his attention away from you and tapped his face, standing straight as he approached your fallen cart with an appraising eye. Your attention zoned in on the golden tail behind him, crested with feathers near where it disappeared into his coat and at the end, where it splayed into beautiful long plumes that shimmered faintly in the moonlight. You quietly decided that—whatever he was—he was certainly the most stunning creature you'd ever seen.

It went on like that, with the strange being waving his hand in a seemingly random pattern and somehow pulling your cart together again. When he finished reassembling it, he returned to you and helped you up by gripping the back of your clothes as if you were a kitten and settled you on your feet.

“Are you traveling alone?” He asked. “That seems so lonely!”

“I don’t exactly have a choice,” you replied carefully. “I have to make a living somehow.” He hummed in awe, face turning once more to that innocent, wide-eyed expression. You almost wondered if he was teasing you, but he just seemed so… guileless. It was hard to gauge, so you kept your guard up, even as his tail swayed with interest.

“What is it you do exactly? I haven’t gotten the chance to talk to many humans! Syo always tries to drag me away when I see any.” 

You frowned. ‘Syo’? You shook your head and walked down to your cart, carefully brushing over the joints and straps and making sure nothing had fallen out when it broke down. You took up the straps again. “I’m a merchant. Traveling, usually but… I’ve heard of some opportunities near the capital that seem profitable.” 

“P… profitable?” The being squinted, as if testing the word in his mouth. You stared at him.

“Do you… know what commerce is, er…?” 

He brightened. “Natsuki!” His face fell again. “...and no… but I’m very curious to learn.” Somehow… something about the way he seemed so knowledgeable and yet so childish at once… it struck you. You couldn’t help breathing a small huff of amusement as you straightened the straps over your shoulders and took a step.

“You’re right, Natsuki. The journey has been pretty lonely, so far.” 

He easily caught up and fell into step beside you, politely and thoughtfully folding his hands in front of him. “I can keep you company! I’m so curious about humans, you know!” You smiled awkwardly at him.

“As long as you don’t try to snare me or take my name or anything…”

“Take your name?” He blinked. “Is that something humans do?” He gasped. “Is that what bandits do? Now I know why I always see people running from them!” This guy… was he really Fae? That was what you had thought until his eyes had lit up with understanding… moments before he seemed to shrink in on himself. “A-ah… I see. You’re… afraid.” You flinched. He sounded so, so terribly sad. You weren’t expecting a being like him to care what a human thought… or maybe you’d even thought he might show his true colors if you were blunt with him. However, to your surprise, he genuinely seemed concerned. He lowered his eyes, looking out over the swathes of forest that stretched away down the side of the path as you both trudged forward. “I… understand. Tokiya says humans avoid the valley because they are afraid of the Court, but… please believe me when I say that dragons and the Court are not entirely alike. We don’t wish to hurt humans.” He paused and frowned. “Well… most of us.”

You weren’t entirely sure how to respond. Court? Dragons? He was a dragon? But dragons hadn’t been heard of in over fifty years! Still, his tail, his horns, the casual way he’d used magic… it matched the legends you’d heard. What in the world were you meant to do with such information, though?

“I’m not afraid,” you blurted, and immediately snapped your mouth shut, feeling your face heat up. Okay, maybe that was impulsive. Maybe you’d just wanted to reassure him that you didn’t hate him, with him looking so gentle and wounded like he was. Almost instantly, his gaze snapped back to you, face splitting into an overjoyed grin that seemed to glow brighter than the moonlight itself… or perhaps that was the faintly-shimmering, golden mist that very subtly bloomed from between his lips and surrounded you both. Your heart stuttered as you were overcome with imagery, sensations… something you’d never quite felt before.

Biting into sweet pears and feeling the juices run down your hands but knowing that it would be washed away by clean water. Licking honey from your fingertips, surrounded by the scent of fresh bread and butter and the laughter of people you love. Being held in a pile of soft cushions, fingertips brushing down your skin.

He was golden. He was radiant. He was celestial. 

He… was the most beautiful thing you’d ever experienced and—you blinked. Wait just a moment; what was all that? You stared up at him, faltering in your steps as your brows knit and you attempted to gauge his demeanor. Natsuki simply smiled, his eyes soft and distant, his energy overall serene and unthreatening.

“I’m happy if that’s the case,” he said carefully, eyes never leaving yours. “I’m happy if you trust me enough to take you wherever you’re going.” He blinked slowly and tilted his head. “You are… incredibly fascinating and cute.”

The heat in your face had increased, your walk had continued, and finally, after many hours, you’d reached the end of the mountain pass. Before you reached the outpost, Natsuki regaled you with tales of his interactions with pixies, of the annual revel of the Fae Court and all the dragons that met there, of his home, his love of animals. He also asked plenty of questions, both mundane and vast, about humans and human life. Little by little, he entertained you and kept you at ease and—strangely—in a way, he kept you safe the entire while. Finally, he glanced up towards the wall of the outpost cresting over the distant trees and looked back to you, lifting a hand to gently brush through your hair.

“I hope you stay safe on the rest of your journey, cute Merchant,” he said, leaning down to smile at you directly. “...and I hope you keep me in your thoughts.”

With that, he waved as innocently as a child and faded before you could reply, leaving you alone on the path with a mended cart and entirely stunned. 

⁂

With the city bustling around you, you sigh quietly and look up to the mountain range at the edge of the horizon. The sky is bright and blue, nary a cloud in sight; the air is the perfect temperature for traveling… and you are traveling light, so everything is in place for a pleasant journey aside from the usual possible hazards of being abroad. You lick your lips, glancing up at the smudges of grey-green in the blueness once more, the distant peaks only just showing over the top of the city walls. 

It has been some time since you’ve journeyed through the mountain pass. Years, even. You’ve led a relatively calm life moving your wares between the capital and surrounding villages, but now it's once again time for you to leave your roots and start somewhere new. Whether it's because you've heard rumors of new, even-more fascinating items to sell in existence beyond the mountains or simply because your heart is yearning for the road, you haven't decided. All you know is that you are called to go… and so you do, though it's lighter this time than the last trip, with only the gear you need to camp safely along the trail and the items you plan to sell on the other side.

As you take the first steps out of the city and onto the path towards the mountains, an errant thought flits through your mind; you wonder if you’ll meet him again… that strange, golden-colored being. With the way the wind is tugging at your clothes enticingly, you get the sense that anything—and especially something incredible—could happen. That in mind, you hike your pack higher on your shoulders and begin the several-day trek to the base of the mountain pass.

⁂

By incredible, you hadn’t really meant ‘earth-shattering’.

Of course, you should really know by now that things rarely work out exactly as you expect them to, for better and for worse. 

You hold onto your pack tightly, doing your best to press yourself under the rocky outcrop you’d managed to scramble to when the first roar echoed across the horizon. The very earth seems to shake with another agonizingly-loud bellow, a sound you’ve never heard in your life, so ear-splitting that you think it might have the power to kill you just from the vibrations it’s sending through your body. You squeeze your eyes shut as small pebbles and sand pour down around you. Something in the air thrums—subaudible, thunderous pulses… a chorus of them in various pitches. You pull your legs up, whimpering quietly as you continue to hide, unsure if you should be praying to the powers that be, and look up just in time to see a jaw-droppingly massive figure of gold go crashing into the forest below the path. Another rumble echoes through the ground as trees fall around the impact. You stare, unable to close your mouth in your shock as the figure is followed by several more, some pausing in the air to hover. 

Dragons.

You realize the pulse in the air is the sound of their wings, big enough to cast a full district of the capital city in shadow each. There are seven of them, including the golden one that had fallen to the ground before, each a different color and almost glowing in the sun. In fact, there’s one who seems to glow like the sun itself, judging by the halo of light around its wings. You watch as they fly around each other, mouths opening and closing as different sounds fill the air with their wingbeats. Roars, growls, noises not unlike echoing wolf yips. Explosions of colored light shoot upwards from where the golden one had fallen, crackling outwards like the sparkling explosions seen around festivals in the city. Despite your fear, you can’t help but crawl forward, looking on in awe. The closer you get, the more the roars seem to take shape in your mind, almost as if they aren’t mindless sounds at all, but a true language being thrown back and forth. 

“Someone bind him! Tokiya… Tokiya your spells!”

“I’m trying my best! I wasn’t prepared for this today.”

“Who would be, Ichi?! Just get on it!”

“I’d like to see you try harder yourself, Jinguji!”

“Stop arguing and hold him in place while Syo gets his glasses!”

The group descends as a smaller, rosy-pink dragon darts in like a falcon. Shortly after, a cloud of rainbow smoke as big as the palace rises from the impact. The roars decrease to smaller sounds, more human sounds. Shouting and arguing below the pathway. You take a hold of your pack, gingerly slinging it back over your shoulders before crawling out farther to peer over the ridge. With the rocks strewn around the path biting into your palms, you bend down, carefully looking down between the trees. You see an array of richly-dressed men scrambling around, clothes flashing and glittering in the patches of sunlight that manage to stream through the trees. Two dark-clad members of the group stand over the figure on the ground, hands raised and shifting between movements. One is writing in the air furiously with a sleek, black quill. Dripping purple coils of light follow his pen, sinking downwards like silt before fading from sight. The other, a man whose robe resembles the night sky, complete with glittering stars, uses a silver finger cuff to claw glowing, white runes into the air over the figure on the ground, who is growling and thrashing against a violently-bright, purple light barrier over him. A smaller figure in pink and white dashes left and right around the barrier, holding something delicately in his hands.

“You”—he stumbles and curses—“you have to hold him still! I can’t get through the barrier if he’s thrashing!”

The man with jet-colored hair and the black quill hisses, “What more do you want us to do? This is already the limit of Hijirkawa’s and my power!” There is a flash of light and another of the men comes into view, hair strikingly red. Seemingly without thought, he drives his foot down hard through the light barrier, immediately crying out in pain but staying firm with his foot on the bound figure’s chest.

“Ikki!” “Otoya!”

As it all unfolds before you, somehow the beings move in such a way that the crowd parts for an instant—just long enough for the man on the ground to make eye contact with you through a ripple in the barrier. 

Green… like sunlight through leaves.

You clap a hand over your mouth as the realization hits you.

It’s him.

Natsuki is distracted long enough for the smallest man to force his hands through the barrier, hissing in pain as he shoves a distantly-familiar pair of glasses over Natsuki’s eyes. Immediately, the barrier ripples and shatters apart, making a sound like cracking crystal before dissipating. Natsuki’s shout of anguish is cut off by a sharp silence; he falls limp on the forest floor. The group of men shares a collective sigh of relief, each slouching or closing their eyes as though exhausted. Shaken, you move to crawl away from the ridge but accidentally send a cascade of debris down the side. The jet-haired man looks up, eyes narrowing as he scans for the sound before widening when they land on you.

“We’re not alone,” he says sharply. The others follow his gaze, each pair of jewel-colored eyes landing on you in turn. You feel an alarming stab of dread lance through you and you recoil in fear, but not before you hear a crackle and shuffle. You scramble backward, still blinking hard in surprise and making sure you have everything you need. Unfortunately, you turn around and run right into the arms of one of the taller men—an orange-haired man clad in little more than an abundance of sheer ruffles. He catches you firmly around the waist, pack and all, and smirks, tilting his head and batting eyes bluer than a summer sky.

"Are you lost, little lamb~?" His voice is smooth and sinuous, rich and low as it sinks into your ears. Without even moving, you can tell you won’t be able to break his hold, so you simply fall silent, glancing back to where the others are slowly gathering Natsuki off the ground before looking back to the one holding you.

“W… what did you do to him? ‘Natsuki’, right? Is he okay?” You swallow uncomfortably. “Are you going to kill me?”

The man blinks several times before laughing, a pleasant, breathy chuckle. You hear a hiss from behind you and the man clothed in the night sky robe (Hijirikawa?) speaks. 

“Jinguji, is now really the time to be laughing? A human has seen us… and worse, has seen Shinomiya on the brink of—”

“Quiet,” the jet-haired man murmurs firmly. “We shouldn’t speak of this in the open. If word gets out, the Queen will want an audience… and none of us want that.” He glances among the group, taking in their equally-cowed faces and lowered eyes. His eyes return to you, narrowed suspiciously. “We should bring the human with us. They’ve seen too much and they know his name… We can wait for him to regain consciousness and then decide what to do with them after.” You open your mouth to argue that it’s insensitive to discuss your fate as if you aren’t present as well, but before you can get a word out, the man who is holding you extends a claw before your face. A small flame springs to life on the tip of his finger and it draws your attention just long enough for him to snap his fingers, sending the flame up into a shower of sparks.

You black out instantly.

⁂

The time of day is uncertain when you wake again, but judging by the heat, you assume it’s after midday. It’s almost uncanny to wake with no side effects from your sudden unconsciousness. In fact, you almost feel better than you did before you’d been so rudely knocked out. All the same, you habitually rub your eyes as you sit up to peer around you.

Sunlight filters through a canopy of leafy trees overhead; a few birds are shifting and twittering in the branches. You take a deep breath—wherever you are, you’re outside, lying on warm stone. There is a very distant sound of… music? But it’s not an instrument you’ve heard before… airy and whimsical and reverberating… not unlike the tuning forks you witnessed an alchemist use once during a visit to the palace court. There’s a quiet rustle of fabric behind you and you turn to see the smallest of the other men you’d met, perking up from a stone chair not far from the bench you’re lying on. He’s dressed in a strange, white, two-piece bodysuit with pink sheer draped over him. It’s more revealing than the fashions in the cities and villages you’ve seen, so you can’t help but feel a little flustered over it and blurt the first thing that comes to mind.

“Are you some sort of courtesan?”

He flushes pinker than his clothes—it makes the blue of his eyes pop—and growls, “What? No! Of course not!” You blink at him several times, surprised by his embarrassment, then laugh once. Twice. You decay into little giggles and sit up all the way while he huffs and crosses his arms. “Oi, I was generous when I offered to watch you and you’re havin’ the nerve to laugh at me! You got any idea who I am?” You choke down your mirth and look at him after noticing your pack carefully stowed away beside your bench. His tail is a deep, dusty pink and flecked with scales that resemble splotches of gold leaf… and it’s thrashing subtly, much like an annoyed cat. You breathe an amused sound once more and tilt your head.

“Nope. No idea. Are you someone important?”

“Imp…! Important!” He splutters, standing up abruptly. He stalks over to you and, despite the danger you’re clearly capable of falling into, you don’t feel scared. He simply narrows his eyes and blows his bangs out of his face, standing tall. “Syo Kurusu, of the Starish Weyr, where you’re currently being held.” He sniffs. “Who are you? Don’t look like a princess.” You smile with vague interest.

“‘Syo’, huh. That’s a curious name.” You stand up, still looking around as you straighten your clothes. You tell him your name and explain you’re a humble, traveling Merchant. He frowns as he listens to your concise explanation and nods when you’re finished.

“Eh… That explains why you were traveling through the valley, I guess. Shame you had to…” He wrinkles his nose, looking unsure. “...shame you had to see everything. But… You said Natsuki’s name.” You lick your lips and nod slowly.

“We’ve met before… It was a long time ago.” 

Syo snorts. “‘A long time ago’. Heh. You’re really a human.” He rubs the back of his head as his eyes bob around thoughtfully before going wide. “A… a Merchant, you said?” You frown.

“Yeah… nothing special, like I said, but—”

“You’re the one he talks about all the time! You have to be!”

You blink. “What?” Syo grabs your hand and starts pulling you towards an archway that disappears into a hall. 

“Come on, come on! I’ll take you to see him.” He turns back and gives you a surprisingly bright grin. “We can get this all cleared up without Tokiya wanting to wipe your brain or somethin’. He’s careful, but honestly? He’s a little hard on humans.” He releases your hand as you enter a high-ceilinged hallway, lined with equally high windows. The walls are carved of a cream-colored stone; it causes the sunlight to suffuse the entire structure with a richly-golden shade. Syo continues to chatter aimlessly as you pass various crossroads in the seemingly-endless… castle? Manor? You’re actually not quite sure what to call this building aside from the term your guide had used earlier, ‘weyr’. Best you can tell, it’s easily as big as one of the grand council halls from the capital and, consequently, one of the largest structures you’ve been inside. You pass a hallway and see a flash of inky tail slide along the stone, disappearing into a doorway you only can catch a glimpse of at the pace you’re traveling. 

Eventually, you realize you’re slowly ascending, whether by stairs or grand, spiraling staircases, to higher and higher levels until you—quite suddenly—step out of a stone archway and find yourself knee-deep in lush grass. You lift a hand to shield your eyes at the change in lighting and glance at Syo, who is stretching casually. A light breeze ruffles his clothing and hair and he sighs before stepping out towards a stand of trees in the middle distance. You follow, stepping carefully, unsure of the new territory. 

“So… what’s this about Natsuki mentioning me?” You ask lightly. Syo’s tail lifts and ripples as he climbs onto a log, treading down it while lifting his arms for balance. 

“Ah… A few years back, he mentioned meeting a human,” he explains. “And uh… We actually haven’t had any dealings with humans since…” He frowns. “Well, it’s been a long time. At first, we got worried. Natsuki doesn’t always… know his own strength. With how excited he gets, he could easily hurt one of you guys. You’re all so small and fragile.” You hide a laugh with a false cough, thinking it’s funny for a man so small to be talking about humanity’s stature. Syo hops down off the log towards the end, beginning to lead you to where the trees grow a little thicker. The sound of wildlife increases and the air itself seems to thrum with some unseen energy. It tingles in the base of your spine and makes you feel a little stronger, a little fuller. Syo continues, “Anyway, when he told us about how calm you’d been, we were pretty amazed. What with the way dragons used to be known, you… seemed to take us pretty in stride, heh.” 

You shrug gingerly. “I was scared, I won’t lie, but… I figure if some Fae is being kind to me and helping me out, then I have nothing to complain about. I got to see magic up close!” You take a measured, excited breath as the rush of the memory returns to you. “Not even Trickery or the typical Spellweaver stuff, like… Real magic! He just waved his hands and my cart came together again!” Syo’s ears lift slightly before he winces.

“R-real magic….” You nod. “Are all of you like that? I saw some of the magic being used earlier… the guy with the quill and the one with the finger cuff. You’re all dragons, aren’t you? Just like he is…” 

“Mm…” He agrees vaguely. “We’re all dragons, sure. Not all of us are like Natsuki, though.” He pauses before some draped branches of some species of willow tree. You lift a brow.

“Oh? What… what makes him different?”

Syo looks back at you. “Natsuki’s… the strongest magic user I’ve ever seen outside the Queen’s Court… and maybe even then.” You can’t say that anything goes against your expectations at this point, considering you’ve been existing in a vacuum of spectacle for who knows how many hours now, yet still you feel your heart drop. Syo pulls the curtain of branches aside and steps through and you follow dazedly. Light blinds you for a moment and you lift your hands while your eyes adjust once more. When you lower them again, your jaw drops.

The mountain rolls before you for a great distance. You’re amazed that despite being this high, there’s no snow to be seen. Instead, there’s an expanse of the same grass you’ve been wading through, along with splashes of wildflowers and trees, and—most eye-catching of all—a lake. It’s so clear and gentle that the surface is almost mirror-like, reflecting the slowly-reddening afternoon sky, peachy clouds, and the brilliant sun. The wind ruffles it every few moments, causing the trail of the sunlight to shatter into glittering patches. Still, it’s not the environment that makes your breath catch.

It’s the massive, golden, feathery dragon sleeping on the bank of the lake.

You blink rapidly several times, going completely still as you drink in his looks. A great mane of feathers begins at the crown of his head and hugs his jaw like a lion, descending down his spine in a small trail before bursting into another crest of feathers at both the base and the end of his tail. A strange contraption extends from his ears on either side: filigree bars that hold glass disks to his eyes, a dragon’s replacement for human spectacles. 

He breathes in deeply, eyes closed, and exhales again, causing the grass in front of him to flatten. 

The comical interruption of your admiration makes you laugh, drawing Syo’s gaze. 

“C’mon. Looks like he’s still sleeping, but… He should be waking up again soon.” He trudges down the hill towards the bank and you all but stumble after him, eyes still trained on Natsuki… or… you assume it’s Natsuki.

“He… he’s as big as the town square!” You say breathlessly.

“Mm? Oh. Yeah, Natsuki’s also one of the largest of us.”

“I thought he was… still in his… human form?” Your voice falls to an awed whisper as you finally reach him and marvel at the jeweled, almost lacquered look of his scales. His chest rumbles with the sound of his breaths, louder than the quiet tide of the lake. Syo smacks a clawed hand on the side of Natsuki’s neck and hums.

“He kinda got put through a lot earlier; that binding spell by Masato and Tokiya was no joke. After somethin’ like that, access to the other plane can get pretty volatile, so we brought him out here in case he shifted back and forth… and so he could absorb some of the properties of the lake.” He points to the small waves that are washing up on the pale sand and you notice small whorls of colorful iridescence in the water that seem to be drawn to the bits of Natsuki that are partially submerged. His scales glitter visibly as the whorls sink into him with every breath. Suddenly, the sound of an explosion rocks the air and Syo’s eyes widen as he turns back towards the direction of the weyr and curses under his breath. He waves at you with both hands in a frenzied manner and lurches into a run.

“I forgot I had something waiting for me—messy—uh…! Stay right here and try not to startle him if he wakes up!” He bursts his way back up the hill, calling over his shoulder to not tell Tokiya you were left alone. When he’s gone, you turn back to Natsuki, whose eyes are still heavily shut. Up close, you can see that the scales over his eyelids are so fine they almost appear velvety. The quills of his feathers are as big around as your lower legs. Before you’re even aware, you’re resting a hand on his cheek that’s as tall as you are at least. 

His scales are warm… 

You drag your hand over them gently, feeling the strange, stone-like texture with unimpeded inquisitiveness, flexing your fingers against the curves and ridges as you take steps towards his snout to watch his breaths bend the grass. One of his paws is beneath his chin, massive fingers and claws extending outward and digging into the sand. Seeing him this way, you can hardly believe such a behemoth could fit into the man that’s only a few inches over average height… and such a gentle one at that, or so you’ve experienced. After staring wondrously at the grass in front of him, you make your way back, studying the size of his eye sockets, the ways the folds of skin around his ears grow thin and smooth for flexibility, the places where his feathers are joined to his body. All at once, you’re overwhelmed by how cute he seems to be despite his size and the dangerous glimpse you saw earlier that you’ve yet to understand. You can’t resist burying yourself in the side of his mane, suppressing an excited squee as you ruffle your limbs and face in the surprisingly soft feathers. You’re so enraptured, you don’t notice his breathing come to a stop before resuming at a more subdued pace. You’re about to pull away when you freeze up as his entire body shudders and you hear, no… think, no….

“Don’t stop,” a polite, gentle voice appears in your mind and surrounds you. “I’ve never felt anything so soothing....!” You lift your head from the feathers and lean back enough to peer at the eye closest to you, which is open at last and vivid green and very much looking back at you as best it can. He blinks slowly and you see the scales of his muzzle shift into what can only be a smile. His lower eyelid bunches up. “I think this is what dragons used to experience from princesses. Waah, what a wonderful feeling! I could keep you like this forever!” You jolt away from him in surprise and his eye follows you as you point up at him.

“Y-you’re awake! ...I hope I didn’t disturb you…” Your words die in your throat as he lifts his head, impossibly high; extends his arms out, impossibly long; and yawns. He shakes his mane loose and then lowers his head onto his paws again. His entire body ripples as he shifts to face you better. After a few moments, his eyes clear, then bloom with a warm expression that makes you feel more adored than you’ve ever experienced in your life.

“Oh? It’s you,” he says contentedly. “You’re as cute as you were when we met before. It’s so good to see you again; it’s like my heart has filled up with cherry blossom petals!” He extends his head forward to nose you and you think he might knock you over, but you’re surprised to feel that he’s as gentle as a building-sized creature can be and nudges you with the same force a hungry, curious horse might. “To think we’d meet again with you adoring me in such a way~ Please… please continue while you tell me how you found me here!” You glance back at the direction Syo had departed unsurely. Should you really give in so easily? You get the sense you aren’t meant to be interacting with him alone after whatever it was that had happened earlier. All the same, his eyes are massive as he stares down at you, and still full of that adoring look that’s making your legs weak. 

You cave.

When you rest your hands on his nose and stroke him gently, his eyes fall closed. 

“It’s nice to see you again, Natsuki,” you murmur, the warmth in your voice undisguised. “You stayed in my thoughts.” At your words, he releases a sharp chuff like a big cat and a cloud of glittering, golden mist pours from him, surrounding you in an instant. Immediately, your senses alight with tastes, smells, visions, sensations. Sweet, lemon cream bursting on your tongue from a festival pie. Dazy, midday sun warming your skin after walking in the shade for some time. Sinking into freshly laundered bedding after a long day at work. 

Your body melts under the wash of feeling and Natsuki catches you with one scaly finger. You hug the digit instinctively and he carefully drags you to his other hand, placing you in his palm. You shudder breathlessly and press a hand to your forehead.

“W-what…” You take a deep breath as the sensation clears away. “What was that?” Natsuki shifts his head to the side and hums lowly. 

"S-sorry… When you mentioned that you've been thinking of me, I couldn't help but suddenly feel… as if I really could spend forever with you." You blush immediately and gawk at him, eyes wide.

"What, uh… what exactly do you mean by spending it with me…?"

"You know~" Natsuki singsongs and traces the end of his thumb claw up your legs before lifting you and pressing you to his cheek. You stutter quietly, scrabbling at his paw in surprise and the rush in your system from the unfamiliar feeling of being lifted so high, so easily. As you sink against his scales, you hear a purr-like sound thunder up from his chest. "Seeing each other every day! And watching the stars together… Oh!" He smiles a toothy, dragon smile. "I have to take you to meet all my friends! Especially Syo-chan. He's so cute and small~ I'll be able to invite you both to stay on my hoard while we watch the stars!"

As he prattles on with increasingly obscure and fanciful suggestions, you can't help but wonder if he really told you the whole truth about the mist, or if he really meant his suggestion of staying together so innocently, after all… but you’re helpless against the warmth he exudes. Even beyond your surprise, you feel a swelling in your chest and a sweet, peaceful buzz along your spine. It’s almost as if you’re feeling the same sensation he described as you were petting him before.

All in all, you can’t really complain.

⁂

The pair of you continue catching up as the sun sets. At times, you wonder whether Syo or one of the others will come back to check on you, but as soon as the thoughts spring up, they’re ebbed away again by Natsuki’s genial disposition. He asks you questions about how your journey ended, what you’ve been doing in the time since he last saw you. It’s strange; despite years having passed since you met him, he talks about it like it’s only been a fortnight or so. As your conversation passes back and forth easily, the sun dips to the edge of the mountain, lilac twilight overtakes the sky, and the lake and bathes you both in purple. After a while, Natsuki’s eyes widen as he notices the time.

“It seems to be getting late…” He hums in disappointment. “I was enjoying seeing all the birds today… but!” He turns his head to peer at you with visible glee. “Do you know what this means? We can go to my hoard and you can see the stars. Oh…” He pauses as he hears your stomach grumble faintly. “Perhaps we should find you something to eat first…. All right!” You’re about to ask what he plans to do, but a cloud of colorful smoke pours off of him, obscuring him from vision even though you can still feel his grip on you. You cough and splutter, narrowing your eyes and waving your hands.

“N-Natsuki?!”

It’s not long before the air clears again and you—once more—feel your face warm as you realize it’s no longer a dragon before you but the man you met first. Natsuki beams at you as he keeps you tightly-held around your waist, his eyes scrunching up cutely. 

“Are you surprised? I look very different like this, don’t I? But look!” He squeezes you in an iron-gripped hug. “It’s so much better for being close, isn’t it? Now I can hold you with all of me!” Your heart skips several beats at his words and you splutter, half bewildered and half smiling. You pat his back where you can reach and agree with him that it’s better if only to encourage him to loosen his hold just a bit. He does so, but your settling exhale is short-lived as he merely dips down to scoop you into a princess carry. Before you can even respond, he presses his forehead to yours, laughing quietly, and waves his hand.

You appear in an entirely new environment: a large dining hall, lined with beautiful sconces and a large fire pit in the center. There is a bustling energy around you and it takes only a moment to notice the group of the dragons you’d briefly met before are seated or loitering around you. Natsuki adjusts his grip on you comfortably and sings.

“Hi~!”

Chaos erupts. Heads snap in your direction. Syo, as soon as you see him, splutters in his drink as the jet-haired man’s eyes flash at him.

“You left them alone? After earlier?”

The man with the starry robe passes by and lightly brings the blade of his hand down on Syo’s head, frowning. “We told you to watch over the human until further instruction. Kurusu.” Syo grabs the top of his head with a pained wince.

“O-oi, Hijirikawa…! One of my circles erupted. It was an emergency!”

“And having a human in our midst isn’t?”

The orange-haired man, sitting at the end of the dining table, laughs into a hand, swirling a tall glass in his other. “Typical Shorty,” he mutters. Syo stands up, slamming his hands on the table as he glares down the length of it.

“Say that again? I’ve told you I’m not—” “Syo~!” Natsuki says brightly, approaching the table with you still bundled into his arms. The others each stiffen as you’re brought closer, as if you might be more dangerous than them. However, Natsuki only sits down on the bench beside Syo. “Will you watch the stars with us later?”

Syo looks nervous. “I… I dunno about tha—”

“Wait, wait.” The jet-haired man breathes irritably, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Natsuki." He looks up at Natsuki flatly.

"Mm? Tokiya?"

Tokiya (you assume?) blinks slowly, his sleek, black tail lashing subtly against the floor. "We need to know how this human knows your name." Natsuki’s face lights up in excitement before Hijirikawa sets a gentle, elegant hand on his shoulder.

“Shinomiya. It’d be best if we discussed away from the influence they could be having on you,” he says gently. You look up at him and his violet eyes slide your way, narrow but not necessarily judgemental. Under such a gaze, you suddenly feel like a child, so you say nothing as Natsuki is led away by the stoic pair.  Watching them sit in a huddle together at the far end of the table, Syo sighs and gestures for you to sit beside him and—having no other options—you sink down beside him. 

“Natsuki brought you here to eat, right?”

You blink and smile as good-naturedly as you can, considering the situation. “That’s pretty perceptive.” Syo turns pink and shrugs awkwardly as he takes a piece of white chalk from his clothes and begins to draw some symbols on the tabletop.

“I’ve read a lot about humans. Plus, Natsuki knows more than he lets on. He wants to take care of you, too, I bet.”

You hum, watching him with tired interest. “Actually… can I ask you something about that? I… I still don’t know what’s going on here, really, but he’s said some things and…” Syo lifts a brow, pausing his scribbling for a moment.

“What kind of things? Natsuki… eh, he talks a lot. He can be kinda… head in the clouds.” 

“W-well…” You feel sheepish about it now, but your curiosity wins out in the end. “He says things that… could be taken romantically, among humans… but then he talks about me like I’m… a pet?” Syo snorts and slaps the table over the symbols he’s drawn and you almost fall off your seat when an array of food appears in their place. He waves at it all vaguely and tucks his chalk away again.

“Eat up. Anyway, that’s kinda how he is, so it’s hard to say. He’s never courted anyone before, I can tell ya that.”

“O-oh…?” You blurt while gingerly assembling a plate from several of the dishes. It all looks fairly normal, which you’re a bit intrigued by. Where did it come from? Or did he bring it into the world by magic alone…? You glance at him as you begin to pick at your food. “Wh… why’s that, you think?” Suddenly, Syo looks nervous and coughs as he hurriedly assembles his own plate. 

“It’s… kind of a long story….” 

You look back to where Natsuki is flanked on either side by Tokiya and Hijirikawa. He keeps glancing between them as they speak with rigid motions, looking a bit like a scolded dog. Your eyes meet and his look immediately softens, lower eyelids bunching up with a faint, reassuring smile. Even his tail reacts, lifting from the stone floor and rippling its feathers hopefully. You bite your lip to suppress a smile and wave. His eyes scrunch up the rest of the way and he lifts both hands to wave cheerfully before Tokiya snaps his fingers in front of Natsuki’s face… and dread shoots through to your stomach. 

It’s just the smallest instant, but Natsuki’s eyes flash with something… an energy you’ve certainly never seen from a human before. It looks cold and distant and predatory… like seeing lightning crackle beyond storm clouds. You swallow heavily, but then it’s all gone the next second, replaced by Natsuki’s usual innocent look. You turn back to Syo.

“I think I’d like to hear it…” You mumble. However, when Syo opens his mouth, the orange-haired man slumps onto the bench across from you with a melodic sigh. You and Syo both look at him questioningly and he shrugs with his hands, closing his eyes lazily.

“Such a cold reception, you’ll hurt my feelings. I just wanted to introduce myself to our dear, new companion.” He shoots you a suave wink and extends a hand to you. “Ren Jinguji. The Clinohumite of the Starish Weyr.” You take his hand and he leans across the table to ghost his lips over your knuckles. You shiver and he allows you to pull your hand back. Syo rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, sure, like that’s really all it is….”

Ren’s eyes narrow, distantly cool. “Perhaps I also want to make sure you aren’t spilling secrets, Shorty. I, for one, don’t care who knows what about us, but I don’t want to spend an evening getting lectured by Hijirkawa because you’re too loose with a pretty face.” 

“‘Shor’—!” Syo splutters. “Listen, I’m just trying to make things easier for us. It’s not like we officially decided to lock ourselves up here, like those guys.” He nods in your direction. “What if they can help?”

“What’s a human going to do?” Ren glances at you. “Uh… no offense.” You hunch your shoulders noncommittally, wishing you could just get some answers. Unfortunately, Syo can only pout at Ren’s question and finally lowers his head without saying anything. Ren hums absently and nods to you. “Enjoy your stay… little lamb.” He gives a vague wave and slips off the bench, slinking away back to where he’d been sitting before. 

It’s not long after that Natsuki is released from his questioning and happily bounds over to you and you do your best to hide your growing trepidation while he chatters happily, seemingly unphased by whatever had occurred before.

⁂

When you’re done eating, you look up to see Natsuki gazing at you fondly, his chin resting in his hands in a childish way. He looks cute with the little, curling tendrils of his hair pressing up against his cheeks and between his fingers like that. His eyes glitter and you find your heart rate speeding up before you look away, feeling a rare case of shyness overtake you. 

“Y… you’re staring…”

Natsuki hums and nods brightly. “We get visitors very rarely! It’s exciting to see how carefully you eat the food… and how adorably your face lights up when something tastes good.” He peers at you through contentedly-slivered eyes. “It makes me want to cook so many things for you and see all your expressions.” You meet his gaze, more boldly than you have all day, almost as if to challenge him to continue. He doesn’t look away, only stares at you equally unabashedly, his eyes almost hypnotic in the depth of their color and the unquestionable happiness he feels from making eye contact with you.

You’re only able to hold his gaze for a minute.

“S-so…” You cough after breaking his gaze and look at the table. “You mentioned watching the stars?” He stands so abruptly that you squeak and lean back, bumping into Syo and rousing him from his post-meal drowsy state. Natsuki offers you his hand in a surprisingly elegant gesture. 

“Please join me, won’t you?” He tilts his head and smiles at you. “Finally, I’ll be able to share my most valuable treasure with you.” Syo snorts from behind you and then crosses his arms and looks up at Natsuki, raising an eyebrow. 

“Are you really sure you want me uh… intruding on your….” Natsuki steps around you to bend down, throwing an arm across both Syo’s and your shoulders and humming a pleased, high-pitched sound.

“Of course~! I want to spend the night with my favorite people!”

“F-favorite?” You blink in surprise. “But… this is only our second time meeting…” Natsuki hums with a smile, pulling back to clap his hands together and fix you in an earnest look. 

“Mm~! And I can already tell we’re going to be great friends!” Saying this, he slips his arms under your knees and along your back before you can protest and gathers you to his chest, turning to grin over his shoulder. “Coming, Syo~?” Syo grumbles but gets to his feet anyway, scratching at the back of his head.

“Yeah... Fine, fine.”

Natsuki takes you through winding halls, just like you’d journeyed with Syo earlier in the day, with Syo following close behind. For a few minutes, you wonder if he’s going to take you back out to the area above the weyr, but then you recall he’d mentioned showing you his hoard and if there’s one thing you know about dragons, it’s that their hoards are always hidden away safely. As you might expect, he takes a sudden turn down a hallway and you arrive at a massive, circular door that’s painted a cheery yellow. You can’t help but smile when you see it’s inlaid with a pattern of bronze vines and ducklings. Natsuki adjusts his hold so you’re safely cradled in one arm for a moment while he waves his hand and the doors creak open. Over his shoulder, you see Syo frown for a moment, but then Natsuki is hugging you again, giggling and dancing you around in a circle as the dim hall suddenly changes to a bonfire-bright glow. You look around… and your jaw drops in amazement.

His room, lit by a sea of yellow, white and pale-green floating lanterns,  is… more than anything you could imagine. 

The ceilings are tall enough to hold him in his dragon form and dusted with varying shades of moss that follow the curved, etched arches and frieze-like carvings along the ceiling. The far walls are barely walls at all, mostly just open archways out to the mountain. You see the shapes of deer and other twilight creatures flitting about the edge of the room without fear, grazing on the grass that seems to be encroaching on the room proper. However, what’s most amazing to you is the alarmingly vast pile of plush toys, pillows, cushions, and blankets in every size, shape, and color filling the room. Your breath gets lost on the gossamer, lacy curtains that art strung up in seemingly random places, yet it all draws your eye to the deeply-colored ceiling itself, so dark you can’t tell if it’s pure black or not.

“Welcome to my room…!” Natsuki stops spinning and looks at you with a bright smile. “It’s full of my favorite things, so of course I had to bring you here.” You splutter quietly, unsure how to respond, but Natsuki is as carefree as ever and continues walking until he finds a good place atop the pile of plushies. He sets you down, waiting for you to get your footing. “Please get comfortable! I’ll make the stars appear!” You turn to Syo, who has crawled up on his own on your other side and is already plopping down in the arms of some giant, pink, round plush. He yawns cutely, his tail curling over his feet, and you find you don’t want to disturb him with more questions, so instead, you settle down yourself. Natsuki waves his hands over the room like a conductor of a grand orchestra and you watch as the curtains all come undone, lowering into sheets of fine fabric. The lights dim and, near the true center of the room, a strange table begins to shift. A panel opens in the top and a bronze globe slowly emerges from the center. When the room is properly dark, Natsuki lies down beside you, close enough that the ends of his hair brush yours. He sighs contentedly and waves one final finger upwards.

You gasp as the previously-inky ceiling comes to life with a sea of stars, constellations, galaxies… It’s as if you can see the real sky clearer than you’ve ever seen it. You glance down to the globe, seeing it glitter as it turns in its frame. “Star projector,” Syo mumbles from beside you. “One of Natsuki’s greatest accomplishments as a magic user; it can match the sky from anywhere in the world with a wave of his hand.” You’re rendered speechless, only able to stare up in true amazement. 

Time passes in relative silence aside from your gasps of awe when a handful of shooting stars streak across the display. Natsuki remains still beside you, his hands folded over his stomach and tail tip flicking occasionally. You glance his way every now and again, getting caught on the way the stars reflect in his eyes. Eventually, Syo falls asleep, leaving your spirit to flutter shyly at the thought of being alone with Natsuki so close. After a while, Natsuki draws your attention with a hum. 

“May I confess something?”

Your heart skips a beat. “S… sure.”

His lips curl faintly, but his eyes remain on the stars overhead. “Perhaps… it isn’t unfair for the others to worry about my intentions towards you.” Your mouth goes dry at such an ominously-worded statement.

“W-what?”

His eyes slide to meet yours, his expression a strange mix of gentle… and almost concerned. “I’ve never courted, before, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t yearned for it every now and then. The idea of… someone who I love beyond all else… and who loves me. It’d be…” He shifts bashfully. “It’d be lovely to have someone to experience this with… who doesn’t just humor me. W-who accepts all of me.” You’re still debating what to say when his eyes flash green in the darkness and he looks at you intently. “Could… Do you perhaps think… that person could be you?”

Your heart stutters and you lick your lips, hands flexing nervously at your sides. His stare bores into you.

“I’m not entirely sure why, but when I’m with you… I feel like I don’t have to worry anymore.”

“Natsuki….” You want to tell him that it’s way too soon to ask a question like that, that you can’t possibly know what you can be for him since it’s only your second meeting, and sure it’s been incredible, but you’re just a human and this is a very different world than you could ever dream up and you’re still not entirely certain what’s happening… 

But you are interested. In fact, you’ve never felt so right about hearing such a thing from someone before. However, before you can give him a proper answer, Syo yawns again, shifting around in his sleep to curl around the plush he’s snuggling, and Natsuki loses focus entirely. His face lights up at the sight of his smaller friend and he all but pounces across you to catch Syo around the waist, squeeing about how adorable the smaller dragon is. Syo wakes up in a frenzy and you watch them wrestle, half amused and half still flustered by the conversation that had been cut short.

It takes you too long to see Natsuki’s glasses slip, bumped by Syo’s flailing hands, and fall into the pile of Natsuki’s hoard.

All at once, the very earth seems to shatter apart. The temperature of the room drops as an explosion of electric yellow light fills the room. You hear Syo shout, voice still raw from sleep, and you’re blown back, down the pile of plushies. The air seems to crackle with a pulse of energy as a cry rises above the noise. You hear the stone floor cracking and you scrabble frantically for a handhold in the pile until you manage to hook your hands onto something and try to look up.

Natsuki has collapsed to his knees and is clutching his head as he writhes and convulses in place, his eyes glowing green and his scales rippling with light as an aura forms around him, pulsing out and in with a dull, audible thud. You watch as light flickers through his clothes, as the air seems to split them into frayed holes at the seams and thinner parts. The shout that seems so unending pours from him in anguished streaks, so deafening you can scarcely hear your own thoughts. You think you yell his name, but you can’t be certain. Over the cacophony, you hear Syo shouting for help and names, some familiar and some unfamiliar. Mixed into his words, you hear strains of him calling for you, asking if you’re all right, but all you can think of is to try to help. You think if you can get ahold of his glasses, you might be able to help, to put a stop to this like you saw the others do earlier. If you can only get close…

You begin the arduous process of climbing, dragging yourself up by a fearful, iron grip even as the aura surrounding Natsuki seems to fight you every inch. The air claws at your clothes and limbs; something beyond the perception of sight shoves at you as if to push you away from him. Your eyes water from the pain of the blinding light, from the horrific sound of his screams. You’re almost relieved when you crest the top of the pile, believing you’re making true progress, when Natsuki’s cries form words.

“No! Leave them alone!”

You look at him, attempting to see through the light. Does he mean for you to ignore the glasses? His body shakes, spine contorting as his face twists.

“Don’t hurt them!”

You watch, horrified, as his head creaks in your direction, eyes overtaken by the green glow.

“Why shouldn’t I?” A voice that is not entirely his own leaves his lips. His face shifts back to terror.

“Please! Please, I want to keep them!”

You shiver, burrowing into the blankets in fear.

And then, he smiles.

“Keep them?” It thunders in your head… and everything goes dark.

⁂

You open your eyes to see you’re in a glen at night; the moon is bright and full and low-hanging over the horizon, and all is quiet. There’s a small breeze, warm like a caress, but your heart is still pounding in your chest from the adrenaline coursing through your veins. 

“Keep them?” The low voice repeats quietly… and you look up to see Natsuki. Except it isn’t Natsuki… or at least, it doesn’t look just like him. The eyes are too narrow, the hair too wild, the expression too cold. Not-Natsuki tilts his head, glaring at you in a coolly appraising manner. 

“Who are you?” You ask. Nothing more than a faint breath.

“Satsuki,” he replies flatly and takes a step toward you. You try to move, but you’re frozen in place like the worst kind of nightmare. He stands in front of you, only inches away, and then prowls around you in a circle like a pacing wolf. “And who are you? Why does Natsuki want to keep you so badly?”

“I-I don’t know.” You lower your eyes, feeling your knees tremble. “We’ve only met a second time today, but it’s… it’s been wonderful. I’m not sure how he feels but… I feel like we could be good if… if we stayed together.” Satsuki pauses and fixes you in a predatory, inhuman stare.

“Oh?” He chuckles bitterly. “Sure, sure. Humans fall for dragons easy.” He growls softly. “Maybe dragons fall for humans easy, too….” Suddenly, his hand flashes out, sinking into your hair and pulling your head up to look at him harshly. His claws prickle your scalp and your eyes open just to terrified slivers; you’re afraid to resist at all. Satsuki scoffs. “Yeah, you’re his type. Even looking at you, I…” He catches himself and flinches. “...I definitely can sense something beyond your humanity…” You frown weakly.

“Like what?”

He pulls his hand away and shakes it like he’s just brushed it through a campfire. He hisses under his breath. “Like… like you’re just this… void. A magic sinkhole. A drain in the magic plane.” He curses under his breath, remarking about a stinging sensation. Suddenly, his eyes go wide and he looks at you again. “A conduit.” He laughs, although it’s a sharp sound, more resembling an exclamation of surprise. “You’re a conduit.”

“W… what’s a conduit?”

He grins wolfishly. “You’re our ticket out of this pit. Mine and Nat’s. That band of unimpressive idiots callin’ themselves Starish. With you…” He trails off and reaches for you again, poking your forehead roughly. “We can finally seal all the leaks in Natsuki… keep him from hurting anymore. From breaking things.”

You ask him to explain… and he does.

He explains that Natsuki didn’t hatch quite right. Something scarred the egg before he could and left scores in it that weakened the innate ropes to the magic plane all dragons are born with. When Natsuki was born, he was born unable to control how much magic could flow through him at a time, resulting in a destructive force… and the creation of Satsuki, who was Natsuki’s subconscious’ last-ditch effort in protecting those around him. 

It makes your heart throb with sympathy.

He was ripped from his parents, contained only by the Queen’s Court until a proper group of dragons could form that would be strong enough to keep Satsuki from taking over entirely each time Natsuki’s only protection—a simple, crystal barrier in the form of glasses—managed to fail… and so they had lived for hundreds of years, bound eternally to Natsuki’s care… and Natsuki to them. 

Naturally, resentment bred well in such an environment, which only served to strengthen Satsuki’s anger… and thus, the destruction each time he was given control. 

When Satsuki finishes explaining, you ask him what being a conduit means.

“A human that absorbs magic,” he grouses. “At a heavy rate. Most of the great Spellweavers through history have been conduits, though… I dunno if they knew it themselves.” You fall silent, head rushing with the overwhelming revelation of knowledge. He looks away, seemingly calmer than he was at the start. “Y’know… If you stay with Natsuki like he wants… you could probably learn a lot. If… that were somethin’ you were interested in. I know it’d mean he’d be able to leave, since you’d be able to keep him in check. Probably… would go a long way to makin’ him happy.”

You stare at him, watching as all the harsh lines of him soothe away the longer he stands near you. He closes his eyes and sighs.

“Just a suggestion.”

You blink and then the glen is gone. You’re lying on top of Natsuki’s hoard in complete silence, the only thing lighting the room being the moon filtering in through the curtains. You shift around unsurely, expecting your body to hurt, but you… Oddly, you feel better than before. You feel like you’ve had a week of good rest, like you’re body is more fit than it’s been in years. You rub your eyes and look around, heart thudding in shock when you see Natsuki, face down in the cushions a few feet away from you. In the distance, Syo’s voice is echoing through the weyr, still calling for help. You crawl to Natsuki and do your best to turn him over, cautiously, as though the energy might erupt again at any moment.

He groans quietly, face wrinkling up and smoothing again as he comes to and opens his eyes blearily. Belatedly, you realize his glasses are still nowhere to be found, but… but this is Natsuki, right? His draconic pupils widen, then narrow, then widen again before adjusting to the light and focusing on your face. Immediately, his expression melts into adoring relief. 

“You’re okay,” he breathes, a large hand lifting to weakly cup your face. “Thank goodness… thank goodness he left you alive.” You smile, leaning into his touch.

“Yes… he was actually… very helpful.”

Natsuki looks distant for a few moments before his eyes clear, flickering with realization. You’re not sure how, but, looking at him, you’re able to understand that… he knows. He knows everything Satsuki told you while you were inside the magic plane. He breathes a fragile sort of exhale as he pulls you down against his chest, holding you with a far more insistent, mature care than he has all day.

“...will you stay?” He asks. You find your hands settling against his chest, gently fisting into the fabric there. 

“I want to,” you admit. “But it’s so strange I… I’m not certain how our future would look together. I’m just a Merchant… and even though I feel more at home here than I ever have, in just a single day….” You tilt your head side to side, contemplating. “I always find myself wanting to travel… but… if what Satsuki said is true…” You lift your eyes to look at him, feeling your face heat. “Then… you could join me. We could go together.” Natsuki looks uncertain at first, brows knitting as he considers your words before his face slowly blooms into joy. He leans forward to nuzzle his forehead with yours; you chuckle at the awkward, gentle bump of his horns on your head. 

“Traveling with you… I think I could enjoy that forever.” 

You giggle softly and pat his hair. “Gives us plenty of time to get to know each other, hm? Who knows what can happen. It really might turn into forever.” Natsuki’s cheeks tinge pink and a puff of yellow mist streams out of his lips, sending you both into a very flustered fit that bleeds into pleased giggles.

Starish finds you like that minutes later, still hugging and excitedly chatting about all that the future can hold with a shared hope, shared anticipation in your hearts.

You get the feeling that everything is going to be okay, as long as you have him.

End