#once again i have taken on too many dance related commitments. but you know what. i can do Push ups now

[corpsentry]

replying to ao2 comments from 2019. hope my old readers know i am not dead i just got a gf

[ayanna-wild]

Broken Wings

Word Count: 2921

Pairings: Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, hurt, comfort

A/N: Request from Wattpad, for the sake of this story Lucifer and the reader will not be related, set somewhere between s1 and s2, and I have nothing against Amenadiel, but he was kind of a dick during s1 lol

Requests and Tag List are open

Summary: It was a simple matter of loving the wrong man, but you couldn’t control your heart. How was it fair for you to be punished? But life was cruel that way.

.................................................................................

You weren't an angel per-say. You had the wings, the immortality, yet you lacked the power that came with being a true angel. To be blunt you were a side project God had taken up before abandoning it to create humanity, more a helper to his children than anything.

The only of your kind.

With little other purpose you dutifully fulfilled your role as the aid, accompying the true angels to earth. A mundane existence, but one you tolerated.

Until Lucifer had taken an interest in you, life was so much better after that. So full of fun and laughter, he called for your help more than any of his brethren or sisters. Although he never really needed any assistance, it was all an excuse to steal you away for a while.

For centuries that was your life, and you were content with it if it meant spending more time with him. You two grew impossibly close and thought you'd be with him until the stars in the sky fizzled out.

But that was before, before the rebellion, before his banishment, before your existence dulled so drastically. Spending centuries, millenniums feeling as though you were missing out on something better.

Which is why you had so graciously agreed to accompany Amenadiel to earth. So he could once again fail at convincing his brother to return to hell. You masked your excitement surprisingly well, or Amenadiel was just incredibly oblivious. Either way you weren't complaining.

~

"You seem happy..."

Your wings fluttered a bit, unable to contain the smile on your face as you glanced at the dark skinned angel.

"Well it's nice to get out of heaven once and a while, you know?"

That was only partially a lie, you really did enjoy earth much more, but truthfully you were excited about seeing Lucifer after so long.

"No. Heaven is perfect. " Amenadiel stated bluntly.

You watched him walk inside from the balcony, hanging back a moment to mutter to yourself.

"For you maybe..."

Your wings folded into your back as you walked in, not the least bit surprised to see the brothers at each other's throats already.

"Such hostility from such divine beings."

Your sarcastic remark quickly drew the attention of the king of hell, who turned to you with a grin so wide you wondered if it hurt his face.

"Oh brother, you failed to mention you brought along this beautiful little creature. Y/N, it's an absolute pleasure to see you again."

Lucifer approached you with open arms, your smile matching his as he embraced you.

"It is her role to assist us." Amenadiel said as if that was the obvious answer.

Lucifer pulled away from you, noticing the way your shoulders sagged a bit at the elder angels words. The devil frowned a bit.

"Role? Are you still listening to such nonsense?" Lucifer scoffed.

Amenadiel rolled his shoulders, flexing his wings a little in irritation.

"It is our father's will. You should be following your role as well."

Lucifer clicked his tongue, strolling over to his bar.

"It became rather dull, so many years doing the same thing, a drab existence, isn't it angel?"

The ending was directed towards you, and you almost forgot yourself, almost allowed yourself to agree, in front of Amenadiel. It was a nickname he had given you centuries ago. His own way of telling you he saw you as his equal, unlike the others.

You were his angel.

"She's not a real angel Lucifer, don't try to fill her head with your rebellious nonsense."

His words stung a bit, but he wasn't entirely wrong, you weren't a true angel. That bit of fact didn't seem to lessen the blow to your pride though.

"With such exquisite wings as hers, who could tell the difference?" Lucifer winked at you.

You straightened your back, feeling proud of yourself, your wings always were your favorite feature. You took immaculate care of them. Just as quickly as Amenadiel tore you down Lucifer built you back, you supposed that was one of the things that had drawn you to him all those years ago.

"You're a disgrace."

You stepped between them, placing a hand on Lucifer's chest.

"Maybe I can talk to him? He was always at least willing to listen to me." You offered.

Amenadiel seemed to ponder this a moment before nodding.

"I'll return tomorrow, don't let him pull you into any of his schemes."

Lucifer scoffed at his brother's warning. You smiled softly.

"Of course."

With a flutter of wings he was gone, and you were left alone with the fallen angel. Without a moment to appreciate the silence, a cup of amber liquid was held in front of your face.

"Fancy a drink my dear? We have so much to catch up on."

~

You weren't sure how it happened, maybe it was the drinks, or the way he spoke to you, but you found yourself stumbling out of his bed the next morning. Panic surged through your veins as you hastily pulled your clothes back on, cursing softly. You regretted nothing, but there'd be hell to pay if any of the heavenly host caught you bedding the devil. Lucifer still slept soundly, and you tried your best not to wake him.

You rushed from his room, running straight into a broad chest causing you to stumble back a bit. Amenadiel stared at you with an uncomfortably blank expression, and your heart dropped.

"Amenadiel... I-"

Your world became a blur in the next second, and you fell forward as your feet unexpectedly hit the roof of a hotel.

"What were you thinking! Fornicating with Lucifer!"

You glanced up at him, snorting at his wording.

"Fornicating? For someone who comes to earth so frequently, your vocabulary is a little dated."

You couldn't help the poorly timed jab, humor your way if deflecting tense situations. Unfortunately for you that only seemed to make Amenadiel more angry.

"Have you no shame? You don't seem the least bit remorseful for the sin you just committed!" He shouted.

You flinched a little, sitting back on your ass as you stared up at him. Should you grovel? Beg for forgiveness?

That would be the logical thing to do, it was what he was expecting. But perhaps your short reunion with Lucifer had sparked something in you because you found yourself leaning back on your hands, staring up at the angel before you with no remorse.

"I regret nothing."

~

Blood soaked your once white shirt as you leaned against an alley wall, shifting most of your weight onto your side. Anything to avoid the crippling pain in your back. Tears stained your cheeks and burnt your eyes. Dry sobs shook your body, no tears left to cry.

He'd ripped your wings from your back, tore them from your body, taking your immortality with him. You barely registered the sound of footsteps, hardly heard the woman talking to you in concern. You just felt so tired, a feeling you weren't used to.

It'd be okay if you slept, just for a moment, right?

Chloe panicked as she saw your eyes close, waving frantically as the paramedics arrived just moments later. Her hands covered in your blood as she wondered who could have possibly done that to you.

~

You woke to steady beeping, and an uncomfortable feeling of something wrapped just a little too tight around you. Bright lights forced you to close your eyes almost as soon as you opened them. You took a moment to adjust as you sat up, looking around the unfamiliar room that you slowly realized was a hospital room.

It all seemed so... human.

The reality of your sudden mortality crashed down on you, and you carefully pulled the I.V. from your arm. You hissed as you quickly stood from the bed, the sudden movement causing pain to shot up your back.

You nearly collapsed.

But no, you had to leave, get out of this place before questions you couldn't possibly answer came. You gathered your ruined clothes, fleeing before anyone could notice.

You kept your head low as you left the building, the bandages on your back straining against your hasty movements.

"Hey!"

A voice called out, catching your attention and a blonde woman hurried over to you. You stared at her in confusion, and she looked you over with concern.

"What are you doing out here? You shouldn't leave the hospital yet."

It suddenly clicked and your body tensed as you vaguely recognized her as the woman who found you.

"I'll be fine."

She looked ready to protest, and you grabbed her hands in desperation.

"Please... I just can't be there..."

She seemed to relent a little, and you breathed a sigh of relief until she told you her name. Then you found yourself begging her not to tell Lucifer anything, and she promised not to utter a word, if you told her what happened to you.

It had to have been the greatest lie you ever told, a fabricated story about a scorned lover. She believed it nonetheless, offering to help you get a change of clothes. Something less covered in blood, you went straight to Lucifer afterwards, carefully hiding what had happened.

Perhaps he trusted you too much, or maybe you were getting better at lying because he didn't question your claim to want to stay on Earth. He seemed thrilled, and you hid your pain with a smile when he embraced you, thankful your new jacket hid the bandages.

~

For months that was the routine, a difficult dance to move to, especially with how close you two were becoming once more. But you'd stop his hands before they could trail up your back in your more heated moments, directed his attention to something else. You were so careful not to let him see your back.

Careful to never let him follow you into the shower. Careful never to sleep on your side, or let him give you a back rub. Always avoiding Chloe, lest she bring up your injuries. You were so careful, for months.

So why had you forgotten to lock the door while you were getting dressed?

"Should we order out again darling? Perhaps from that little coffee shop you so like much? I heard they have a new..."

Lucifer had barged into the bathroom, clad in only his underwear and robe loosely tied as he questioned what you wanted for breakfast. Your whole body froze, mind shutting down as his words came to an abrupt stop. The atmosphere of the room suddenly felt thick, and you could have sworn it became harder to breath.

Lucifer said nothing, staring at your horribly scared back. You held your shirt to your chest, refusing to turn and meet his eye. Worried what emotion you might find. He had moved so quietly, and so quickly that you jumped when his fingers were suddenly grazing your back. Just below the rough skin where your beautiful wings had once been.

"Who did this to you..."

It was more of a soft demand then a question, but you hesitated.

"I... I cut them off..."

He chuckled a dry, humorless chuckle, and he draped his robe over your shoulders. Probably realizing you'd be more comfortable if you could cover your scars. You muttered a thank you and his hands rested on your arms, rubbing soothingly up and down as you grabbed the silk robe, holding it tighter around you.

"Those aren't the scars you get from cutting your wings, I would know. No, those are harsh, angry scars, something tearing wings off would cause. Don't lie to me angel, who did this?"

His grip tightened on your arms ever so slightly, but it wasn’t out of anger, at least not towards you.

"Amenadiel..." Your voice was so faint you barely heard yourself, but judging by the sharp intake of breath, he had heard you just fine.

"What?"

"A punishment... for being with you..."

You caught his reflection in the mirror, the flash of his eyes, his face shifted, just for a moment, but it was enough for you to realize just how angry he truly was.

"Lucifer-"

He turned on his heel, leaving the room and getting dressed in a fury. You approached him cautiously, closing the robe around you and tying it into place.

"What are you doing?"

He finished buttoning his shirt before turning back to you.

"I need you to do me a favor my dear."

A frown pulled at your lips, but you slowly nodded.

"Pray to my brother."

You jerked back as if someone had physically slapped you.

"What?"

"You trust me, don't you?" He smiled, but there was something in his eyes, something that unnerved you.

"Of course."

He seemed so calm, contrary to what he had been just moments ago.

"Then pray to my brother."

He guided you into the living room and stepped just out of sight. You hesitated, shifting your weight from one foot to the other before finally doing as he asked. It only took moments before Amenadiel appeared in front of you.

He'd come so fast, probably expecting you to beg for forgiveness.

You had no idea how vastly unprepared you were to see him again. Your hands trembled, and you held the robe closer around you, taking an unsure step back.

You didn't have time to dwell on it and Amenadiel had no time to say anything before a sickening crack filled the room and the angel was sprawled out on the ground.

"Hello brother."

You blinked slowly, taking a second to catch up with the fact that Lucifer had just delivered a crippling blow to his brother's face and Amenadiel laid dazed on the ground. Blindsided by the unexpected blow. Lucifer gave him no time to recover, picking him up by his neck carelessly throwing him into a wall. You shielded your eyes from the debris flying by.

"I've just had the unpleasant surprise of discovering what you did to my darling little slice of heaven."

You wordlessly watched Amenadiel pull himself out of the now prominent hole in Lucifer's stone wall. He was unsteady on his feet, but that mattered very little to Lucifer who swiftly grabbed his brother's shirt, tossing him across the floor as if he weighed nothing.

"And they call me the devil." Lucifer scoffed.

Amenadiel managed to at least prop himself up with his arms, spitting out a bit of blood.

"You are the devil, Lucifer, and she betrayed heaven by being with you."

Lucifer took a step forward, clearly ready to continue the one-sided fight. But you quickly stepped in front of him, worried he might go to far, if his red eyes were anything to go off of.

"Just let him leave, you made your point. You're flogging a dead horse at this point." You uttered, refusing to glance at the angel pulling himself off the ground.

"She received a punishment fitting her sin and she still crawled back to you."

Your skin bristled at his comment, and you found your unease fading away to anger. You rounded on him so fast you surprised even yourself at the words spilling from your lips.

"My sin!? You think you're a saint, but you're no better than me! It wasn’t sin Amenadiel, it was free will, if humans can have it why can't I?"

Amenadiel narrowed his eyes as he stood, but you didn't back down.

"You sound just like Lucifer."

You found yourself laughing at that, and with a sudden burst of confidence you shoved his chest back a bit. His beating from Lucifer making it slightly easier to do so. Speaking of the devil, he watched you unleash your anger, gazing at you with amusement and satisfaction.

"Good! You know what, I should have sided with him during that rebellion! Because he seemed to have the right idea! Heaven might have been perfect for you, but it was hell to me! I was beneath all of you, an errand girl for you to degrade, treat like shit!"

Lucifer pulled you back a little when he saw the anger in his brother's eyes. You were mortal now after all. You let out a cruel laugh, though there were tears in your eyes.

"Do you want to know the best part it all?"

Your laughter died down, and you gave him a cynical smile.

"I don't owe the Silver City a goddamn thing anymore, you think you were punishing me? You freed me, you and all your kind can go to hell, because if anyone belongs there it certainly isn't Lucifer."

Amenadiel opened his mouth to say something, taking what he probably assumed was a menacing step towards. But Lucifer rested his hands on your shoulders, daring his kin to try something. You didn't seem fazed though.

"Run back home and lick your wounds like the obedient lapdog you are. I'm not wasting any more words on you."

Amenadiel clenched his fists in repressed rage, but said nothing, not in any condition to fight his brother. He was gone in a blink, and you felt all the energy drain out of you. Lucifer caught you as your legs gave out, and he smiled proudly at you.

"You were marvelous love, I'd nearly forgotten how sharp your tongue can be."

You laughed breathlessly, and he brushed your hair away from your eyes.

"How do you feel?"

You smiled up at him, the heavy feeling finally lifting from your shoulders.

"Free."

................................................................................

Tag List: @sallyp-53 @mizzezm @adira-secrets @we-are-all-alittle-strange-here @gingernarwal @im-just-along-for-the-ride @lifeshortbro @measure-in-pain @emiwrites3reads @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @kelly-n-russell @aiofheavenandhell @beththedemonhunter

[lovetorn]

nightmare dressed like a daydream [dream]

Prince!Dream x Fem!Assassin!Reader

Summary: Y/n is an assassin, moving from kingdom to kingdom to eliminate targets. That’s until she meets Clay, the prince of Dreland, who takes a liking to her unbeknownst of her true intentions.

OR

“I don’t like her—I can’t. She’d kill me, George.”

Word Count: 10.6k (o_O)

Warnings: a lot of death & blood (murder, heart failure), weapons (knives), swearing, toxic relationship, unrequited love :(, mentions of abuse, parental issues — i think that’s all, but if you see anything, lmk!! it’s kinda cringe i use ‘clay’ so like pls ignore it sdfghjkgjh

A/N: this is the fic i’m most proud of :’). there may be a few plot holes and filler paragraphs btw lol. if you have any questions about this fic, shoot me an ask and i’ll be happy to explain, discuss etc. anything you have relating to it! yayyy! enjoy!

She isn’t meant to be here. As a matter of fact, she isn’t supposed to be alive at all. After her last job, Y/n found herself in trouble with the wrong people. She had managed to escape from the small village she was in and find new clients in lands far away—which brought her here, tonight, in the kingdom of Dreland, at a Masquerade in the King’s castle. 

She’s dressed in her best skirts and bodice, perfectly fit for the party and makes her blend in seamlessly. She doesn’t want to draw any unwanted attention considering her true intentions of being here. 

She walks along the edge of the ballroom, her skirts trailing behind her slightly, and the handle of her mask in her hand. Her movements are sharp and calculated but seem elegant to onlookers. Nobody suspects a thing. 

Soon, she’s moving into the middle of the floor and being surrounded by older men who extend their hands to ask for a dance. Y/n shakes her head and declines politely; she doesn’t need to cause a scene. 

There’s a stage on the other side of the room where the King and Queen sit in their grand thrones, and Y/n observes their actions, watching around them for one person in particular. She sees a young man exit the curtains with a platter. He wears an apron with a white fabric strip around his hair and holds the tray with delicacy. Y/n snarls when she realises he’s not the right one. 

She inches closer to the stage, going to adjust her mask and purposefully dropping it. She watches as the object clatters on the floor and sighs exaggeratedly, waiting for someone to assist her. As planned, a pair of shiny black shoes arrive beside her mask, and the person leans down to grasp it from the polished timber. 

“I think you dropped this, Ma’am.” 

Their eyes meet—or at least she thinks they do; the badly drawn smile on his mask is distracting and incredibly unsettling for an event such as this one. Y/n knows who he is though, even behind the mask. He is her target. 

“The Prince?” Y/n exclaimed in bewilderment. “Mr Wilbur, Sir, do you know how hard that’ll be?” 

The older man rolls his eyes before he glares into hers. “I was told you were the best in the business. Do you want the 50 gold or not?” Y/n nods. 

“Good. Now, I give you three weeks to complete this, or you get nothing but excruciating death.” 

The tall man peers down at her. His head is tilting to the side as he takes in her appearance. “Who are you?” 

Y/n was waiting for this question. She simply laughs and takes her mask from his grasp. “I was invited by a friend of mine. She seems to have disappeared since I’ve been over here, though.” 

Her disappointment of an excuse has the man nodding—he’s taken the bait. “Interesting.” 

Y/n smiles awkwardly, the atmosphere of the room shifting slightly. She hates situations like this. 

“Do you wanna get out of here?” He asks, and Y/n’s eyebrows raise. “Excuse me for my informality.” 

Y/n shakes her head, giggling lightly as she grabs his hand and drags him towards the exit. He’d usually never stray far from events such as this, but seeing a girl his age and ready for adventure changes his attitude. 

Sneaking out past the guards, who pay no mind to two people in masks at a Masquerade, the pair step into the fresh air outside.

“What’s your name?” Y/n asks, already knowing his answer. 

“Uh—Clay?” His response sounds more of a question than an answer, which makes Y/n cock her head. 

“Why do you make your reply sound like that?” 

“Sorry,” He laughs. “Most people call me Dream. I’m the Prince of Dreland.”

False realisation crosses Y/n’s face as she facepalms. “Oh my! I’m so sorry, your highness.” 

Dream shakes his head vigorously. “No! No need for formalities, truly. I’m wonderful with being normal for once.” 

He hesitates before unclasping his mask from behind his head. The ceramic object falls slightly before he catches it and then he’s looking at Y/n properly.

Dream’s hair fluffs up lightly before he runs his hand through it to tame it. Y/n holds her mask in her hand as she watches him fix his appearance. 

“Now that I’ve told you mine, what’s yours?” 

Y/n is wary of her answer. On the one hand, she could lie, and on the other, she remembers that he’ll most likely be dead soon, so she shouldn’t lie. 

“Y/n.” 

Dream smiles at her. “Pretty.” Y/n thanks him and then they stand silently next to each other, the guard near the front door inching closer. 

“Do you want to go somewhere more private to talk?” Dream asks quietly. Y/n smirks whilst nodding—she didn’t think she’d be finished the job this quickly. 

Dream throws a glance back at the guard before he leads her towards the garden. The moon makes it hard to see the path, but they get there eventually. There’s no talking as they walk, the pair far too busy taking in the beauty of the moonlit garden.

The dirt beds are filled with rose and sunflower bushes, the scent creating a solacing hug around Y/n as she goes to sit next to Dream on a bench. The cold air bites at her skin, causing goosebumps to gloss her body. 

She usually isn’t nervous about committing murder, but Dream makes her uneasy. The way that his eyes glance at her worryingly and the harsh tension in his shoulders tells Y/n that Dream’s definitely had this happen before. Y/n bites the inside of her lip; she’d have to be very cunning to gain his trust. 

The garden in itself provides her with a sense of comfort. It reminds her of her flower bed at home. 

“So, why do they call you Dream?” Y/n asks. Her attempt at trying to defuse the awkwardness works as Dream twists his lips in thought.

“Uh—well, my mother used to say I was her ‘miracle’ and then believed the word was overused and cliche, so she came up with Dream; and it stuck—clearly.” 

Y/n nods, a soft smile gracing her face as she turns to him. “Well, I think that’s lovely.”

Dream blushes, although it’s hard to see through the night. “Really?” 

“Yeah! That’s beautiful.” 

The pair sit in silence, revelling in the moonlight before Dream speaks up again. “Would you like to see the lake?” 

Y/n contemplates before she replies. “Sure.” 

She had no idea why he’s taking her there, but it’s a sign that she’s gaining his trust. 

—

“You don’t know how to skip rocks?” 

Dream shakes his head at Y/n, who sits with her jaw open. “How?” 

He then shrugs, toying with a small pebble in his palm. “Teach me?” 

Y/n nods and takes the rock from him before standing and shuffling towards the lake. She gets into position, her arm bent at an angle beside her body. 

She takes a glance back at Dream to make sure he’s watching, which he is. “All you need to do is put your arm back like this, and then sweep it forwards and let go of the rock. Make sure you do it quickly, or it won’t work.” 

Y/n exhales and throws her arm, the rock hopping along the glassy water before it plops into the depths. 

She spins around with a smile on her face. Dream squints at her; he seems to be analysing her actions. He sighs and plucks a rock from the ground, standing and walking over to Y/n. 

“Ready?” She asks. Dream nods while getting into the same stance Y/n was in only 20 seconds ago. 

He looks down at the pebble for a moment and then throws it as Y/n said. Dream watches as the rock skips across the pond, creating ripples in the smooth water. 

Dream leaps around, his eyes wide. “I did it!” 

Y/n can’t help but laugh at him, the pure joy he feels influences her too. “You did!” 

Dream sighs heavily and goes back to where they were sitting. He flips back onto the ground, avoiding the sharp rocks protruding the sparse grass. He laughs out loud again, who knew something as trivial as rock skipping could make him feel so alive. 

“You’re cute; you know that?” The sudden compliment elicits a blush and a groan from Dream as Y/n nears closer. She smiles down at him. “There must be a lot of things you haven’t tried.” 

The statement makes Dream’s heart drop. It’s true, there are many things he hasn’t done. “Yes…” 

Y/n’s heart spasms in her chest. Poor guy.

“Ok. Well, I’ll make it my mission to make sure you get them all done before your time comes.” 

Dream looks at her. There’s an adoration that swims around in them that inclines Y/n to feel uneasy again. “You mean that?” 

The girl nods whilst she goes to lay next to him. “Everybody deserves happiness before they die.” 

Dream scrunches his nose up, going to disagree before Y/n interrupts. She doesn’t know why she has the sudden urge to say such a thing, but her chest aches when she looks at him. 

“I’m going to be completely honest with you, Dream. I’ve only known you for half an hour, but I feel so uneasy around you.” 

This catches Dream by surprise. He tilts his head at Y/n, who covers her face with her hands in embarrassment. “Sorry, sorry–“

“No need to apologise, Y/n. You make me uneasy too, I guess.” 

She peers at him between her fingers and then lowers her hands. Y/n lets out a small laugh at his red cheeks and imagines a flush creeping across hers too. 

“Uneasy in what sense, may I ask?” Dream’s innocent tone makes Y/n’s ears blush. 

“In the sense that you're unpredictable, in a good way. I’m always up for an adventure.” Her description is slightly confusing, but Dream understands.

Above them, the oak trees rustle lightly in the cool breeze, and tiny waves begin to ripple onto the sand meters in front of their feet. The sound of water rushing forwards and then pulling back calms the rapid beating of their hearts. 

“I guess I could say the same for you, Y/n.” 

“Prince Clay, I have breakfast and a message for you.” 

At the sound of his assistant at his bedroom door, Dream groans from his place in his bed. “What time is it?” 

“10 am! Get up! I have a message for you if you didn't hear me the first time!” George teases, holding the paper between his fingers; he’s eager to open the letter. 

“George!” Dream calls, grabbing his pillow from beside him and shoving his face into it. 

“Clay!” 

Dream sighs loudly and throws his heavy duvets off of his body, stalking towards the door to unlock it. He swings the door open to see George with a scroll of parchment and a tray with a lid in his hands. Dream’s eyes widen at the sight of breakfast, but George shakes his head. “I have to read your message first.” 

Dream rolls his eyes and tells George to hurry up as he struggles to unravel it. 

“Ok! Calm down. Uh—it’s from someone named Y/n? Do you know—” George is rudely interrupted when Dream freezes, then smiles. “Yes!”

“Oh, well, she asks to meet you at 9 pm at the place where rocks hop—what does that mean?” George’s face scrunches up in confusion, but Dream sighs, and this time it’s in contentment and not in annoyance. 

“Perfect! Thank you, Georgie. Guess I’ll see you later.” Dream snatches the tray from his assistant with his free hand, the other grabbing the piece of paper. George goes to interject before Dream steps to the side and slams the door in his face. 

George stands in bewilderment behind the door. His heart aches slightly, and he’s not sure what from—maybe it’s the way Dream discarded him or because of the letter. But he certainly knows Dream has never mentioned anybody called Y/n before. 

Maybe they’re just friends? Perhaps they only met last night at the Masquerade?

George scolds himself for his ridiculous thoughts and spins on his heel, heading for his own room. He hesitates before he leaves, hearing Dream let out a shout of excitement. At the sound, George pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and exhales; sadly, the situation brings tears to his dark eyes. 

They’re probably just friends. 

—

Dream sits anxiously on his bed, his head in his palm as he watches the clock tick. 8:39 pm. 8:40 pm. 8:41 pm. 

His heart skips a beat as it reaches the time to leave. Dream leaps from his spot on the bed and goes towards his mirror on the other side of the room. His hands come down to straighten out his dark waistcoat before they move to his hair. He curls his lip up at the sight of his unruly locks and sighs, choosing to ruffle it up slightly rather than putting gel in it. 

Taking in his appearance, Dream nods to himself. If he goes towards the Astronomy Tower and then loops towards the lake, he’ll arrive at precisely 8:58 pm; perfect timing. 

The night is clear, and the stars look amazing from where Y/n sits on the grass next to the lake. She leans back on her elbows as she takes in the view. It’s whimsical. 

Thoughts of murder and pursuit place a dark cloud over the magical evening. Y/n bites her lip and stares at the rippling water in front of her. The lake looks ominous enough to hide a body in or cover up a vast amount of blood, and the dense foliage across the lake is enough to conceal a weapon in. However, Dream is the Prince, and there is no doubt that everybody in the kingdom would be looking high and low for him if he were to go missing. 

Y/n’s plans go down the drain. It shouldn't be this hard! Wilbur Soot trusted her to do this, and if she doesn’t go through with it, she is guaranteed death.

She groans loudly, bringing her hands up to dig the heels of her palms into her eyes. Y/n could cry at the idea of failing and being a disappointment, even to people she doesn’t even know. 

The rustling of the bushes behind her indicates Dream has arrived, but she doesn't move from her position. Instead, she chooses to gain his sympathy and find a way to manipulate him to make it easier to go through with the assassination. 

“Y/n? Are you okay?” Dream rushes towards her, dropping beside her on the grass. Y/n sniffs and shakes her head. “What happened?” 

Dream places his hand on her back, softly. The act in itself makes Y/n jump; she’s not used to physical contact. 

“Sorry.” He apologises when he sees her startled, deciding to move his hand away and place it back into his lap. 

“No, you’re fine,” Y/n lets out a teary laugh. “I—erm, I just found out that my father divorced my mother, and he took the farm and cottage away from her.” 

Her hands fall to her lap hopelessly, and Dream’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Really? I’m so sorry, Y/n.” 

The girl shakes her head. The pair sit in the dark, the moon being the only thing illuminating their faces. Y/n thinks she’s hit a dead-end until Dream sighs and continues speaking.

“I can actually relate if it makes you feel better,” This makes Y/n’s ears perk up. “My father has been going to L’Manberg on ‘business trips’, but I know why he’s really leaving.”

Gotcha.

“Clay, I can’t imagine how hard that must be for you. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t reply and reaches over to grasp Y/n’s hand. Dream wears a crestfallen expression, his eyes glassy as he looks out over the water. Y/n feels a pang in her heart at the sight of the upset man. 

“I used to think that they had a good relationship,” Dream starts. Y/n doesn’t have the will to hear his perspective on it, afraid that she’ll actually feel bad for him and lose any motivation to kill him. “Until I went for a walk one night through the halls in the castle. I heard voices in my parents’ room and wanted to say ‘goodnight’, but before I could, I heard glass smashing and terrible cries.

“I was only a child, but I knew what was happening. I didn’t want to believe it at first because why would the King and Queen do such horrible things to each other? But as I got older, I realised that they had fallen out of love and are only faking it for the kingdom.” 

“Clay—” 

“They don’t know that I know all of this; they think I’m as clueless as I was when I was nine. But I’m twenty-one now, and I know everything.” 

Y/n screws her lips up, her throat burning with emotion. Why is she feeling like this?

“I don’t know what to say.” And it’s true. Y/n remains speechless as she listens to Dream tell her about his parents. 

“Nothing. I just needed someone to know.” Dream is blunt with his words and releases Y/n’s hand. She feels awful for not being able to help him in the way he needs, but she’s not here to be his therapist—she’s here to murder him. 

“Hey, how about we lighten the mood with some rock skipping?” And that’s just enough for Dream.

—

“Where are you staying?” Dream asks. Y/n is caught off guard by the question but tells him her orchestrated answer.

“In the castle, actually.” 

Dream turns to look at her, a lopsided smile on his lips. “Really?” Y/n nods. 

In an attempt to change the subject, Y/n picks up Dream’s hand from his lap. “Enough about me. Tell me what your favourite food is.” 

Dream gives her a confused look before replying. “Vanilla cake.”

Y/n hums and fiddles with his fingers. “Interesting.” 

Dream throws his head back to gaze at the moon above them. He is comfortably content at this moment with Y/n, despite only knowing her for a day. His eyes widen before he scrabbles to stand hastily. “I gotta go! You want to walk back together?” 

“I’m going to stay here a bit longer, if that’s alright with you.” Y/n smiles at him and Dream nods. It is reaching midnight and Dream knows he’ll be in trouble for being out so late. 

After he bids goodbye to Y/n, Dream begins his journey home. He hears wolves howling from behind the walls that surround the castle and goosebumps rise on his skin. It’s expectantly silent for the time of night, the only sound being animals as they scavenge. 

Dream’s footsteps are heavy on the pathway back to the castle, and his heart rate picks up at the sound of trees rustling. With his head on a swivel, Dream spins around to face the bush. He sucks his lips between his teeth and continues, checking back every once in a while, to make sure he isn’t being followed. 

He sees the grand entrance of the castle and his feet quicken. There’s a sudden whoosh behind him and then a breeze. A twig snaps in the distance and instead of running, he slows down. Dream forces himself to calm down—he’s only scaring himself. 

“Dream~” A voice sings into the wind. The tune has Dream sprinting to the doors, his heart beating out of his chest. Surely, he didn’t hear what he thought he heard. 

The wooden doors are heavy as he pushes them open before he stumbles inside. Dream is quick to close them once more, locking them in the process. He’s safe now, right?

A sliver of white ripped fabric floats in the wind on a spike outside of his window. Dream eyes it suspiciously, that wasn’t there last night. 

He stretches his arms out, his joints cracking as his stare remains trained on the material. An uneasy feeling rises in his chest before his bedroom door opens suddenly. 

“Clay~” His assistant, George, sings. He holds a tray in his hands and a beaming smile on his face. “Breakfast!” 

“Hi.” At Dream’s wavering voice, George places the tray on the table and stalks over to the Prince.

“What’s wrong?” He sits on Dream’s bed and tries to meet his gaze. 

“Somebody’s after me, George,” Dream whispers, his fearful eyes are staring into George’s.

“How do you know?” 

“I just know.”

“Well, we have to inform the King and Queen at once, Clay!” 

Dream shakes his head. “I’m sure I’ll be fine; besides, I’m inside the castle for most of the day anyways. There’s no way anybody like that could get in.” 

George goes to interject but knows better than to do so. He trusts Dream, more than anyone else; if he says he’s fine, then he’s fine. Right?

“Ok… but if anything happens, you tell me. Got it?” George says his voice stern. Dream hasn’t heard this tone since he attempted to run from the castle last year after an argument with his parents. George had been scared out of mind when his best friend—the prince—was reported missing. 

“Has this got anything to do with Y/n, perhaps?” Dream is bewildered that George would say such a thing. “No! I trust Y/n. She could never do such a thing.” 

George nods timidly and apologises before he stands. “Breakfast is on your desk. I’ll be back later to collect the plates.” 

Dream furrows his eyebrows as he watches George sulk. Why does Y/n worry him so much? 

—

Dream walks in the moonlight along the high walls that surround the castle. If anybody knew he was out at this hour, he’d be in so much trouble. It wasn’t that his parents didn’t trust him; it was everybody else.

When he was younger, a groundskeeper had led him outside the gates with the intent to sell him off. The experience had left Dream untrusting to many, and although he was much older now, much more robust, he had a hard time getting to know people. 

An owl hoots from the tree above him and the moon hangs behind its body, casting a shadow onto the dirt beneath. The silhouette is ghostly, and the sight makes the creature look much more sinister than it is. 

Dream stops in his place and watches as the owl hops along the thick branch, the rustling of the leaves distracting him for a moment. The bird then pauses and turns to look at him. Dream smiles softly and whispers, “Hi, little owl.” 

Much to his surprise, the owl actually hoots back. The sound makes Dream’s eyes widen as he continues to speak quietly to the bird.

A twig snapping behind him causes the owl to flap its wings and shoot off into the night, making Dream frown. He sighs before turning around with the intent of going back to the castle. He’s been out for long enough anyway. 

His mind drifts to Y/n. He wonders where she is, his heart skipping a beat at the mere thought of her. It is ridiculous really, how quickly he’s fallen for a girl he only met a few weeks ago. But he knows she’s different from the princesses his family has tried to set him up with. Y/n is different in the sense that she actually makes him nervous—lovestruck, even. 

The sound of someone clearing their throat catches Dream’s attention, and then he turns to his right to face the noise. 

“Dream.” A voice says. 

Dream freezes. His heart picks up speed as he’s met with a person, a mask covering their face. His hands begin to shake as the person draws closer.

As they approach him, Dream can tell it’s a woman. As sexist as it is, he knows he could take her if they were to engage in a fight. Dream scolds himself at the thought, and his frightened expression goes slack.

“Who are you?” He exclaims, pushing his hair from his eyes to get a better look.

“I’m here on orders from someone to kill you.” 

Dream’s heart skips a beat. He knew it. 

“I know.” 

The girl stops in her place. “How?”

“I could feel it,” Dream gulps. “It’s happened before.” 

The girl nods and lifts her arm. Dream squints into the darkness to see what she is doing before he’s being pushed backwards. He stumbles slightly before he regains balance and begins running. 

“Dream~” The girl sings, her voice slightly distorted. Dream hears her loud and clear as he leaps over tree roots and dirt mounds. 

“Leave me alone!” 

She laughs and picks up speed behind him. Dream is shocked by how quickly she’s gaining on him, but he persists, nonetheless. A crooked smirk spreads across his cheeks as he looks back at her. 

“I can’t do that.”

Dream’s lungs and throat burn as he draws in breaths. Adrenaline rushes through his veins, and his knees begin to buckle as he prepares his arms to catch him when he falls. He doesn’t run much. But despite the pain, a sly grin continues to play on his lips.

Dream’s feet give way below him, and then he’s tumbling onto the freshly mown grass. He’s run a long way, now lying in the garden rather than being in the forest. The moon sits high in the sky and shines down on him intensely. 

And although he’s scared for his life, Dream can’t help but feel a little relieved. He moves to sit back on his heels as the girl comes up in front of him, a dagger drawn in her hand. It’s like a game to both of them. 

“I’ve got you now, Dream,” 

“It seems you do.” 

The masked girl’s dagger presses firmly against his throat. The blade gleams in the moonlight, and the pressure elicits a groan from him. 

Dream smiles as a drop of blood cascades down his chest. He enjoys the feeling a little more than he should, and the glint in her eye shows him that she does too. Why are her eyes so familiar? 

“But I’ll spare you.” 

Dream’s eyebrows furrow as he watches her pull her knife away from his neck and shove it back into the slot in her boot. “Why?” 

The girl sighs, her arms relaxing by her side. “Because I—something’s telling me I should.”

She turns on her heel, looking around before she ducks into the line of trees behind them. 

Dream exhales deeply, relieved—the small cut on his throat stinging as he tilts his head up to stare at the moon. He’s vulnerable in this position; on his knees and unarmed. Who would spare the prince if they had the perfect chance to kill him? What made her change her mind? 

In his conversation with the moon, Dream thinks about the girl’s eyes and why they were so familiar to him—and why she spared him. He squints at the full moon, begging for answers, trying to remember where he’d seen such beauty. 

His dazed smile is quickly wiped from his lips, and the realisation knocks the oxygen out of his lungs, and soon he’s gasping for air and clawing his chest—it’s Y/n. 

Dream sits at the long dining table with a new plate of eggs and turkey. 

“Dreamy, darling, are you going to eat?” The Queen asks, her head lolling to the side as she talks to her son. 

Dream’s lips twitch as he shakes his head. “Not that hungry.” 

Y/n was on the verge of killing him last night. 

“Oh? Are you feeling okay?” 

Dream then nods, resting his cheek in his palm. His hair is messy, and his clothes remain skewed from sleeping. He usually didn’t present himself like this at breakfast. 

“Yes, perfectly fine. I’m sorry for not looking presentable this morning.” 

His mother sighs, her hand reaching out to grasp his free one. “That’s alright.” 

Dream gives her a tight-lipped smile and squeezes her hand. He notes that her ring finger is bare but decides against saying anything. 

“Where’s dad?” He asks instead. His mother stills, her face unreadable as she nods once.

“He had to leave this morning—business in L’Manberg.”

Dream doesn’t speak and lifts his hand, picking up his fork. The action elicits a soft smile from his mother. He stabs a slice of grilled turkey and brings it to his mouth.

—

“Clay!” 

At the sound of his name, Dream turns around. 

It’s after breakfast and Dream stands in the corner of the ballroom gazing out of the large windows that look onto the back garden. The head cook, and one of his best friends, Nick, is approaching him. “Nick?” 

His friend laughs, untying his apron from behind his back before he lays it over the end of one of the sofas. Dream steps forward to embrace Nick in a hug. “How have you been?” 

Nick contemplates his answer before he responds. “Flippin’ awesome.” Dream’s jaw goes slack at the cooking pun and chuckles. 

“Ha, ha. SO funny.” 

The pair pull away, and Dream faces the window again. The sapphire butterflies that flutter around the apple tree outside bring him a sense of comfort as Nick comes up beside him. The pair bask in warmth from the sun, the window making it much hotter than it is. 

“I’ve missed you, man. The kitchen’s been boring without you sneaking in.” Nick frowns and Dream feels his stomach drop. He takes a glance at the shorter man and sighs. 

“I’m sorry, bro. George said it’s ideal for me not to sneak around at night because—” 

Dream’s breath hitches in his throat, eliciting a cough. Nick shoots him a look. “Because of what?” 

“Erm—uh, I guess there’s somebody after me.” 

“What? Really?” 

Dream nods, wiping his nose with his fist. Nick struggles to find the words to say. “You don’t need to say anything; I don’t expect you to. I just thought I should let you know.” 

Nick exhales deeply, bringing his hand up to run his fingers through his hair. “That’s rough.” 

“Yeah,” Dream whispers. The two of them stand in silence as they watch the insects fly around in the sunlight. “Come here.” 

Then Dream’s pulling Nick into another hug. This time, their embrace means something, and Dream knows it’ll be one of the last times he sees his best friend. Be safe. I love you.

A sniffle from Nick prompts Dream to push him away at arm's length, his hands resting on his shoulders. The younger man complains about how embarrassing it is seeing him cry, but Dream shakes his head in assurance. “It’s okay—I’ll be okay.”

“I hope so; I can’t imagine this place without you.” 

Dream sits on his bed, silently. He recalls the events from last night and exhales deeply. A million questions run through his mind as he shifts positions, now choosing to lay on his back and stare at the high ceiling. His fingertips come up to brush the scabbing cut on his neck. 

Why did he somewhat enjoy the blade against his neck? Why wasn’t he scared when it pierced his skin? Would he tell George? But most of all, why was Y/n after him? He trusted her–didn’t he?

A sudden knock on his bedroom door and the quiet sweep of paper against wood brings him from his screaming mind. He sits up abruptly, spotting the piece of parchment on the timber floor. Dream glances out of the window quickly and goes to snatch it from the ground.

The crinkling of paper is loud as he rushes to open it. 

Meet me at the Astronomy Tower at noon. 

Dream’s eyebrows fly to his hairline. Y/n wants to meet with him. Would she mention what happened last night? Does she know he knows it’s her? Is she planning to kill him right now?

Another knock makes him jump. But this time, it opens. 

“Clay?” 

“George!” Dream exclaims, pulling his assistant by his sleeve into the room, the door closing behind them. 

“Uh, yes?” George is confused at Dream’s jagged movements. Dream shoves the letter into the older boy’s hands and waits for his reaction. When George doesn’t reply, Dream rolls his eyes.

“It’s from Y/n!” 

“Well, you have to go.” 

Dream is both shocked and relieved. “I have to go?”

George nods. He reads over the letter one last time before he gives it back to Dream. George squints when he notices his friend’s slightly pink cheeks.

“Why are you blushing?” 

Dream immediately coughs in an attempt to cover up his embarrassment. George keeps his eyes on him as he does so, screwing his lips up in slight irritation that somebody can make Dream flustered. 

“Oh! Do you have a crush?” George teases, although it’s more of an accusation than a joke. Dream laughs, shoving him away. George chooses to ignore the tugging at his heart when he hears the Prince giggle like that. 

“I don’t like her—I can’t. She’d kill me, George.” Dream jokes, patting his friend on the back. But is he really joking? 

“Kill you?” 

Dream laughs, spinning on his heel whilst shrugging. “Kill me.”

“Did you speak to Nick this morning?” George asks, his fake smile flipping into a frown. The mood drops immediately, all laughs, and carelessness forgotten. 

Dream nods. “I told him how I think somebody’s after me again. He looked pretty scared.” 

“He was worried when I told him you wanted to talk to him about it.” George tilts his head and sighs. 

“...It’s nearly noon. I better get going.” Dream deflects the topic, choosing to stand tall once more. He doesn’t want George to suspect anything’s wrong with Y/n, so he puts on a false façade, a smile stretching across his cheeks.

George doesn't say anything and tries to make his smile believable as he opens Dream’s bedroom door for him. “Have fun, I guess.”

The younger man practically skips out of the room, and when he is halfway down the hallway, he turns. “What was it that you needed, George? When you knocked before?” 

George dismisses his question. “Not important. Now, go!” 

Although, to George, it is crucial, and now he has missed his chance. 

—

Dream’s boots slap the cobblestone steps as he makes his way up the tower. He peers around the corner, wary of his movements as he goes. When he reaches the top, he cautiously tiptoes to the balcony. His hand goes to trace the scab forming on his neck and forgets it when he hears her. 

“Clay?” Her voice is soft, holding much more kindness than it did when she had a blade to his throat. “Y/n.” 

He sees her perched on a picnic mat, a basket next to her. Dream tilts his head as he watches her stand and approaches him. Her arms wrap around his neck in a hug and then he’s hugging her back. “Hi.” 

“Hey,” She laughs, pulling back slightly to admire his face. “I missed you today.” Dream gives a muffled noise of agreement into her shoulder. 

Y/n steps back and squints at his neck. “What happened?” Her fingers delicately feel the wound before Dream dodges her. 

“Nothing, nothing. What’s all this?”

She appears to overlook his shitty deflection and motions towards the place where she was sitting. “I made us a picnic.” 

The way she smiles almost makes Dream forget who she is. He forces a smile back, his heart aching at the realisation of reality. She’ll kill him soon. 

“I baked a cake for you, vanilla—you said that was your favourite, right?” Y/n’s anxious actions worry Dream as he sits down next to her. He lifts his head to look out over the land, and the view is breath-taking. 

“Woah,” He breathes. 

Y/n smiles brightly at him, glancing at the green hills and blue skies before she focuses on cutting a slice of cake. 

“You know, I never really admired this view until I met you.” Dream confesses—and it’s true. Y/n pauses, gazing at him as he turns towards her. 

“Really?”

He nods, his breath hitching in his throat at the sight of her. She truly is gorgeous. “You’re pretty.” 

Y/n’s eyes widen, and she feels her cheeks flush. “Oh, thank you, Clay. You’re pretty too.” Her hair falls in front of her face as she looks down, and Dream feels a pang in his heart. 

“Have some cake,” Y/n mumbles, handing him a napkin with the dessert placed on it. The sweet looks delectable, and Dream can’t wait to take a bite—unless… 

“You know what? I’m not that hungry, actually. But the cake looks delicious. Thank you.” Y/n furrows her eyebrows, and a look of hurt flashed across her face. “Oh.” 

She hurries to take it back from him, but he refuses to give it to her. “What are you doing?” She asks. 

Dream motions for her to cut another piece, “I’ll only eat if you do.” 

Y/n nods slowly, moving the knife to slice into the cake once more. She flips it onto another napkin and brings it towards her mouth. 

“What? You think it’s poisonous?” Y/n laughs, watching as Dream becomes flustered. “No!” 

His response is quick and cautious, but Y/n doesn’t seem to notice as she takes a bite of her piece of cake. Dream watches as she chews and swallows, earning a confused glance from her. Nothing happens. 

“Well, I didn’t drop dead. Your turn,” She laughs, hurt still evident on her features. Dream feels guilty. He holds the cake surprisingly firmly, bringing it to his lips. His heart races as he puts it between his teeth and bites down. The cake is very sweet, and it’s good. Dream catches Y/n’s eye as he eats, giving her a nod of approval. She smiles widely and visibly relaxes. 

The action calms something in Dream, too. He finishes off his cake and waits for Y/n to do the same. He sees some white frosting fall onto the bodice of her dress, the sugary mixture tumbling down onto her skirt. The girl doesn’t seem to notice as she licks the remaining icing off her fingers. 

“Uh—Y/n, you got some—uh,” Dream motions to her skirt, and watches as she sighs deeply. “Awww, I just washed these.” 

Dream stifles a giggle when Y/n scrunches her nose up and goes to wipe it off. As small as the action is, Dream’s heart skips a beat at her cute expression. He scolds himself for feeling such this way; she tried to kill you last night. 

He eyes the knife next to the basket, sweet frosting covering the blade. The growing desire to grab it and ram it right through her chest burns in his mind, but he holds back. He clenches his jaw, and for the first time, Dream is terrified of himself. 

He shakes the deranged through from his head. What was that? 

Dream watches as Y/n shoves the used napkin into the basket and lifts her eyes to meet his. He smiles softly, causing Y/n to cover her face with her hands. “Stop that.” 

“Stop what?” He laughs, reaching to poke her in the ribs. Y/n yelps quietly, jolting when he shocks her side. “Stop making me flustered. It’s hardly polite.” 

Dream stops, the tips of his ears reddening. He makes her nervous? “Oh, come on now.” 

The rasp in his voice makes Y/n freeze. She peers at him through her fingers and sees him smirking at her. She lets out a high-pitched sound and returns her hands over her eyes. As much as Dream hates to admit it, there’s a fuzzy feeling in his chest.

“Clay, I’m going to take my hands away from my eyes now, and you better not say anything suggestive.” 

Dream chuckles, extending his arms out to grasp her fingers and pull them down. She doesn’t meet his gaze as he holds her hands in her lap. Birds chirp and fly past the balcony, their singing being a perfect addition to the atmosphere the pair had created. 

They don’t say anything as they lean closer. Dream tilts his head slightly, a small smile gracing his face as he sees Y/n do the same. 

“Prince Clay, the Queen would like to see you in the castle.” 

The two of them are still at the sound of another. George stands at the top of the stairs, a scroll in his right hand. Dream rolls his eyes in annoyance, throwing Y/n an apologetic look as he releases her hands. “Thanks, George.”

“I—I’ll see you later?” Y/n whispers as she watches Dream clamber up to his full height. He nods hastily, not giving her a second look, and rushes out behind George. He feels her stare on the back of his skull but continues. 

Y/n sits in silence as the clanging of the wooden door downstairs slams against the stone walls. The chirping of the birds outside dies down, and she frowns. 

As much as she’s supposed to detest Dream, Y/n feels butterflies cluster in her stomach at the mere thought of him. The idea of killing him causes the butterflies to turn to spiders and makes Y/n feel sick. She can’t go through with this—not now, not ever. 

—

“Dre—Clay.” 

Dream freezes; his mother only uses his real name when things are serious. He nods once, prompting his mother to continue. 

“Your father has yet to return to the kingdom from his trip to L’Manberg. However, plans have changed, and it seems he’ll be there longer than expected.” The Queen’s voice is steady but has undertones of utter sadness, which Dream picks up on instantly.

“Why?” He asks. 

“He gave me a straight answer; business.” 

Dream doesn’t say nor does anything. Instead, he remains still. His lack of response earns a reaction from his mother, however. “What is it?” 

“Is it why you don’t wear your ring anymore?” Dream refuses to meet her eye, afraid he’ll upset her more than he already has with his question.

The Queen inhales sharply, glancing at her hand before she composes herself. “Yes.” 

Her voice is just above a whisper, but Dream catches it. His heart clenches, and then he finally meets her watery eyes. 

Dream’s hard exterior breaks as he wraps his arms around his mother. He uses his finger to usher the guards and assistants out of the room and then rests his hand on the back of her hair in an attempt to quiet her soft cries.

He tries his best to be strong for her, swallowing the growing lump in his throat. 

The room is far too silent for Dream’s liking, and he wishes for something to happen to break it. 

And something does. The slam of the double doors makes the pair jump, Dream spinning around to see who had interrupted. 

Y/n stands there, the same picnic basket in her hand. “I’m sorry for intruding!” 

Dream’s mother quickly wipes under her eyes and places her usual people-pleasing smile on. “What can I do for you, darling?”

Y/n walks further into the room, glancing at Dream momentarily before opening the basket in front of the Queen.

“I brought you some berries. I was speaking to Dream earlier, and he told me you loved strawberries. So, I picked some for you, myself.” Her smile is deceiving, Dream can tell, but it’s also warming, and kind and his chest aches at the sight of it. 

The Queen gasps, her hands going to take the basket from Y/n. She peers in and sees it full to the brim with the berries. “Oh my,” 

Y/n’s smile grows, her eyes meeting Dream’s. Although he knows her true intentions, he’s extremely grateful for her kindness. “Thank you, Y/n.” 

“Yes, yes, thank you!” His mother beams. She turns around and starts walking towards another door behind them. 

Once the door closes, Y/n grins at Dream, and he smiles back. His heart twists in his chest, and his eyes burn with tears. Oh, how silly I am, he thinks. 

The next time Dream sees Y/n, and she’s under the wooden bridge in the garden, her hair and undergarments drenched. The sun burns intensely down on his neck as he approaches her. 

Y/n watches the lake rush under her, the odd fish jumping out and diving back into the freezing water. It’s a harsh contrast to the weather outside, swelteringly hot and humid, but Y/n doesn’t pay any mind when she contemplates going for a swim. 

She jogs off the bridge and circles back around to shuffle down the steep, grass bank. Butterflies flutter majestically around her, enhancing the experience of being in an actual kingdom rather than a desert village—it's magical. 

Y/n’s eyes dart around before her hands tend to her back to untie her bodice. She sucks on her bottom lip, and she does so, the process takes far too long. 

Throwing the structured clothing to the grass, she then moves to her top skirt, pulling it up over her head. Her heeled boots and frilly socks are the last things to remove and then Y/n is left standing in a plain cream skirt and button-up. 

She pays no attention to her surroundings as she lifts her remaining skirt and dips her toes into the icy lake, her mouth forming an ‘o’ shape at the temperature. 

From here, Y/n can see that the middle of the lake is the deepest point; the bottom is nowhere in sight through the clear water. 

Y/n doesn’t think twice as she leaps into the middle, her entire body submerging under the surface. Her senses are shocked, and her throat closes at the sudden chill. Y/n claws at the water to reach the surface, and then she feels the sun on her cheeks. She takes a large breath and wipes her eyes. 

“Y/n?” The girl turns towards the sound of Dream’s voice. 

“Clay?” She smiles. He runs down the bank and towards the water, although he stops before he can dive in. 

“What are you doing?” He calls, tilting his head at her. “Swimming.” 

Dream rolls his eyes, “Obviously!” 

This elicits a giggle from Y/n as she swims to the edge, her clothes drenched and her heavy makeup running down her face. 

“Hi,” Y/n says as she draws closer. Dream tries fighting a smile at the sight of her in her undergarments. He feels the tips of his ears redden. “I don’t care if you see me like this, Clay.” 

He doesn’t say anything as he reaches his hands for her cheeks. He thinks she looks absolutely gorgeous. But the rising impulse to push her head under the water and never let her up is powerful. Once his fingertips brush her cheek, his breathing becomes laboured and clenches his jaw. She tried to kill you. 

Y/n notices him vacantly staring at her and waves her hand in front of his eyes. “Clay?” 

Dream’s blank expression doesn’t waver. Instead, Y/n swears, she sees his green eyes darken. His hands move from her cheeks to her shoulders, and his grip tightens. Y/n’s face scrunches in uncertainty, and she tries to shift from under his secure hold. Dream’s glare turns wicked as she continues to withdraw. “Clay? Stop, you’re scaring me.” 

His head cocks to the side mockingly, his arms going to push her shoulders down. Y/n losing footing on the rocks under her feet and her neck reaches the water. She claws hastily at his hands, and soon she’s gulping mouthfuls of the icy water. Dream shows no signs of stopping until the sound of her screams brings him from his empty glare. “S-Stop it-t!” 

“Y/n?” 

Dream blinks, and his face softens. He furrows his eyebrows when he sees Y/n struggling to keep her head above the water and grips under her armpits to pull her to stand again. Dream becomes increasingly worried as he sees tears running down her cheeks instead of lake water and makeup, opening his mouth to pour out apologies. 

Y/n stays silent, her eyes shooting from his gaze to the water. She is confused and scared. Questions run through her mind at a million miles per second. Why? Why, why, why? Does he know why she is actually here? Does he know her true intentions? Did he just try and drown her?

“What’s your problem?” Y/n yells, scrambling up the edge of the lake and towards her dry clothes. Dream says nothing. Why did he do that?

“I—I’m so sorry, Y/n.” Maybe it wasn’t her who had a dagger to his throat all that time ago. Perhaps she’s just a normal girl. 

Y/n snarls at him, her top lip curled up in disgust. “I don’t want to see you anymore.” 

The words shock Dream back into reality. “No! No, no.” 

“Yes. Now, leave me alone, Clay.” Y/n spits as she gathers her clothes and stomps back towards the castle. 

Dream stays crouching next to the lake. He stares at his reflection in the water. It twists and turns into a horrible creature baring sharp teeth and dark, dark eyes. He shakes his head instantly; the reflection swirling back into himself. 

What is going on?

— 

The fire almost burns Y/n’s icy hands as she inches closer to the flame. With her dry clothes on, her hair is still wet, and it drips down the back of her bodice and skirts, making her even colder; Y/n regrets not drying her hair before she got dressed. 

As she stares into the fire, Dream’s void expression and evil eyes eat away at her conscience, making her squeeze her eyes shut at the thought. 

“You,” 

The sound of a singular word makes Y/n turn around. George, Dream’s assistant, stands in front of her. His hard eyes are glaring at her as she cocks her head. “George?” 

“You’re here to kill him, aren’t you?” He spits, backing away slowly. Y/n's face shifts to one of shock, her hands shaking in at her sides. 

“Kill him? I would never do such a thing! If anything, he tried to kill me half an hour ago! At the bridge!” 

George scoffs, inching his hand towards the fire poker that leans against the brick fireplace next to him. “You know, you really need to work on your coyness, Y/n.”

She rolls her eyes at him, her teeth chattering as she does so. “You’re ridiculous, George. I love him despite his mistakes.” 

The man lets out a grunt. “You don’t!” 

Y/n steps back at his sudden aggressiveness. She sees the fire poker in his whitening knuckles and then stares at him in bewilderment. “Stop it! You’re going to hurt yourself or me.” 

A sinister laugh escapes George’s throat as he brings the sharp object up to her face, “Oh, I’m definitely going to hurt you. You’re not going anywhere near Clay, again.” 

At his sentence, Y/n stills, and her concerned expression falls slack. She’s done this more times than she can count. Her cold hands intertwine in front of her stomach as a look of confusion crosses George’s face. 

“Listen, I came here to do one thing, and whether or not that plan has changed is none of your business,” Y/n says her stare never wavering. 

She hates to make it so vague, but she knows if he told him the truth, she’d be dead either way—whether that be by George and his fire poker, or by Wilbur Soot and his many friends that could have her head on a pitchfork at any given moment. 

George narrows his eyes at her. “You’re lying.” 

She shrugs; Y/n knows not to show fear; it would only motivate him more. 

The end of the poker is dangerously close to her face, and George sighs before he lowers it. “You love him?” 

Y/n’s eyes soften, and she recoils slightly. She blinks slowly, her eyes coming to rest on her feet. Y/n hates showing emotion, choosing to spill everything in isolation rather than unveiling her vulnerability to potential threats. 

George only nods and retreats, placing the poker back next to the fireplace. He hesitates before he speaks, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. George drops his head and sighs, his heart shattering at the mere thought of Dream, returning her feelings.

“I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but I know one thing; I’ve never seen Clay like this before, so please don’t hurt him. I can tell he cares about you, dearly.” He refuses to meet Y/n’s eye as he turns to exit. 

She becomes wary of his sudden change in mood but decides against asking him any questions as she sees the tail of his dress coat float around the corner of the doorframe. 

George almost couldn’t believe his eyes when he walked into Dream’s bedroom the next morning. The sunlight had only just begun to flood the kingdom, the clock on the wall showing 6:18 am. 

“Why are you already up? Who are you?” George jokes approaching his best friend. Dream sits hunched over his desk, his quill hurrying over a piece of parchment. George furrows his brows at the strange behaviour but chooses to ignore it as he pulls a chair beside Dream. 

The younger man stops his actions and glances at his assistant. “What are you doing?”

George pales. “I—uh, just wanted to see what you are doing.” Dream throws him a dirty look before he angles his body away. 

George bites the inside of his cheek, his body filling with rage at Dream’s attitude. “What’s your deal?” 

Dream stills; George has never spoken to him like that before. “Excuse me?” 

“You heard me, Clay! Why are you so secretive all of a sudden? You always tell me what’s going on.” 

The Prince doesn’t seem to notice the absolute heartbreak and sadness in his assistant’s voice and clenches his fists. “Just fuck off, George! You’re my assistant, not my friend. I only call you when I need you. Got it?”

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that follows. George feels his entire body tingle as it falls numb, his stomach turning sickly. He watches as Dream huffs and turns back to his piece of paper, like a child; his arm covering the page and his other scribbling down words or exactly that—scribbles. 

It takes everything in George to stand up and leave. His legs are jelly as he wobbles out; his tears finally spilling down his cheeks. He shuts Dream’s bedroom door quietly, not anger him further, and runs down the hall towards his own room. 

The halls are silent, not a soul in sight but the broken one that floats behind George while he tries to swallow choked sobs. 

He hops down a few stairs, and then he’s pushing his door open, slamming it behind him in total defeat. He slides down the back of it, his hands coming to cover his flushed face. George scratches at his chest as he struggles to quieten the sound of his laboured breathing and hiccups. His heartbeat stutters within his ribcage—but that’s the least of his worries. 

This is the suffering of complete and utter heartbreak, and now George knows how it feels after three years of dreading it. He screws his eyes shut, in hopes of stopping the tears and forces himself to calm down. 

He loves Clay as more than a friend—this he knows is true. But, George scolds himself for being so foolish for thinking the Prince would reciprocate his one-sided love. 

And as the air fills his lungs, George stops. He holds his breath for as long as he can—the burning of his body screaming for him to breathe is the only thing he feels. He’s lightheaded as he gazes out of the window opposite him. The oak trees rustle in the dawn breeze, and it's tranquil. He feels his heart clench in his chest and then an unbearable searing pain that he can only compare to tossing your body into a fire and feeling it melt your skin.

The world is peaceful as he continues to let his body ignite and soon dwindle into nothing. 

And as the sun rises higher, his body slumps lower onto the ground, his eyes glassy and still staring out at the garden. 

—

Meet me in the garden at dusk. 

Her fingers trace the outline of the scraggly letters. Dream’s letter is vague, with no real meaning and nothing to indicate why he wants to meet. Usually, George delivered Dream’s letters to Y/n, but today it was rushed to her by another servant from the castle. Weird. 

Y/n squints closer at the letter; she can see how hard Dream drove the quill into the paper by the letters’ slightly ripped edges. Leaning closer, the smell of lavender seeps through the parchment. There are no lavender plants in the garden. 

Instead of going unprepared, Y/n reaches into the desk drawer and retrieves her dagger. She brings it towards her face and tilts it in the light, the metal reflecting into her eyes. Lifting her skirts on one side, Y/n shoves the knife into the case clasped around her thigh. It's subtle and easy to get to if needed. 

Y/n sighs, reading over the letter one last time before she walks towards the fire in the corner. She tosses it into the flames, watching as reds and oranges engulf the paper. 

She knows what comes next. If Dream wants her to meet him, then she’ll do it, but she also has to go through with her duties whether she likes it or not. 

Y/n draws nearer to the garden, her eyes darting around the trees in hopes—or in fear—of seeing Dream. The sun burns in the distance, begging to say goodbye for the day as it watches the girl tiptoe over tree roots. 

Once she enters the area enclosed by stone walls and arches, tears gather in Y/n’s eyes when she sees him, her heartstrings pulling violently in her chest. Dream stands on the other side of the garden, the thorns from the rose bush piercing his dress pants. Y/n remains frozen under one of the stone arches at the garden’s entrance, her dagger prominent in its case around her thigh. 

His cold stare meets her cautious eyes and his face does nothing to soothe her nerves like it usually does. Instead, his stern expression stirs panic around in her stomach and makes her feel ill. Y/n abandons her original plan to stay withdrawn from the situation because once she sees him, she breaks. 

“I can’t kill you, Clay!” 

Dream freezes at her sudden shout. The pain in her voice makes him clench his jaw, and soon he’s approaching her. “What?”

Y/n inhales sharply, her breath hitching in her throat before she continues. “You know that I came here to kill you, you figured it out! And now I can’t go through with it.” 

“Why?” Dream’s glare challenges her.

“Don’t make me answer that,” 

“Y/n,” 

“Clay.”

“I asked you a question. Answer it.” 

Y/n squeezes her eyes shut, her fists tense by her sides. Dream’s blunt tone is the last thing she needs to suppress her feelings further. “Because I hate you and I can’t possibly assassinate you when I have feelings like that—it’s immoral.” 

He scoffs at her horrible excuse. “If you truly hate me, I would’ve been dead the first second you saw me. Don’t lie to me, Y/n.” 

Y/n could scream—in frustration, in anger, in heartbreak. She wants to stand on the ledge of the Astronomy Tower and scream about how much she loves him; scream about how much she hates him; scream about how she would go to the ends of the earth for a man she is supposed to murder. 

“Leave me, Clay. I need to be alone.” 

With the shake of his head, Dream steps closer. “You love me; that’s why. It took me a while to realise, but I know now. And the worst part is, I love you too.” 

The confession has Y/n panicking. Her eyes widen, and her hands scramble to snatch the knife from her thigh—but Dream’s quicker. He leaps towards her, his body colliding with hers as they stumble onto the grass. Y/n’s dagger presses against his neck, but there’s one against hers too. 

An unfamiliar panic runs through Y/n as she feels a blade across her throat, but she keeps a hard exterior. The deadly look in Dream’s eye catches Y/n off guard as she pushes her knife firmly. A split appears on his skin—his blood dripping onto her neck, making him readjust his grip on his own dagger. 

His mother’s face flashes through Dream’s mind while he swallowed thickly. He apologises in his thoughts as he glares at Y/n. 

The heat of his hot blood on her skin is unlike anything Y/n’s felt before; maybe it’s the bloodlust or something else, but Dream notices. 

Y/n opens her lips to speak but is stopped when he leans down to press his mouth against hers. The kiss is contrastingly soft compared to the incredibly vulnerable and intense position they’re in. Dream’s skin burns where the cut is and feels it grow as he leans closer to her face. Y/n gasps when she feels metal pierce her skin, and soon they’re whispering into each other’s lips. 

The end is near. And as Y/n stares into Dream’s enchanting, sinister eyes, she reaches. 

She reaches for the release she’s been begging for since she met him. She’s desperate to feel him one last time—in love and not hate. There's one final strand of hope that maybe, just maybe, he can see her dying love for him seep through her ever-growing bloodlust and absolute inhumanity. 

But he doesn’t. And the same devilish grin he wore when she had a blade to his throat for the first time splits his red cheeks. The twinkle in her eye tells him she feels it too, and then her teeth bare a vile smirk.

“I’ll love you forever, Clay.” 

“Forever is the sweetest con, my love.” 

There are dull sweeps of blades across skin, and then there’s silence. 

Excruciating, deafening nothingness.

And as the sun dips beyond the horizon, Y/n and Clay’s hands intertwine, not once sparing a glance back at their bodies that lay cold on the cobblestone pathway. 

Feedback is always appreciated xx

[catxsnow]

CIRCUS FREAK D.G.

Request: okay so i was listening to rewrite the stars and got the idea where the reader is a socialite from a very wealthy family, and she fell for dick grayson but her family doesn't approve because he's not a real wayne/rich. so can i request that? thank you once again!!🥺❤️

Warning: swears, having really shitty parents

A/N: That gif just melts my heart every time I see it. 

Word Count: 2k

Dick Grayson was an unexpected surprise in your life.

Your parents were the kind of people that expected you to marry a literal prince. They wanted you to continue the family legacy of money, power, and popularity. Generations of marrying important figures to keep the family name from being tainted. Your family took pride in their place in the world.

When they moved to Gotham, there was only one family that was going to be good enough for your parents: The Wayne's. Bruce Wayne was the richest person in the city - maybe even the entirety of the country. When you parents wiggled their way into his life and to his famous gala's, you were to be dragged along as well.

Your parents pointed out dozens of rich men, those who owned big businesses or were part of world affairs. They wanted you to talk to them, date them, and eventually marry one of them. It wasn't those snobby men that you were intrigued by. It was the man across the room with a genuine smile.

At the time you weren't aware that this was Bruce's oldest adopted son. He didn't seem like the rest. Dick wasn't trying to prove his worth by being there, in fact it almost seemed like he didn't want to be there at all. Behind his smile, you could see that he had places he'd rather be - but his kindness to others never faltered.

Out of all the people in that room, he was the only one that you wanted to talk to.

Dick felt your eyes on him. He looked up from the person he was having a conversation with and gazed at you from across the room. A smile lit up his face at the sight of how stunning you looked. He no longer cared about the man he was chatting with - he wanted to go talk to you instead.

That was how you met the love of your life. The second that he asked you to dance, you knew that you never wanted to let him go. You danced your heart away that night, twirling and spinning until your legs were ready to give out on you. Being with Dick... it was like floating in the stars.

You met with him again and again after that night. Every meet up seemed to last shorter than the previous, you never seemed to get enough time with him. There weren't enough hours in the day for you to be with Dick as much as you wanted to. He had cut down on his over time at work, even patrol to be with you.

He was in love.

You weren't like the rest of the snobby rich, young adults that attended these gala's. Unlike so many of these families that just wanted to make money, you wanted to make the world a better place. Dick respected that about you. While you were both trying to change the world in different ways, it seemed to bring you closer together.

Bruce knew who you were. He was aware of your parents and their appearance in Gotham. Thinking like a business man, he assumed that you were only interested in Dick for the money in his name. Upon meeting you, he could clearly see that wasn't the case at all. You were completely head over heels for him.

The issue arose when Dick was meant to meet your parents for the first time. Every man that you had brought home to them wasn't good enough. They drove him away until you were left heartbroken. As the son of Bruce Wayne, you assumed that they would approve of him. Even so, Dick was brave enough to stick around through your parents wrath.

Dick was dressed in his best suit. You were looped around his arm in your best clothes as well. The two of you stood outside the doors of the fanciest restaurant in the city. Your parents were already inside and waiting upon the two of you. Dick leaned down to give you a quick peck on the lips.

"Stop worrying so much."

"Aren't I supposed to be telling you that?" You chuckled. Dick rolled his eyes and led you through the doors. Truth be told, he wasn't nervous. Throughout all his years, he had impressed every set of parents that he met. Yours couldn't be that different. "Just... don't think of me differently after today, okay?"

"I would never, my love," Dick assured. You switched from having your arm around his to intertwining your hands. The server led you towards the table your parents were sitting in. They looked to be in a good mood. Hopefully they would keep it up when you arrived with Dick.

Dick Grayson should have been nervous. After knowing you this past half a year, he didn't think that anyone related to you could be cruel. You were the kindest person that he had ever met, always worried about everyone around you before yourself. He assumed that it was your parents that raised you like that.

He was wrong, very wrong. Your parents seemed to be angered the second that you two sat down at the table. Dick was on his best behavior. He made sure to give the biggest smile, shook their hands, and referred to them with the utmost respect. It didn't seem to matter, the second they laid eyes on him they weren't impressed.

When you told your mother that you were bringing a Wayne to dinner, they assumed you meant a real Wayne - not an adopted one. Bruce was far too old for you, Damian far too young. Tim was the one that they were expecting, even if he was considerably younger than you as well. Even if he wasn't a real Wayne, he was the one to run WE.

Dick Grayson was nothing but a circus freak.

A boy who was born from poor parents and grew up in the circus. He was the exact opposite of what your parents wanted of you. Even with being adopted by Bruce, it wasn't enough for them. You were tired of pleasing your parents. Dick was the love of your life, you knew it in less than a year of being with him.

"You're lucky Bruce Wayne adopted you. I suppose living in a circus you had no where to go but up," Your mother spoke. She sipped her wine, acting as if what she had said was a compliment. Dick's eyes widened in shock but he remained quiet.

"You're not a real Wayne, though, right? Like Bruce's inheritance isn't going to go to you, it'll go to his youngest, the blood son?" Your father pitched in. "(Y/N) are you sure you want this one? What about the other, the one running Bruce's company - at least he has something going for him."

"That's enough!" You raised your voice. Your parents were not-so-subtle about their dislike towards Dick. They shamed his upbringing, saying that he was lucky to be taken in by Bruce rather than continue his life in the circus. Though you knew their words hurt him, he stayed calm throughout the matter.

You on the other hand, couldn't hear anymore of it. "Who the fuck do you think you are to say those things? Huh? You're nothing but snobbish pricks who only want me to marry for money! I'm sick of it! I'm sick of seeing you on your high fucking horse thinking you're better than everyone!

"I'm ashamed to call you my parents. You don't care about Gotham or your own daughter! You only care about yourselves and money. Have fun being fucking miserable, I'm not putting up with your shit any longer. Never again."

The restaurant had gone silent. All eye were on your table, listening in to the scene that you were causing. Your parents sat there in shock. you had never showed any signs of aggression like that before. Not once in your life had you went against them so fiercely and so publicly. Unfortunately, they blamed this attitude on Dick.

Before they could say anything about your outburst, you grabbed Dick's hand and nearly dragged him out of the restaurant. You were beyond angry. So full of rage, humiliation, even guilt. You so desperately wanted this dinner to go well and it had gone anything but. Dick finally stopped you from racing back towards his car.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as he looked down to you. Without hesitating, he pulled you into a much needed hug. You sobbed into his chest, your heart aching for the words that your parents said to him. He didn't deserve that, any of it. Dick was too polite to stand up against strangers like that - especially when they were your parents.

"I'm sorry," You whispered. Dick kissed the top of your head before wiping away your tears. When you asked him not to judge you for your parents, he never thought you would mean to this extreme. Still, he kept with his promise. You weren't your parents, you were nothing like them.

"Don't be," Dick assured. He had gone through far worse things than some angry parents. He got broken, battered, and bruised every week - a few hurtful words shouldn't have fazed him. But seeing you so upset because you cared this deeply about him? That broke his heart far more than what your parents said about him.

"My parents are horrible people. They've always only cared about keeping the family name as an important figure. I've pretty much would be stuck in an arranged marriage if they got what they wanted," You squeezed your eyes shut, remembering the hurt looks on Dick's face as they spoke poorly about him.

Dick didn't know what to say. To be honest, he was still in shock over the events that had just happened between you and your parents. Firstly with how horrible they were, and secondly, how quick you were to stand up for him. You had only known him for six months and you were willing to throw away your relationship with you parents for him.

Realizing just how committed you were to this relationship sparked something in him. He knew that he loved you, and even if it was a relatively short time together with you, he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. Dick was completely and utterly in love with you.

"You're not a freak, Dick," you continued as he didn't speak. Without him saying what was on his mind you were left to believe that he was thinking the worst. He no longer wanted to be with, he didn't love you anymore. It broke you to think like that, you would do anything to change it. "You're not a Wayne, you're a Grayson. A Flying Grayson, that's the man that I love."

"I love you," Dick finally spoke his mind. Relief flooded you; that was what you wanted to hear. "You aren't your parents, I see that more than ever now. Just like how I'm not Bruce. We're meant to be our own people, to live and grow and discover who we really are. Right now, I know that I'm meant to grow with you."

"You make me a better person every day, Dick Grayson," You smiled up at him. Dick pulled you closer by your hips and lowered his lips to yours. He didn't care about the random people walking by you or the sound of car horns in the background, you were all that mattered.

It didn't matter if you parents didn't approve of him. He had your heart, and you hoped that he never let it go.

[ferret-not-microwave]

Les Amis Modern AU: What They Wish Others Believed About Them (Part 5)

[I kind of wrote this in response to some general trends in characterising the Amis. There are some stereotypes which I'm not quite comfortable with.]

[Hey, y'all! I'm so sorry for not posting this series for a long time, I was flattened for the past 12 days by COVID-19. We have Cosette and Marius today, and I'm so glad that I am feeling better enough to write about them. Cheerio!]

Cosette:

• Is fed up of being considered dainty, fragile, weak and excessively nice, a bit of a pushover. She is anything but. Living with crappy foster parents don't really let you do that. She can stand up against bullshit with biting sarcasm if necessary. It's just that Cosette doesn't rise to the bait very easily, because she has trained herself to ignore battles which don't need her attention. But that doesn't mean that she needs to be protected all the time.

• Is sick of having to relate her childhood traumas in order to not be judged as being a privileged airhead. Cosette likes buying nice things. She likes fashion, and she has some habits from Catholic school, still. She spends a lot of money on her friends and loved ones. She is sunshiney and injects bougie humour and fun into meetings. That doesn't mean that she knows nothing about the shitty world, and that she doesn't actively try to make ethical choices in her consumer behaviour and social commitments. She really dislikes the "Ohhhhh" moment coming from someone judging her for her privilege when someone tells her story to them. Why presume that people are shitty for no reason, damnit?

• Is sick of being mistaken as straight. On one memorable Pride, she was called "straight passing". She dislikes the term immensely. She thinks that people do not have the liberty to immediately assume that she is heterosexual because Marius is her partner. Similarly, people do not get to assume her sexuality because she presents stereotypically femme.

• She feels insecure and uncomfortable when people fix too much attention on her in relation to someone else, as if to scrutinize her. It happened twice amongst the Amis, once when Marius introduced her as his crush for the first time, and once when they came to know that she and Eponine knew each other since childhood, and that Eponine's parents were her abusive foster parents. She likes it better if she were befriended for being herself.

• She feels a little frustrated that people didn't get her conflicting feelings towards Eponine. People immediately assumed that she forgave and forgot everything Eponine had done or said when they were children, in her "characteristically sweet way". Actually, the first time she saw Eponine, her fear reared its ugly head again and she almost ran out of the Musain. There was much dancing around Eponine (who seemed worn out and super uncomfortable as well) and it is only with Marius and Courfeyrac's help that Cosette could start a conversion with Eponine. She did it not be particularly forgiving (though she eventually forgave her anyway), but because she needed to leave her emotional baggage behind and move on.

• A large part of Cosette's forgiveness towards Eponine was fuelled by the knowledge of Eponine's own abuse at her parents' hands. As someone who had faced quite a bit of the same abuse, she needed to put her foot down. Cosette was extremely angry about it, and her anger made sure that Eponine could separate from her parents faster, and eventually get custody of her siblings.

• She hates, hates, hates it when people remind her that she's lucky to get an adoptive father like Valjean particularly after she has a row with him. Just because her foster parents were shitty doesn't mean that she cannot speak against some of Valjeans imperfections! And children often disagree with their parents. She doesn't need to be dampened with the idea that she should basically think Valjean to be perfect because of her past. She is fiercely loyal to Valjean, and doesn't need anyone to test that.

• Cosette is protective of Marius. No one gets to mow Marius over with judgements and snide comments. In fact, Marius found himself being not so much the butt of jokes anymore after Cosette teaches him to stand up for himself. At the same time, Cosette does not helicopter parent Marius. She does tease him within limits, and does not usually interfere when he has disagreements with the Amis. It is a fine balance which does exhaust her sometimes.

• Cosette can be mischievous, even impish. She can land punches (whether they hurt or not doesn't matter), ace paintball/mudslinging matches, play the best pranks on April Fool's Day and curse like a sailor if needed. She is especially proud of the wide-eyed look she still gets from some of the Amis at her antics. She can also get people out of trouble faster than you can say "bail".

Marius:

• Marius feels scared of being judged. It is really, really difficult to understand your own privilege when you come from a super rich, super bigoted family (read grandfather). He has taken lots of embarrassing knocks and call-outs every day till now, but he is learning, and learning fast. The Amis know, and for them he isn't some peripheral person anymore, but an integral part. But sometimes he wakes up with nightmares of being kicked out as a wokeboi and a fraud by the whole group. He often stumbles over his words because he panics that maybe what he is trying to say is problematic. It takes him months to take any initiative in the Amis because he suffers from imposter syndrome all the time.

• Marius hid all information about his favourites (he loves strawberry rosé macarons and silver needle tea, for instance) because he thought that he would be judged as a rich brat. Funnily, it was Ferre who had figured these out and was the first Amis to give him a small tea chest and a box of macarons as a birthday gift (followed closely by Courf and Jehan with a huge birthday party). It took time for Marius to understand that just because he got a bit panned for his political opinions the first time, it doesn't mean that the Amis hate him.

• Quite unlike popular belief, Marius and Ferre do get along very well. They share a lot of niche interests (poring over etymology dictionaries and having a love of museums and trivia nights). They did discuss that first "to be free" moment, and Marius had placed his request to be given more chances to undo his problematic stances. (There was also another "to be free" moment that had left Ferre stunned, but it's a them thing). It hurts Marius when people immediately think that he's probably annoying Ferre when they hang out.

• Marius is not stupid. Please. The whole idea people have that he is stupid because of his awkwardness and shyness is plain mean at times. No, he doesn't need to be talked to slowly, like talking to a child. Whenever he has the courage, he brings up a lot of valid points in Musain meetings. He is extremely resourceful in handling money and talks with boring rich people, and fundraisers have never been better without him. He is juggling a double Masters degree with internships and volunteer services, and picks up languages at the drop of a hat (including Elvish).

• Marius has also had that dangerous phase when, in a bid to be as radical as possible, he fell into trouble way too many times. Even the most even-tempered of them all (read Jehan) has outright cried in exasperation on finding Marius glaring at a policeman in a protest, promising to burn the place down with a flare if they didn't back off from hitting protestors. Marius has similarly taken punches and hits, and there was a time when Joly would hover around him to administer first aid as quickly as possible. It took Enj and R a whole day to explain to him the merits of self-preservation and that revolution today does not necessarily involve a militant loss of life.

• Marius has also that phase when he drove a college sophomore to tears with his radical speech. Aka attacking the heck out of the kid's problematic Facebook post. Cosette had to give him a talk. Marius is learning about how to be a zealous but kind activist every day.

[katnissmellarkkk]

Alrightttt, I’m on a roll so we’re going onto chappy five 🥳🥳🥳😎😎

I know the movies made the Capitol — re: basically only Effie and maybe Caesar — have those ridiculous made up accents but .... I actually feel like the description of the Capitol accent in the book is supposed to be like the Kardashians or Paris Hilton’s voice. 🤷🏼‍♀️

“Why do these people speak in such a high pitch? Why do their jaws barely open when they talk? Why do the ends of their sentences go up as if they're asking a question? Odd vowels, clipped words, and always a hiss on the letter s. no wonder it's impossible not to mimic them.” Like this is a pretty good description of how Kim Kardashian and her sisters talk. And Suzzy C did say she was inspired by the juxtaposition between war news footage and ridiculous reality television shows so... I think my theory of the Capitol all talking like they’re on the Real Housewives of LA is pretty valid.

Just imagine Paris Hilton as Effie and Nicole Richie as one of her preps

Lolololol this whole section of waxing is reminding me to go get my legs waxed 😭😭😭 straight up calling me out here, Suzanne

I like how Katniss says her stylist “apparently has no interest in seeing her until the prep team has addressed obvious problems.” Like you can tell from her narration she was expecting to feel the same was about Cinna that she does about Effie and her prep team.

The “gritty loam that takes off dirt and three layers of skin” is probably just a strong exfoliator 😭😭😭 my girl knows nothing about quality skincare 🤧🤧 someone build a Panem Sephora

She mentioned them waxing her underarms.... girl, did you have hairy armpits before this? Idk why this revelation is new to me

“Grease her down!” Just sounds wrong 😅😅😅😅 I need to stop being annoying omg I’m like a twelve year old

Hmm it’s funny to me that Katniss refers to Octavia as plump. You’d think in a place like the Capitol body image and weight would be very important. Unless it’s like back in the old, old days when being overweight was a sign of wealth. Which would make more sense so this was an unnecessary thought process curtesy of Samantha

Katniss faking a smile and thanking her prep team shows she does know how to play the game and fake it better than she says.

So ... okay, hear me out, I’m not trying to get over the top or make this into something it’s not but ... the whole stylists / Cinna coming into the room and staring at her naked is a little weird. Especially considering Cinna isn’t Lenny Kravitz who’s like a bit older than her but actually like a twenty-something year old dude.

But okay, here’s the thing I was getting at ... Cinna’s one of the best people in this series and you can’t deny that. Even if you find him boring, he’s still one of Katniss’ closest people. Also he’s probably gay. But like ... what about the other stylists? I don’t wanna be that person who makes everything more than it is, but like, this scene just sounds like a perfect opportunity for some Capitol creep to assault a teenager idk I’m probably making a mountain out of a molehill just ignore Samantha okay.

That’s nice that he complimented her mama though 🥰🥰🥰

So Katniss calls District Twelve the least desirable district but ... doesn’t District Eleven suck too? Like she also later says District Twelve is the smallest and the poorest but doesn’t she also say Rue is worse off than her and Prim? Make up your mind, Suz.

Cinna claims he asked for District Twelve but did he really get an option? 😅 If it’s his first year and Katniss claims the newbies get them anyway 🤷🏼‍♀️ Samantha is once again, reading too much into this.

Awww, Katniss is thinking about how long it would take for her to assemble this fancy meal at home 🤧🤧🤧 it would take her days and the Capitol just has the necessary resources at their disposal and they just takes it for granted. And yes, I’m aware this is supposed to be calling all us readers out who take so much for granted I know. We’re the Capitol.

“How would I spend the hours I now commit to combing the woods for sustenance if it were so easy to come by?” It’s honestly so sad but so vital to her character that Katniss has zero hobbies or real free time. Her life is about surviving. She doesn’t get to live or enjoy very much of her time. She dedicates everything to keeping Prim — and her mother — alive, sacrificing everything a teenage girl should be doing. Sacrificing even the things the other girls in her world get to do. She mentions the merchant girls and the Seam girls who are more experienced romantically and sexually and socially than her. Because she doesn’t get to be a kid or innocent or even happy, in order to focus on her and her family’s survival. And the things she does enjoy, like spending time with Gale or dancing with Prim (mentioned in Mockingjay) she downplays in case they’re taken away, because nothing good is secure in her eyes. 🥺🥺🥺

Okay but what did Katniss’ facial expression give away that Cinna knew exactly what she was thinking? Or is she just less emotionless than she and Haymitch both claim? Ironically I think they’re the only people who call her emotionless which can easily be chalked up to their self-hate and terrible self-esteems.

Katniss is so afraid they’re gonna make her be naked for the parade 😭. Honestly though they’re children that’s so creepy that they’re even allowed to make 15/16/17 year olds be naked in a parade. I mean I know they kill kids every year but isn’t there like child pornography laws in Panem? 😭

“You’re not afraid of fire, are you, Katniss?” Is so foreshadowing 😭😂😅😎 Caesar Flickerman’s voice “Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire!”

Honestly though Cinna is smart to make Katniss recognizable in the arena by leaving her with simple makeup. I know and the sky is blue we all know this already beating the dead horses until the farmer comes home.

“It crosses my mind that Cinna's calm and normal demeanor masks a complete madman.” It’s true though 😅😅😅😭😭 he was always a rebel. I actually think he may have asked for District Twelve after Katniss volunteered, because he saw the potential in her. Poor Peeta. Baby, I’m rooting you for even if no one else is.

Also I always found it a bit .... curious? That Peeta had a female stylist and Katniss had a male one? Not just because of the required nudity, you’d just think men would do better as a boy’s stylist and a woman would make a better girl’s stylist. So yes, my whole Cinna was interested in District Twelve because Katniss seemed like a good symbol for a rebellion idea seems very plausible.

I know I know I know I read wayyy too much into this stuff sometimes a cigarette 🚬 is just a cigarette 🚬

Katniss being relieved when Peeta shows up 😭😭😭 because even if she won’t admit it and even if she won’t let herself trust him, she still sees him unconsciously and completely against her will as a comfort because they’re in this thing together in a way, even if they’re supposed to try and kill each other

And honestly, it’s such a like... relatable feeling? To feel alone and nervous and uptight and then someone who you recognize — even if you maybe aren’t even friends with but you at least know — shows up and you just instantly feel less alone. I’m totally looking at this through shipper goggles and I’m not even ashamed you all knew who’s blogging you were reading ight? 😂🤣🤷🏼‍♀️

“He should know about fire, being a baker's son and all.” And he’s gonna learn a lot more about it when he falls in love — for real, falls in love, not a childhood infatuation — with the girl on fire. 🥰🥰🥰

But also, I love this particular line on a reread because it totally is an indicator towards their future. Like Peeta knows about fire, he’s experienced with how to handle it, and later on, he becomes the only person who truly comes to understand Katniss, who represents fire, in a way that no one else could ever imagine.

Hmmm, Katniss’ point of view here, talking about how Portia and Peeta’s team seem all giddy and air-headed and it’s only Cinna who seems reserved makes me rethink my previous imaginings of Peeta’s stylist. Maybe she’s just a Capitolite idiot and nothing like Cinna. And my baby got a raw deal here then too. Good thing Haymitch loves him more. Just kidding 😅😅😅

But also I wanna know why Cinna is hesitant to accept congratulations for his and Portia’s idea? Wasn’t he at least lowkey excited about it when he pitched it a page ago?

Their horses are coal black 🐴 😅. I like that they went the whole nine yards with the theme. Nothing but the best for the kids on Death Row.

Aww Katniss asking Peeta what he thinks about being set on fire is so sweet and pure for some reason. I just find their commodore here cute ok

“I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine” this is literally their first friend type of interaction and it’s so pure y’all leave me be I’m emotional for them

🙃 Also lowkey reminds me of “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Everyone look away ok I’m sorry

Peeta’s shady/annoyed Haymitch comment and Katniss’ joke at his expense 🤣🤣😂🤣😂😂🥲🥲☺️🥲🥲 they’re bonding it’s so presh

“And suddenly we're both laughing.” I hope they laugh a lot together post-canon 🥲🥲🥲. If they can make the other laugh during their terrible circumstances, then they can make the other laugh anywhere. 🤧 Except in Thirteen because he’s hijacked and she’s certifiable and they’re both so used and abused and 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Okay I have to say, Suzanne Collins really builds up a lot for certain events and then just like grazes over the actual action of said event? Like she builds towards the tribute parade but then kind of rushes through off the actual event itself? It’s a common theme in her writing. And I don’t like it at all ngl.

Oh wait she doesn’t actually rush the parade events the paragraph before just looked like she was about to I jumped the gun 🤣😂🤭 but what I said is still completely true for many events in these books sorry not sorry

I’m definitely reading too much into it but the fact that District One — the favorite of the Capitol — gets snow white horses and District Twelve gets coal black horsies kind of ... seems to imply something .... 🤭

Cinna just lets out a sigh of relief “it worked” like ... way to fill your tributes with hope, dude. “Yeah, you’re totally safe, don’t be scared-OH THANK GOD THAT WORKED I wasn’t actually sure you wouldn’t blow up.” But actually this answers my previous inquiry about why he seemed hesitant I guess he wasn’t even sure this wouldn’t burn them up that’s nice 🤭🙃

It’s a literal trial by fire *cue drum hit* 🥁 aww, I just cracked myself up 😭

“Then he gently tucks a hand under my chin. "Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you!" This is caught halfway between being very Capitol-y and very father-brotherly and idk which way to take it but it’s kind of cute 🤭

“For the first time, I look at him and realize that ablaze with the fake flames, he is dazzling.” This is such a significant line because Katniss isn’t saying Peeta is technically good looking (like when Haymitch said they were decently attractive) or someone else thinks he’s good looking (i.e Gale, her mother and lowkey Finnick) but she’s saying she herself thinks he’s attractive. Girl, your crush is showing.

"I think he said for us to hold hands," says Peeta.” I’m sure Cinna actually did say that but this just seems like a very good opportunity for Peeta to hold the hand of the girl he has a massive crush on. 😭😭😭

Okay Cinna gave a thumbs up so he actually was saying that but can you imagine Peeta’s excitement right now?

I mean, yeahhhh, there’s the certain death looming over him too but like live in the moment, babe. 🥰😘🤗👌🏻

I like that Katniss says the crowd is at first like 😳😳😳 before they start cheering like they’re thinking “what are these backwoods, hillbilly kids doing this year?”

“At first, I'm frozen, but then I catch sight of us on a large television screen and am floored by how breathtaking we look. In the deepening twilight, the firelight illuminates our faces” okay they both have to be pretty naturally attractive people objectively, because you illuminate my face without much makeup and no one is gonna be cheering.

“Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you! I hear Cinna's voice in my head. I lift my chin a bit higher, put on my most winning smile, and wave with my free hand.” I wonder what the true difference is for Katniss between Cinna and Effie saying this to her? Maybe it’s that Effie is just outright mean to her sometimes whereas Cinna shows her nothing but kindness from the start and expresses sympathy and understanding? It’s probably that he’s already earning her trust versus Effie who’s just cruel I’m not over her comments on the train ok

“I'm glad now I have Peeta to clutch for balance, he is so steady, solid as a rock.” Right from the start, Katniss refers to Peeta as solid and steady. Idk, I feel like this is something that the movies really misses along the way. Katniss wasn’t always strong or confident at all and Peeta, at least publicly, exuded those qualities pretty well. Samantha’s complaining again ™️ 💁🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️

Also this is just outright foreshadowing how Peeta will eventually become her rock. Or that he will be soon painted a rock ... pick and choose which way you wanna go with this. 🤷🏼‍♀️💁🏼‍♀️😅🤣

“As I gain confidence, I actually blow a few kisses to the crowd.” Okay, see I feel like Peeta really gives Katniss confidence in herself. If he’d been there in District Thirteen and they’d done propos together, she probably would have been a thousand times better.

But also this makes me think Katniss actually has it in her to be a charismatic, confident, alluring celebrity. She just chooses not to. 🤗🤗🤗

But this also reminds me of “She has no idea the effect she can have” okay imma move on and stop focusing on every little detail

I say that every chapter 🤧😅

“The pounding music, the cheers, the admiration work their way into my blood, and I can't suppress my excitement.” Say whatever you want, Katniss is still such a girl underneath it all. She gets excited over people liking her and cheering her on. And I know it’s because it increases her chances of getting sponsors but still

Honestly Peeta trying to showcase Katniss and let her take the spotlight is so selfless and indicative of his ultimate plan to help her win but also ... I can see how Katniss would believe it’s too good to be true and he’s messing with her. That he’s just playing the game to earn her trust, get her guard down and manipulate her later.

See, Peeta is actually framed at the start like the typical, standard YA love interest turned villain. In majority of YA books, at this point the boy is kind and sweet and helpful to the girl until she trusts him completely and then he turns on her and uses everything she gave him to destroy her. But the difference is, Katniss refuses to truly trust him and she is guessing his game incorrectly at every step. And then it’s revealed that it was never a game and he truly isn’t messing with her and everything he’s done that’s seem too good to be true and not even remotely plausible has actually been genuine and heartfelt and that, my friends, is why Peeta is above all other YA love interests. Because Everlark is actually the foil to many of the cliches. That was a long speech over some incoherent thoughts I’m so sorry if you suffered through that.

“It's not until we enter the City Circle that I realize I must have completely stopped the circulation in Peeta's hand. That's how tightly I've been holding it.” Awww he is her rock 😭🤧🥺

"No, don't let go of me," he says. The firelight flickers off his blue eyes. "Please. I might fall out of this thing." Okay this part is so cute and so blatantly setting Peeta up as her main love interest omg 😅 this isn’t the least bit subtle or disguised. But first off, the fact that Katniss is also Peeta’s stability here too 😭😭😭 and second of all, she takes time to notice his blue eyes against the firelight? She was attracted to him from the very start, y’all. That’s indisputable. 👌🏻😎🤧

“It's not really fair to present us as a team and then lock us into the arena to kill each other.” I agree with you, baby, it’s not fair at all. But you two take care of that situation nicely. Or not. Y’all do start a dang war. 🤭🤭🙃🙃

It’s rather ... ironic that it’s District Twelve’s chariot of them all that is pulled up and stopped directly in front of President Snow’s mansion. I know it’s a book, certain details like this are definitively contrived, I know get over it. 🤦🏼‍♀️💁🏼‍♀️

So uh. Snow is a small thin man? Why do I suddenly imagine Danny Devito as Snow 😅😅😅😅🤣🤣🤣🤣 y’all know he’d kill the role

“The darker it becomes, the more difficult it is to take your eyes off our flickering.” Okay, this is such a great line and it’s so significant to the rest of the series? The fact that Katniss — and Peeta, let’s not forget our boy — became symbols of the revolution. Like this line is deep if you think about it. The worse things in Panem got, the more the civilians looked towards Katniss and Peeta for hope 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥰🥰🥰🥰

Omg now after Songbirds and Snakes, we know the national anthem. I’m sorry, babies, that you have to endure that I’ll get you out of there 🙉🙉🙉

I feel like in part, the Capitol camera crew — Cressida, Pollux .... Pollux’s brother... is that you here???? — put so much attention on District Twelve because it would create some resentment and competition between them and the careers 🤭🤗

“I notice a lot of the other tributes are shooting us dirty looks, which confirms what I've suspected, we've literally outshone them all.” Insert Gretchen Wieners “I can’t help that I’m popular!” 😅😅😅😅😅

“I realize I'm still glued to Peeta and force my stiff fingers to open. We both massage our hands.” — they were hanging on so tight 😭😭😭😭

“Thanks for keeping hold of me.” He’s so sweet ☺️☺️☺️ I love him even if he’s kind of an idiot sometimes but so is Katniss so let’s not point fingers

“I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you. [...] And then he gives me a smile that seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness” Omg I know Katniss views this as him trying to manipulate her but the fact that he’s actually just admitting the way he’s felt for years is so 😭😭😭😭 if only you’d spit it out sooner, Bready

“he gives me a smile that seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me.” She literally has a crush on her fellow tribute and her first line of defense is to decide he out to get her for making her feel this way 🤣😭🙃

“The more likable he is, the more deadly he is.” The more my crush grows, the more deadly he becomes. I know I’m reading this with shipper goggles but guess what? I’m unashamed. 🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️ who feels guilty for reading this book with an Everlark bias not this girl right here 🙋🏼‍♀️🙋🏼‍♀️🙋🏼‍♀️

“I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. Right on his bruise.” Okay first off, she says cheek here but according to a chapter ago, she claimed the mark was on his jaw... so in other words, she’s incredibly short. If a medium height guy has a bruise on his jaw and she has to stand on her tip toe to reach it... well... hashtag LittleKatniss

And second off.... can you even imagine how Peeta must feel. He genuinely complimented her here, the girl he has had a crush on forever, and she responds by kissing his cheek. He was probably really happy at this moment. And also this probably played further into his buying into her false display in the arena. That here we have her clutching his hand, smiling and laughing with him and kissing his cheek. Idk what I was trying to say necessarily but I made myself sad wow way to go me 🥺🥺🥺🥺🤧🤧🤧

Anyways! Those are my very over the top and too detailed thoughts! Hope you enjoyed if you read this! 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳😎😎😎😎😎😎😎🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

[personasintro]

My Tiny Secret | 17; Wine & Pride

𝑴𝒚 𝑻𝒊𝒏𝒚 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆 | 17; Wine & Pride

⏤𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔; Pretty face doesn’t make it up for an ugly personality. And Kim Seokjin is the perfect proof of that.

⏤𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: seokjin x reader

⏤𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: angst, smut, mistress au, unexpected pregnancy au

⏤𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: strong language

⏤> 𝒇𝒊𝒄 𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒙

buy me a coffee?♡

a/n: this is a continuation of the flashback from the previous chapter!

“Tell me something about yourself.”

You're done eating, empty plates already out of your sights as you hold a glass of red wine in your hand, the other one gently leaning against the table.

Curious is what you are. Curious, why the man in that expensive suit with bank account bigger than you could ever imagine, is so interested in you. The ordinary woman that gets to spend her free time with some rich CEO, who seems to be too good for everyone. He barely shows any signs of happiness or something that could make him look in better lightening. Is he doing it on purpose? Is he hiding himself from everyone, or is he just being emotionless man?

“Why? I'm not that interesting person to talk about.” Your frown is switched to a puzzled look that you give him, noticing him licking the corner of his mouth.

“I'm quite intrigued in you, Ms. Y/L/N.” he says slowly, your mind processing his words as you feel a weird lump in your throat.

“Is it because my father owes you money?”

Seokjin has grown used to your bluntness, even if it's been a short time since he had the pleasure to talk to you. Nobody has ever thought about talking to him this way. You give him an attitude, testing his waters with each sentence that flows out of your mouth so naturally. But he has seen it. Him talking about your father brought an emotion on your cold face. Even though you showed the hatred that you feel towards one of your parents, you still care.

So you turn cold, letting him know that you don't care about your pathetic father that turned out to be a scumbag. Not only a thief that had the audacity to steal money, steal from the one and only Kim Seokjin, but a scumbag that left his wife and daughter.

He sees right through you, and in a way he can relate to you. Although, he's pretty much aware how of a big asshole he truly is. You're both different, yet he can see himself in you. Not entirely though, you're much more pure even with your sharp tongue and look of distaste.

He chuckles lowly, shaking his head. “No,” he answers. “I've never met someone like you.”

Even if it's unattractive, you snort in front of him, obviously not believing him. “Are you saying this to every woman you lay your eyes on?” you bite back, noticing a sly smirk appear on his juicy lips.

“Not every woman's father steals my money,” he points out, noticing the way your eyes flutter, glancing away from him in shame. “So, be a good girl and tell me about yourself.”

You gulp, heart shaking at him calling you a 'good girl'. No one ever talked to you this way. Unsure whether he's just being cunning or if it's his very interesting dark persona, you take a sip from the red wine instead.

He watches you with full attention, eyes not fluttering even for a split second as he patiently waits for you to talk. He's very persistent without using an actual words.

“I'm just a woman, working in the office and in the coffee shop during weekends. Woman that's too low for your standards.” you wave your hand off, taking another sip as a bitter taste of it makes the connect with your tongue.

You're usually not a wine drinker, especially if it's bitter and sour, but this fine expensive wine tastes different than the ones that Hoseok buys.

“Let me decide if you're up to my standards, would you.” he chuckles, shaking his head at you once more while you raise a brow at him.

“I'm not going to be your plaything, Mr. Kim,” you tell him bluntly, not paying too much attention to a small smirk appearing on his lips at you putting some distance between you two. “I believe you've got much more suitable women for that.”

There's no way a man like him is alone during nights. He surely has hookers to make him some company during nights or whenever he pleases. If he's not taken, you don't believe he doesn't have the urge to have sex. Every man does.

He's young, in the best age to start or have something without commitment.

“Nobody said anything about you being my plaything. And I believe they're plenty of other women who'd much more appreciate this dinner but I don't blame you. But I think you shouldn't think about yourself that lowly.” he leans comfortably against the chair.

“Oh, how charming,” you scoff, not believing him a single word. “I don't think about myself lowly. You don't know me, I could have a husband at home.”

He chuckles, the same dark and mocking way only he knows. “You don't.”

The confidence behind his statement sparks a realization inside of you. He knows much more than you knew, starting from the way he knows where you work and know that you've no husband at home. Also, you've got your last name. Maybe you shouldn't think into it too much, maybe he's just smart.

Or, he was testing you.

A triumph grin stretches on his lips, noticing the way you hesitate before you stare in a silent shock at him.

“Maybe I've a fiance.” you murmur, growing annoyed that he figured you out that quickly.

“Hmm, maybe. I'm sure he wouldn't be very fond of you having a dinner with another man.” he muses.

“Don't flatter yourself, this is strictly professional.” you remind him, hinting of the whole purpose of this dinner.

Deep inside, even though this man irks you in many ways, you're enjoying it. One half of you is torn between you thinking this whole dinner was a bad idea, but the other one is enjoying this. You're intrigued with him. He's different than anyone you've ever met.

“I've never said it wasn't,” he responds, irking another wave of annoyance. “Although, I'm not sure if any man could truly handle that mouth of yours.”

One second you glare at him, the other one you're a coughing mess after you've choked on your spit. You straighten up yourself, ignoring his amused eyes dancing on you before you lick your lips.

“I can assure you, I've had enough partners that could handle me.”

You've this urge to prove him that you're not some lonely woman with no actual experiences. It's hard to guess what he thinks all the time, and you're not sure why you just told him what you did. Maybe it's the way he looks at you. As if you were just some innocent woman that is desperate for any attention.

Enough partners. Maybe your one ex-boyfriend that didn't last long, until he had decided to dump you. But he doesn't know that.

And again, he chuckles mockingly at you, digging a knife into your pride.

“What? You don't believe me?” you press, frowning at the man that seems to have the time of his life at your previous comment.

“It's not important what I believe, Ms. Y/L/N. I just don't see you as the type whose life involves around men. I don't think you let that many men get close to you.”

Whatever the fuck he means by that, your puzzled look is an answer for itself.

He doesn't know you and the basic information that his people managed to found out about you, are just that. Basic and plain. He has no idea who are you, yet he sees easily through you. Just as he told you, he doesn't think you're desperate for attention or men in general. Surely, you're both from another worlds with different priorities. Even the way you push him away from you, you're still sitting on the one side of the table, with him at the other one. You want to be here, not just because he's your drive home. You could easily catch a cab or something.

“If I want any man close to me, I let him.” you tell him eagerly, watching how his eyes trail down onto the table, eyeing the shining glasses before he looks back at you.

“Mhm, I'm sure you do.”

And there he is, back to his mocking tone that even stupid person could recognized as his way of meaning the opposite.

And you're going to prove him wrong.

Just as the young waiter comes to your table, asking if you're interested in desert, you politely decline. He looks younger than you, politely asking Seokjin the same thing with timid eyes. You know guys like him, freshly out of college wanting to commitments. He thought he's being subtle when he eyed you whenever he passed the table. His hungry eyes set on you whenever Seokjin's attention was elsewhere.

It's a great opportunity to show him that he's wrong.

But it's a fucking bad idea, considering it's your second glass of wine. You don't usually get this tipsy so quickly and easily. It makes you wonder what kind of wine that is.

However, you're pretty aware of what you're doing when you pull out a pen out of your purse, writing something onto the white napkin. You glance at Seokjin, just as you're putting the pen back into your purse, noticing his eyes settled on you in a slight frown. He can see the outlines of numbers, his gaze darkening as he watches you shooting a confident smile to the young waiter.

The guy's eyebrows shoot up, covered by his fringe as he eyes the napkin that you delicately hand him. His cheeks gets red right away, along with his neck as you open your mouth.

“Call me.” you tell him, licking your lips as he glances at Seokjin, but he's staring at you with hardened gaze at the other side of the table.

Still, he takes Seokjin's lack of reaction as a green light, nodding as an obedient child that's ready to yell in happiness. His mouth ticks as he tries to hide a huge grin, before he coughs.

“Is there anything you'd like to order?”

Even his voice flatters, trying to hide the enthusiasm that he just managed to score a woman, without actually talking to her.

Just as you're handing him your empty glass, you're ready to order another one when Seokjin cuts you off way before you can utter a single word.

“Yes, she'll have a glass of water,”

You frown at him, but he's staring at the younger male. “And I'd like to have that.” he adds, pointing towards the napkin that's clutched in his hand.

The poor guy looks like someone just slapped him into his face, hastily hanging the white napkin with your number on it. You watch Seokjin scrunching it, raising a brow at him before he quickly scurries away, not even glancing your way.

“You proved your point.” he tells you, tossing that crumbled napkin on the table.

“I wasn't trying to prove anything,” you grumble, knowing how fucking wrong you are. “And I'm not drunk.”

It's true. You're not. You're completely fine, although that wine definitely gave you more courage but you feel like you've been more riled up by Seokjin himself.

“Oh, I know you aren't,” he says. “But you'd slowly get there, if you continued.”

Rolling your eyes at him, you're not surprised when a different waiter comes to bring you your glass of water. You can't help it but glance at Seokjin when that happens, but his eyes are focused on you, showing no emotion or reaction. He's aware that he probably scared that poor guy.

The dinner is over, right after you drink all of that water with Seokjin looking at you. You barely put your glass down, before his voice resounds.

“Come on, I'll drive you home.”

And for the first time that night, you actually feel disappointment pang in your chest, for unspeakable and unreasonable reasons.  

taglist: <is in the comments> comment on the most recent chapter to be added to the taglist

[lostsoulaltair]

OnS Theories (12S). Seventh Theory - The reason behind the suffering of the Main Cast and the last gamble of Guren Ichinose (Special Theory - Long theory)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YTFlLYbEvl4

This will be the special theory added to the theory list I updated few days ago. The reason behind this theory is that I’ve seen fans being distressed about how the author has only made Owari no Seraph to Owari no Suffering...jokes aside despite being the truth, like anyone in the fandom, I have an idea of the reason behind why the Main Cast suffers so much.

The Main Cast is the Shinoa Squad and no, it doesn’t mean I focus on the 5 members but rather the 7 members of the squad, said members being Yuichiro Hyakuya, Yoichi Saotome, Shiho Kimizuki, Mitsuba Sangu, Shinoa Hiragi, Mikaela Hyakuya and lastly Makoto Narumi.

Therefore, let’s begin with this theory, shall we?

To start with this theory, we’ve seen that the whole squad has suffered on its on way. Shinoa has suffered  from being in the hands of the First Progenitor; Mitsuba has suffered from literally being shunned down by her sister and almost being sacrificed; Yoichi has lost his elder sister along seeing the suffering of his squad members, Shiho lost her sister thanks to Guren Ichinose, Yuichiro Hyakuya has suffered by being a labrat and losing his last family member of the Hyakuya Orphanage along his other family members from said Orphanage, Mikaela Hyakuya for seeing his family being turned into something nonhuman and not being able to stop it and lastly Narumi Makoto for losing his entire squad.

As you might have seen, these characters have suffered from different causes, expectations and heavy losses as the story advances, which for many readers including me, is rather unfair, but we can only wait and see how the story goes on, the story still has questions unanswered and so, let’s talk about how Guren is involved with this.

NOTE: I take a neutral view towards characters. The theories don’t focus on attacking favorite characters or the sorts

As of late, Guren has been the central character of the suffering of each character due to the late events within the manga story.

We’ve seen how Mika ended up turning into a demon but, is there a reason behind this?

Few days ago, users like @saltysourpatch1, @fallenhylian, @kyisfuckingcute, @aaliyuuuu57 and @sonali6661 wondered the reason behind so much suffering for the characters, therefore, I ask again, is there a reason?

As mad and insane it sounds, there is. 

Guren’s last gamble is to give more power to the Main Cast even if it takes to commit the biggest sins that would make someone end in a point of non forgiveness.

The main characters along secondary ones are literally struggling against the fate of the First Progenitor. They’ve been fighting for freedom, and yet, as Ferid has stated, everyone’s still dancing on the palm of the First Progenitor, therefore, let’s take an income of the events and see where it leads us.

First of all, the story suggests that the biggest enemy or threat is the First Progenitor Sika Madu or commonly known as Shikama Doji, but, if he was defeated, there would be a sense of freedom but after that, what’ll happen? Despite him being the main villian, it is likely to see more villians appearing within the story, what do I mean?

For the time being, Sika Madu was sealed inside of Shinoa Hiragi by Guren Ichinose, Mahiru Hiragi and Noya for using the Sinful Keys. But, despite this, it doesn’t mean he was defeated, but rather, it was for the task for Shinoa to tame or rather gain control of the strength of Sika Madu. To have control alone of his power, which is something we could see in chapter 90 when she implies she could take a spin so they could hurry to reach Yu’s position.

Within this chapter, it’s seen that she gained strength, not ordinary one, since she literally teared a part of the vehicle Kimizuki was driving, implying her new powers aren’t in control and she’ll have to take the time to master them.

But why master when she’s labeled as a perfect vessel?

Despite Shinoa being able to control her walls and emotions well, the First Progenitor did leave a handicap with her since he was able to reside in different members of the Hiragi Family; and now that he’s sealed and trapped without being able to move to other bodies, the strength and power he always had has fallen on her; she has to take control of him and make sure she doesn’t endanger her squad.

Now, for Shiho and Yoichi, they have been taunted by Guren, they were also part of the Seraph of the End Project and experiment which means, they’re likely to train and awake a link or connection with their respective demons; we haven’t seen much of them and the story so far it’s only beginning which is likely to see them getting stronger in order to set front against the new adversities that will come around.

For Mitsuba, same applies with her, her demon hasn’t given signs of being in a desperate situation to possess her, which means her time to shine will likely reach soon as the story keeps going.

Now, for Yuichiro and Mikaela, the situation has become or more likely turned into distress; they’ve fought against fate itself and lastly, in order to first change such fate for Yu, Mika sacrificed, he literally gave his life so Yu wouldn’t be experimented forward to the point he ended up turning into a demon.

But then, it’s likely to see Guren take the new demon, Mikalea Hyakuya somewhere else, but for what and why?

This is literally the worst scenario and actually the cruelest one for many readers, but there’s something to consider and it’s something I want you to ask:

How will Mika as a demon be preserved?

Where will Mika reside?

These questions are linked and answer the same, and I believe many have forgotten something.

For a demon to merge with another trapped in a cursed gear, it’s required for said demon to be stabbed with said cursed gear first when that demon was a vampire. Which is the case that went with Mahiru and Noya.

With Mikaela’s situation, the scenario was different, he fought and gave his blood to kill Guren but said attack was to no effect, Guren remained without an injury so far. 

Mika literally started levitating, exploded, and thus, a hand popped out of his face in a disturbing way.

Now, answering those two questions and the main one, let’s answer them with two scenarios.

First scenario - Yu fights for Mika to take him away

This is the most favorable scenario many wish, and I won’t deny that as a reader, it’s the most favorable one too.

If Yu were to take Mika with him and the squad, there are several issues that come with this despite being one of the best results; said issues are:

Who, within the squad knows how to merge a new demon with a cursed gear that has a demon residing inside

Will Mika remember Yuichiro or will he try to harm him?

How exactly will he be preserved or most likely, do they know where to protect a demon’s soul?

Is Yu mentally capable of taking Mika as his new demon, considering it’s his family he’s taking in within a cursed gear?

As cruel as it sounds, these are 4 problems that the squad as a whole come with.

Second scenario - Guren takes Mika away

The least favorable scenario is that Guren takes Mikaela away with him, and it has higher possibilities to happen due to the fact that Guren actually knows how to trap a demon within a cursed gear that harbors one demon, stating that it’s possible to handle several demons within at the expence of his humanity.

Guren has knowledge on how to trap demons and stuff related to it, he’s experienced in seals and traps which is seen in previous battles he had along the LNs of the Catastrophe on which he uses spell tags.

As to why he’d take Mikaela, it might sound ridiculous but, it’s likely to see him sealing Mika in a new weapon, a weapon that will be able to harbor a demon within it and eventually give it to Yu, of course, not in the easy way but rather in an intense fight. What do I mean?

It’s possible that Guren aims to give Mika to Yu once he’s ready to face him in a battle, it’s even possible that Guren will likely do this due to the fact that the Squad itself no longer believes in him, he’s literally alone in the world with no one to trust with the possible exception of his squad.

But how can I conclude with this idea?

That’s because the story is far from over; the story isn’t close to its end; the characters need to evolve and grow stronger, and since the story is still on the road, more enemies will appear and will make the characters struggle against fate itself.

Therefore, I believe Guren aims to make the Squad grow stronger so they can actually be able to fight the cruel destiny they’ve been submitted into and dragged into. He aims to make Yu stronger and mentally strong. Same applies for Shinoa and company, he aims to train them to the very end so they can free the world from the curse of the First and possible new enemies that will appear in the story.

Of course, that doesn’t mean I justify Guren’s actions. Instead, the battle could have taken a different turn but well, that’s up to the author at the very end.

What do you think guys? Do you believe the squad as a whole will manage to reach a happy end despite the odds?

Let me know!!

P.S: Theories don’t involve ships. 

[shyantheswiftfan]

“happiness” lyrical analysis

Hello again! I’m back with another in-depth lyrical analysis. I really wanted to do happiness because I related it so much to my own past, and I had a lot of fun looking deeper into the themes of this one. This song deserves so much more love than it’s been getting. Hope you enjoy! 

As always, this is my own interpretation, so if you don’t agree, that’s okay, you don’t have to. Much love.

PS - Anything crossed out is just a section that I’ve already covered that didn’t change lyrically the second time around.

[Verse 1] Honey, when I'm above the trees I see this for what it is 

Our narrator is comparing the relationship to a forest. Saying how, when you take a step back and look at the whole thing, you can see everything. All the good and the bad, the entire picture.

But now I'm right down in it All the years I've given Is just shit we're dividing up 

But when they’re down in the thick of it, surface level, there’s such a narrow frame of view. All you can see is what’s in front of you, and everything behind you has just turned into a fight for who to blame. Picking and choosing who gets what in the end of it all. 

Showed you all of my hiding spots I was dancing when the music stopped 

They’re talking about how they let this other person in, even to see their most secret and vulnerable places, and how they were still trying to make everything good even after the fun parts were gone.

And in the disbelief, I can't face reinvention I haven't met the new me yet  

The narrator never expected this time to come because they spent their time trying to give their everything to make this work, but now they’ve lost who they were. They no longer know the version of themselves that exists without their partner. 

[Chorus] There'll be happiness after you But there was happiness because of you Both of these things can be true There is happiness 

They are reassuring themselves that things will be okay again, but they aren’t forgetting all the good they had in the relationship. There isn’t a limited amount of happiness; it can exist during and after a relationship.

[Post-Chorus] Past the blood and bruise Past the curses and cries Beyond the terror in the nightfall 

They can’t focus on the fighting and the pain. The “nightfall” is the end of this relationship, and it’s scary for them to be losing it.

Haunted by the look in my eyes That would've loved you for a lifetime  Leave it all behind  And there is happiness 

The narrator was committed to making this work until the end of the line. Now, all their partner is leaving with is the look of disbelief and pain that has fallen upon our narrator’s face.

[Verse 2] Tell me, when did your winning smile Begin to look like a smirk? 

To smirk is “to smile in a smug or condescending way”(Merriam-Webster definition), so the smile that the narrator once loved has now turned against them and is becoming something that they despise. It feels to them like their partner is getting satisfaction from their pain or looking down on them.

When did all our lessons start to look like weapons Pointed at my deepest hurt? 

Their partner has started using their past against them. Times when they had struggles that they had to learn from are now being used against the narrator to point out their mistakes and flaws. Their partner knows how to hurt them the worst; they know what the deepest cuts are.

I hope she'll be a beautiful fool 

This is one of the ‘ The Great Gatsby’ references that I want to point out. It’s a take on an early quote from Daisy where she is talking about her hopes for her daughter. The narrator of this song seems to be referring to the next woman their partner will be with. They are saying that they hope the next woman is ignorant to the bad things and is just happy, and they’re also saying that the next one would be a fool at all to enter a relationship with their partner.

Who takes my spot next to you No, I didn't mean that Sorry, I can't see facts through all of my fury You haven't met the new me yet 

They immediately regret what they said because they don’t really think the next woman would be a fool to enter a relationship. They’re just so angry and hurt that they don’t think before they speak. The narrator is probably just saying whatever they know will hurt their partner, just as their partner has turned against them at the beginning of this verse. 

[Chorus 2] There'll be happiness after me But there was happiness because of me Both of these things I believe There is happiness 

They’re now reassuring their partner of the same sentiment they told themselves in the first chorus.

[Post-Chorus 2] In our history Across our great divide There is a glorious sunrise 

As they referred to the relationship as “nightfall” in the first post-chorus, they’re now referring to this separation as moving towards a new day and seeing the sun come up again. Light will return to their world, even if they can’t see it right now, feeling so far apart and alone.

Dappled with the flickers of light From the dress I wore at midnight Leave it all behind And there is happiness 

Another statement about this being the night, the darkness. The dress is a symbol of the weight the narrator is carrying right now, but there’s still light and beauty in this thing they’re letting go of. They are shedding that weight and feeling happy for what has been and what will become.

[Bridge] I can't make it go away by making you a villain I guess it's the price I pay for seven years in heaven 

The narrator knows that their partner isn’t the only bad guy in this situation. They can admit that both parties had some wrongs to play in this. They acknowledge that this hurt and this pain is just what you have to bear with after something that was with you this long. You can’t just be free of this kind of relationship; there’s a cost for freedom.

And I pulled your body into mine every goddamn night now I get fake niceties 

This is talking about what the narrator gave to their partner. They gave themselves, their body, for their partner every night. Now they feel like their partner has betrayed them, especially by pretending that everything is fine, and that this split doesn’t hurt them just as badly. That they aren’t just as angry.

No one teaches you what to do When a good man hurts you And you know you hurt him too 

Again, acknowledgment that there was never just one person to blame. It’s easier when one person does something bad that causes the ending, but when it’s a case of two people who have simply fallen out of love, it’s hard to know how to move on from that. You want to be angry, yet what is there to hate them for? The narrator knows they are doing exactly the same as their partner.

[Verse 3] Honey, when I'm above the trees I see it for what it is But now my eyes leak acid rain On the pillow where you used to lay your head 

The narrator is mourning this separation, and they feel like their tears are burning and soaking the pain into the pillow. The tears are washing away every last shred of their partner, while leaving a permanent impact of the narrator’s life.

After giving you the best I had Tell me what to give after that 

They feel like they don’t have anything left for the future. They’re out of love and all the good things about them that they dedicated to this relationship. The narrator is afraid they’ll never have all that back.

All you want from me now Is the green light of forgiveness 

Another ‘The Great Gatsby’ reference. In my short analysis of this song (here), one of the main themes I listed was hope. I think the green light in Gatsby represents many things, but one of the main things in my opinion is hope in the eyes of Jay Gatsby. Just as the “green light of forgiveness” is a symbol of hope for both partners in this relationship to move forward after everything is said and done.

You haven't met the new me yet And I think she'll give you that 

The narrator needs time to become their own person, but when they do, they know they’ll be just fine and can forgive their partner for the pain caused.

[Chorus 3] There'll be happiness after you But there was happiness because of you too Both of these things can be true There is happiness 

[Post-Chorus 3 and Outro] In our history Across our great divide There is a glorious sunrise Dappled with the flickers of light From the dress I wore at midnight Leave it all behind Oh, leave it all behind Leave it all behind And there is happiness 

This song really hits home for me because it makes me think of my parents’ divorce 15 years ago. It was painful seeing them both slowly drift apart and separate. Their is finally happiness for both of them in their own ways. It may have taken a long time, but it was for the better in the end.

I appreciate you taking the time to read all of this. I’ll be doing more analyses soon, I’m sure! If you enjoyed this, don’t be afraid to show it some love. Thank you!

(coney island analysis) (evermore short song analyses: pt 1)

[coll2mitts]

Super Mario Bros. (1993)

Thanks to the awesome people who donated to Extra Life (you still can, btw!)  y'all will now be treated to a retrospective on the 1993 classic movie, Super Mario Bros.  When I took on this milestone, the first (and only) person I messaged for ideas on terrible (but wonderful) films based on video games was my friend Max, who has a history of viewing and talking about bad movies.  He suggested this, and while I was aware of this magnificent piece of cinema history, I had not had the pleasure of viewing it myself.  He hooked me up with a copy, and to say this film lived up to my expectations would be an understatement.

I couldn’t help but be charmed by this movie.  It is filled with so many questionable creative choices that were fucking ridiculous.  Mario and Luigi not being blood related?  Sure.  Cheesy Italian accents replaced with a New York ones?  Yeah, why not?  Having all the enemies in Super Mario Bros. be canonically dinosaurs?  I mean... It's a choice informed by the great media dino wave of 1993, but whatever.  Yoshi is a dinosaur, if we want to extend that to goombas and Koopa for whatever reason, I'm down.  Having these dinosaurs live underneath New York City in a parallel dimension?  It's based on a video game, why the fuck not?  Everything is so goddamn bonkers.

The opening credits roll, and we’re told that 65 million years ago, a meteor created said underground parallel universe dinosaur land.  We witness a human-looking woman, who is really a dinosaur, leaving an egg baby on a church doorstep.  Don’t think about it too hard, the logistics of a human giving birth to an egg that size are just... it’s gross to think about.

We’re then introduced to the titular characters, Mario Mario and Luigi Mario.  Yes, their last names are Mario.  Making them the Mario brothers.  Because this movie is interested in answering the important questions.  Mario is the owner of a failing plumbing business, while Luigi is a conspiracy theorist who would have really enjoyed modern-day YouTube.

While they’re out trying to find work, they run into Miss Amy March herself, Daisy, who is an archeologist in charge of digging up dinosaur bones from a New York City construction site.  She’s being forced off the property by the mob, who apparently are annoyed that a blonde lady in cargo shorts is coming between them and whatever the fuck they’re building.  

They try and intimidate her, she storms off to use a payphone to call for security, and is almost picked up by two inconspicuous bozos in a cab who apparently are stealing Brooklyn women off the street for no reason.  Their plan is quickly thwarted by a random moving pane of glass.

Instead, Daisy runs right into Luigi, who forgets how to human once he sees her pretty face.  He asks her on a date, where she reveals even more exposition.  She believes the meteor that destroyed the dinosaurs landed in New York City.  Oh, and also, she’s the abandoned egg baby.  Luigi is also an orphan, and this shared trauma apparently gets them both hot and bothered.  They wander off to the dig site, because an underground pit attached to a sewer is so romantic, and it is also where Daisy feels the most comfortable.

What if we made out at the bone pit?

Their touching moment is cut short when the mob sabotages the plumbing in the sewer and water starts flooding the area.  They run to get Mario, because he is a plumber, to fix the pipes, which is so fucking clutch, I love it so much.

While the Mario brothers are distracted, Daisy is captured by the weirdo twins and dragged into the alternate dinosaur universe.  Mario and Luigi follow, and we’re treated to the most fucking amazing transition scene of Bob Hoskins spinning wildly through colorful rocks.

Turns out, parallel dinosaur world, or Dinohattan, is fucking lit as hell.  I am convinced that Futurama based their sewer city on this movie.

King Koopa, who is a dinosaur with badly bleached hair gelled back in an effort to look like Michael Douglas in Wall Street, has taken over Dinohattan.  He is the one who asked the goons to kidnap Daisy, because of the tacky crystal necklace she wears.  Apparently, it is a piece of the meteorite that crashed into earth, and once he puts the piece back into the original space rock, the dinosaur world will merge with the mammal world after 65 million years of his people being sequestered underground, and Koopa will have endless resources at his disposal.  Also, Daisy is a princess, and her dad is a giant fungus taking over the city, so that’s totally normal and not at all weird.

Problem is, the two idiots he sent to grab her didn’t think to check if she was wearing the necklace.  Turns out, Luigi has the necklace, or had the necklace, as they are quickly mugged by a granny, who is then robbed by a lady with a bright red spiky latex coat and springy robot feet.  The brothers are then arrested by the dinocops and are grilled by Koopa for the whereabouts of the rock.  When they play dumb he uh... reacts in a proportionate way.

I am not even going to attempt to explain the devo process...  It is a combination of insane and fucking disgusting.  Whoever in the costuming department looked at the cute fucking mushroom Goombas in the video game and decided to translate them into this scaly, jagged-teethed nightmare fuel deserves to be committed.

Also, there’s only one lizard king, and that’s Jim Morrison, so back off, buddy.

What is hilarious to me is this is the story the screenwriters came up with.  Super Mario, as a video game, doesn’t have much lore, right?  You slide down pipes, you jump on mushrooms, and you save the princess from a spiky turtle.  They took that game and created... This.  A parallel underground dinosaur universe that has a sentient fungus as a king, taken over by a human-like t-rex that devolves other lizards into tiny-headed night paralysis demons.

The middle of this movie alternates between a slog of expositional scenes about Daisy being a princess, and pretty entertaining action scenes of the Mario brothers running from Goombas while trying to find and save Daisy.  Mario and Luigi steal a cop car and drive it off a cliff Thelma and Louise-style; They cosplay as Ketchup and Mustard to steal the necklace back from Big Burtha while asking her to stomp on them; They jump off a bridge into a garbage truck; They break the pipes in Koopa’s building to freeze everything, and get past an elevator full of Goombas by making them dance.

Watching Daisy damsel-in-distress-it in Koopa’s high rise office building and fend off advances by a long-tongued dude who devolved her father into a mushroom was pretty boring and disturbing.  Alternatively, witnessing Bob Hoskins and John Leguizamo pretend to jump on giant sheets of fungus really sold this movie for me.  It succeeds when it tries to be ridiculous and fun, and fall flat when it attempts to integrate any sort of drama that I’m assuming was added to make this story more appealing to adults.

Mario and Luigi eventually find Daisy, and she introduces them to her father - a giant dripping blob suspended from the ceiling.  Luigi wants in her pants badly enough that he pretends this is a reasonable thing to do.  Mario heads further into the building to free the other ladies kidnapped by tweedle dee and tweedle dum that they initially thought were Daisy, but weren’t.  The newly assembled group are able to escape by sliding down the frozen pipes on a mattress before they are green-screen launched out of the pipe and back into the greater Dinohattan area.

The amount of times Mario and Luigi use their plumbing skills to overcome obstacles may be my favorite part of this movie.  The plot goes out of its way to justify a really bizarre character trait for the original game.

Anyway, the end of this movie comes at you fast.  First, the sentient fungus king gives Mario and Luigi a bomb, and they decide to wind it up and aim it at Koopa.  This takes about 10 minutes of screen time to matter again.

Koopa’s second-in-command tries to merge Daisy’s stolen necklace with the meteor, and instead gets skeletoned to bits, prompting the best line delivery reaction from Daisy, a deadpan “Yikes”.

Because the necklace has now been returned to its resting place, the worlds start to merge Infinity War style.

“Mr. Koopa, I don’t feel so good.”

Koopa and Mario end up back in Manhattan, and Koopa just starts shooting his devo guns at human mobsters, turning them back into primates, and giving their wardrobe a whole new literal definition of monkey suit.

Luigi uses his super plumbing powers to drill the necklace back out of the meteor, separating the worlds again.  The bomb finally goes off, they devo Koopa into slime, and the citizens celebrate by immediately painting over his ever-prevalent propaganda.

The king evolves back into a mushroom person or something, and Daisy stays in Dinohattan to get to know her father better.  Mario and Luigi return to their lives in Brooklyn as plumbers, and their heroic acts make them conspiracy community famous, as they now refer to our heroes as the Super Mario Brothers.  Roll Credits.

Except not, because Daisy returns to ask for the help of a couple of great plumbers, setting up a sequel that will never, ever happen because there is no god and we’re not allowed to feel joy.

Honestly, Super Mario Bros. is great.  It owned every bold plot and visual choice it made, and I have to respect it.  I could listen to John Leguizamo say Mario like 700 more times.  Y’all are missing out if you think you’re too cool to watch this movie.

I’ll be back to musical reviews later this month.  I have a few seasonally appropriate movies in my big red sack waiting to be placed under the tree...  Yes, I meant to phrase it that way.

[ramsayboltonsmuse]

Imagine Ramsay Bolton and The Joker (Heath Ledger) fighting over you....Part 1

Summary: I’m bringing Ledger!Joker to Westeros! My two favorite villains in a smutty little two part imagine that ends in them fighting over The Reader.

You are Cersei Lannister’s oldest daughter and have been betrothed to Ramsay Bolton, a match devised by your grandfather Tywin Lannister to secure the alliance between The Boltons (who are now The Wardens of the North) and the Capital.

What happens when you throw in a chance encounter with J in the woods? Lots of violence, angst, fluff and smut that’s what!

Links to other parts: Part 2, Part 3

Ao3 link

“Kneel.” Ramsay’s voice sliced through the still air.

The Dreadfort’s great hall was empty except for you and him, the handmaiden who had been ordered to fetch you having intelligently bolted out of the room the second she deposited you. 

Ramsay was seated behind the great table, shirtless, his toned and muscled build glinting in the moonlight spilling in from the large windows. You could see some blood spatter speckling across his chest. It wasn’t his blood. 

As much as you truly hated Ramsay for all the vile things you’d watched him do, you couldn’t deny the fact that some part of you found him downright handsome.

He was nonchalantly turning one of his many knives over and over in his hand. He shot a glance at you and stood up when you didn’t move right away. You flinched as his chair made a scraping noise against the floor as he pushed it away. 

Ramsay strode up to you so that you were only inches apart. “[Y/N], I told you to kneel. Now, get on your knees.” His eyes were a dangerous ice blue, daring you to disobey. 

You squared your shoulders defiantly. “You sent a handmaid to drag me out of bed after midnight and now you’re ordering me to kneel for some offense I don’t even know I’ve committed. I’m the King’s sister, Twin Lannister’s granddaughter, not to mention your betrothed. You can’t treat me like one of your whores.”

The slap across your face shocked you, but you had no time to recover as his hand shot out to grip your neck, squeezing.

“You’re really beginning to test my patience.” Ramsay growled. “I don’t care who you used to belong to, princess. You’re mine now.” His stare bore into you. “And after the wedding, you can be sure I’ll mark you so you don’t forget.” The corners of his mouth turned up into a slight smile at that last remark. 

You knew he was right. It didn’t matter who you were, not here, not in The North. Your infamous father, Robert Baratheon, was dead, and everyone with any sense knew that Tywin Lannister was running the kingdom while your fool of an older brother Joffrey was playing at being King. 

But Tywin was no fool. He likely knew what Ramsay Bolton was, but he arranged this dreadful marriage anyway, his only concern formally solidifying the bond between the capital and The North, the largest kingdom. With Roose Bolton named Warden of the North, and Ramsay his successor, it was the strategic choice.

Your mother had nearly killed your grandfather when she heard of his plans to marry her oldest daughter off to The Boltons. But alas, Tywin was the real source of power, and none of them had any choice. 

Ramsay squeezed your neck tighter and you began gasping for air, your hands reaching up to wrap around his forearm, trying to pull him off of you. 

“You think you’re a golden haired darling little thing don’t you.” Ramsay snickered. “Let me tell you a secret sweetling.” You began clawing at his arm, desperate for air. “Once we’re married, I won’t have to worry about keeping you untarnished for the wedding.” 

You started to turn pale, the color draining out of your face. “So when you misbehave, I won’t think twice. I’ll drag you into the dungeons and fasten your wrists and ankles to the cross. I’ll strip you naked and cut and flay you any way I like. I’ll fuck you until you bleed and keep you chained up for days without food or water if I want to because you’ll be my property. So you had better adjust your attitude.”

Ramsay released your neck only to grab your chin hard enough to leave a bruise, jerking your face up to his while your starved lungs desperately refilled themselves with air. 

“Now kneel. I hate asking a second time.” Ramsay’s voice was laden with venom and your eyes grew wide, unable to move from the shock of what just happened. 

Ramsay had certainly toyed with you in the last month since you arrived at The Dreadfort, and you had seen his handiwork on the many flayed bodies decorating the outer walls, but he had not touched you until now. Your own naivete had led you to believe he would keep his sadistic predilections to pretty young whores and unfortunate serving girls. Evidently, you were wrong.

Ramsay sighed, clearly annoyed at your inability to immediately comply with his demand. You started to panic as he walked around behind you only to roughly push you to your knees, your bare legs underneath your barely-opaque white nightgown hitting the floor hard.

“That’s better.” Ramsay circled back around to your front and crouched down in front of you. He reached out to almost tenderly caress your cheek, causing you to flinch and him to smile at your reaction. “Do you know why you’re being punished little rabbit?” You shook your head, your big green eyes staring up fearfully at him. 

“No? Well.” He drew his hand away from you, a malicious smirk spreading slowly across his face. You knew if he was excited about something, it couldn’t possibly spell anything good for you.“You haven’t been the most doting bride to be darling, now have you.” 

His face twisted into a mock frown. “You haven’t once come to see me in my bedchambers. It’s made me concerned for the future of our marriage.” His eyes were laughing at you, enjoying this little game of torment, knowing full well you weren’t supposed to have any intimate relations with him until after the wedding.

Your words came out in a quick rush, desperate to explain yourself lest he decide to hurt you. “I’m supposed to stay a virgin until the bedding ceremony!” Your voice came out sounding so much smaller than before. Ramsay heard it too, and smiled.

“There there [Y/N].” He mused, giving your head a pat and causing you to flinch at his touch. “It’s not your fault that the ladies of King’s Landing didn’t properly train you on your responsibilities.” 

He grabbed your chin roughly, running his thumb over your bottom lip before popping it into your mouth. He tasted like the forest and something, almost metallic. “There are many things that good girls should do before the bedding ceremony. You don’t need to worry though. I’ll teach you.”

Ramsay stood up then, your gaze following him upward to where he towered above you, a sizable bulge noticeable through his pants. He began unfastening his belt and loosening his pants to reveal, well, you had never seen one before, but you could only imagine it was…

“Never seen one before sweetling? That’s rather adorable, even for you.” Ramsay grabbed one of your delicate hands and moved it toward his cock. You knew you had nothing to compare this to, but you had to admit that it looked giant. You had no idea how that was expected to fit inside you. You trembled at the thought.

Ramsay guided your hand to start stroking up and down his length. He watched your wide eyed expression greedily as you began to get the rhythm. Ramsay released your hand only to grab a bundle of your hair and pull it harshly, forcing you to look up at him. 

“You can do better than that pet. Open up.” Intuitively, you knew what was expected of you, Ramsay’s stare telling you everything you needed to know. You parted your lips and began tenderly licking the tip of his cock, then flattening your tongue and drawing it from tip to base. You heard Ramsay’s breathing hitch and looked up at him, towering above you like a dark god.

“Like that Ramsay?” You asked almost shyly, blushing. 

Ramsay responded by pulling your hair again, eliciting a small yelp from you.

“‘Like that Sir’. Mind your manners pet. And you’ll have to try a lot harder than that to impress me.” With that, Ramsay grabbed the back of your head and shoved it down the entirety of his length, causing you to gag and lose your breath completely. Your hands grabbed onto his legs to steady yourself as he held you in place, his cock hitting the back of your throat.

He released your head and pulled out, only to slam back into you again, tears starting to prick in the corners of your eyes. All this time and you hadn’t once thought about the chance that someone might walk in on this scene in the middle of the great hall. Then again, it was the middle of the night and you had a suspicion that Ramsay wouldn’t care if someone did. The low growl of his voice took you out of your thoughts.

“Good girl.” He praised you, and you felt an unexpected little ball of warmth inside you, causing you to shift slightly on your knees. You started bobbing your head and stroking his length in time, eager for more praise. 

Ramsay didn’t let you keep control though. He thrust his hips forward, pushing himself down your throat with a tight grip on your head, securely keeping you in place. You heard his breathing hitch again as his fingers dug into your skull, your own breath taken away by the sheer size of him. With a final push, he let out a low growl and came down your throat, holding you in place until the last of the come had drained out of him. You could feel it dripping down the back of your throat as he pulled out of your mouth.

“Very good girl.” Your doe eyes smiled up at him. You couldn’t understand why, but the feeling of him violating you in this way was so arousing. Perhaps all your embroidery and dancing lessons hadn’t been enough for you in the Capital. Perhaps you had grown bored over the years, but ignored it. This though, Ramsay and his complete control over you, was new. And you wanted more of it.

Ramsay pulled you up to your feet roughly. “You look quite pretty with my cock in your mouth pet.” A small smile spread across your features. You really were a beauty, and Ramsay knew it. 

He would never say it to you, but he never imagined he would marry such highborn royalty, not to mention one of the most beautiful royals in Westeros. Many lords had been vying for you, but The Boltons had ensured they won the bid. There were so many things he was going to do to you. 

“I expect to see you in my chambers tomorrow evening darling. Don’t disappoint me.”

“Yes, Sir.” 

Ramsay’s cock twitched at that, your voice intoxicating to him. He grabbed a bundle of your hair and pulled you into him, his lips inches from yours.

“That’s my good little girl. You’re mine now [Y/N]. Only mine.” 

****

You had decided to go for a ride. It was an absolutely beautiful Summer day, and a particularly warm one, especially for The North. You felt no need to bring a guard with you as every person in this part of the country knew who you were and knew who you were betrothed to. No one would dare so much as look at you for fear of what Ramsay Bolton would do.

You were riding through the familiar forests surrounding The Dreadfort, smiling at the sounds of the birds in the trees and the shady brooks babbling away. It was hard to remember that Ramsay used these same woods to hunt women. 

You had ridden for maybe an hour when you decided it would be a good time to stop and eat the small lunch you had brought with you. You dismounted Blanche, a stunningly beautiful white mare that Ramsay had given you as an engagement gift, and tied her up. You patted her neck and she whinnied sweetly at you, making you smile. It really was a lovely --

A strange noise drew your attention to a grove of trees not far off. Grabbing your knife, another, less public, gift from Ramsay, you silently approached the clearing. 

It sounded like someone was dragging something heavy. As you got closer, you found a large enough tree to conceal you and peaked out from behind it to get a look at where the noise was coming from.

A tall man, very muscular with tanned skin was dragging what looked like several dead bodies into a large pile in the clearing. You took a gamble, and darted from your tree to one even closer to see better. 

They were definitely dead bodies, all men, and all with various torturous wounds ranging from mutilations to stabbings to what looked like skin peeled off with a potato peeler. You had seen plenty of flayed humans thanks to Ramsay, but this wasn’t his handiwork, this was a different signature.

As the man deposited the last body on the pile, he ran his hand through his hair and turned to rummage through his things, producing a flask and taking large swigs of water. He then poured some straight over his hair and shook his head vigorously, the water droplets flying everywhere and his voice letting out an almost maniac scream that made you jump.

He was quite handsome. You watched as he pulled his light leather armor off to reveal his shirtless chest. His clothes were finely made, but in the most bizarre purple and green colors. You had never seen anyone dressed like that before.

And he had beautiful tousled blonde hair, a rarity in The North, and a tall powerful build, his clearly defined muscles visibly bulging as he ran his hand through his hair again. But what was interesting, what you couldn’t stop staring at, were the scars on his face.

You’d seen many scars since you’d come to The Dreadfort, but you had never seen any like this. The strange scars ran like an upturned smile from both corners of his mouth to his structured cheekbones.  You wondered what could have done something like that.

You froze as his voice, a somehow simultaneously frightening and soothing sound, rang out.

“Say, uh, sweetheart. Why don’t you come out into the light.” Swallowing hard as adrenaline shot through you, you stepped from behind the tree and into the grove.

The man leaned back against a tree, taking in the sight of you with his dark eyes. You were wearing a simple light blue dress with a questionably low neckline, revealing your pretty young body delightfully. Your long golden hair was cascading in curls down your back and your green eyes were shyly darting away from his stare.

“Mmm. Lovely.” The man hummed, looking at you. “And why is it that such a, uh, innocent young thing is out all alone in the woods?” 

You looked at the ground as you answered, not sure why he was making you so nervous. Maybe it was from fear that Ramsay would punish you later for speaking to another man, maybe for fear of the man himself. You weren’t sure.

“It’s just a nice day, I thought I’d go riding. Anyway, I’m not innocent, and it’s perfectly safe for me to go out alone. I’m Robert Baratheon’s daughter, and promised to Ramsay Bolton. No one would dare touch me. Who are you?”

The man laughed then, an almost maniac laugh as he stood, and sauntered over to you. “You’re a, uh, p-r-in-c-ess then? Is that right sweetheart?” He closed in, circling around you. For some reason you found yourself frozen in place. 

Suddenly he was behind you, placing his large hands over your exposed collar bone and drumming his fingers against you. He leaned into your ear, his lips nearly brushing your exposed neck.

“My name is The Joker, but you can call me J sweetheart.” He licked his lips. “And why is a princess afraid of someone like me, hmm?” He stepped back and walked around to face you again, his forehead wrinkling in a feigned pout. 

You straightened up. “I’m not afraid of you.” You hoped your voice was coming out more sure than you felt. “Anyway I don’t even know who you are. I don’t think you’re from here, and I wouldn’t have any problem demanding someone from the Bolton guard take your head.” You stood taller, feeling the confidence build. “In fact, I’d take your head myself.”

J chuckled and his eyes gleamed. “You have a little fight in you, I like that.” He leaned into you. “I’m not sure if all the, uh, princesses in Westeros are as dumb as you bunny, but having a famous name is exactly the reason NOT to go out riding alone in the big bad woods.” He drawled out the last three words in a much deeper voice, sending shivers down your spine.

“What did these men do?” You tried desperately to get control back of this conversation, but something about his way of speaking made logical thoughts difficult. 

J’s eyes widened. “Do? Do?!” He laughed suddenly loudly and maniacally, his black eyes filling with some combination of mirth and insanity. “Oh bunny, they didn’t do anything. I, uh,” J leaned closer to you, as if telling you a secret. “I killed them for f-u-n- ah.”

“You’re just like Ramsay.” You blurt out. 

“Ramsay?” J stepped back, turning on his heel and walking away from you over to the pile of bodies. He threw up his hands and shouted. “Ramsay, Ramsay, Ramsay, Ramsay, Ramsay-ah. You can’t walk one mile, one fucking mile in this place without hearing that name.” You watched as he lit the bodies on fire, your breath speeding up a little.

He turned back to you, closing the distance in large strides. 

“I’ve been thinking, with all this talk about Ramsay Bolton, that I oughta meet the guy. See if he lives up to his, uh, reputation. Whatdya say sweetheart? Wanna be my bate? Good.” He said without skipping a beat. “I thought you might.”

“He’s going to kill you. He’ll flay you living if you even lay a hand --” J cut you off by roughly grabbing your arms and backing you into the tree behind you.

“Bunny, bunny, bunny. You really wanna play those games?” He grabbed your wrists with one hand, twisting them painfully and raising them above your head. “Look at you.” He growled. “You’re even lying to yourself. You’re not even trying to fight me.”

Shocked at this self discovery, you noted that he was right. You hadn’t even struggled against him.

“I don’t think your Lord Flay knows what he has. And if he does, he’s not using ittt. I knew from the second I saw you sweetheart that you’re an agent of chaos too. Like me.” J ever so gently nipped your ear. “You’re just, how should I put this, untapped. I can always tell the squealers from the killers, and you doll, you have a little darkness in you. Don’t let it, uh, go to waste.”

You didn’t know what to say, staring open-mouthed at this strange man who somehow had read you completely in the span of one conversation, better than you read yourself. Subconsciously, you had a feeling that Ramsay knew this about you too. But why he had let it sit dormant instead of bringing you into his dark world, you didn’t know.

“Speechless? I’m flattered.” J spun you around and yanked your arms behind your back, securely fastening them with a tight rope. 

He spun you back to face him and flashed a smile at you. It was a different kind of smile than Ramsay’s, but laden with just as much danger. “It’s for show doll, don’t get too, uh, worked up.” His eyes flicked from your eyes to your body and he licked his lips, running a hand through his blonde lochs again before grabbing your waist and throwing you over his shoulder.

As he carried you into the woods, his voice came out menacingly dark.

“Time for The Joker and Ramsay Bolton to play.” 

NEXT PART: Part 2

[tameila]

Bird Song.

Characters/Pairings: Mei Birdwhistle (OC), Pike Trickfoot, Scanlan Shorthalt, Grog Strongjaw (mentioned), Pikelan

Summary: [~2k words, post-VM, canon adjacent] Mei Birdwhistle, adventurer by trade and enthusiast by hobby, leaps on a chance to meet her idol, Scanlan Shorthalt.

Warnings: none Notes: my piece for Pikelan Day’s oracle Scanlan theme! this is an incredibly self-indulgent little AU, but I had a lot of fun writing it. I probably won’t post it on ao3 since it’s Pikelan-centric content is low, so please enjoy this lil tumblr exclusive! <3

The poster on the tavern’s community board was unremarkable. Lots of flowery black inked cursive on white parchment with little else to draw the eyes, so Mei Birdwhistle could understand why so many had overlooked it. After all, she had done the same two days in a row before, on her last afternoon in town, in one final attempt at finding a task interesting enough to keep her, she caught the address of the quest’s giver: Edge of church district. Past the bridge. Red brick cottage.

There could be no mistake who posted this notice.

With a gasp and a flash of adrenaline, Mei tore the paper from the board and tucked it away into the pocket of her travel cloak. No one rushed her. The ambient noise of the tavern at her back continued on unperturbed, but Mei’s heart beat a frantic song in her ear — a song of triumph and adventure.

She swept out the door as it opened. As a gnome from a predominately human city, she learned from a young age that doors were a problem for taller folk, and it was best to wait for them to be opened rather than exert herself unnecessarily. The couple whose legs she snuck between were less than pleased to be knocked askew, but she threw a smiled apology over her shoulder and ran on.

She pulled the poster from her cloak once she escaped the busy, long-leg infested thoroughfare and found a calmer street. With the knowledge that its lackluster design held greater promise, she dedicated herself to a more thorough read-through of the notice:

         FEELING BORED? UNFULFILLED?

         DO YOU HAVE A COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIP WITH YOUR DAD?

         TRY ADVENTURING!

         I am looking for a party of 3 or more novice-to-intermediate level adventurers to fetch a gem from Gatshadow. The gem is cool-colored, will probably have an iridescent shimmer or magical glow, and can fit comfortably in the palm of a gnome or similar-sized folk. May be cursed. Definitely haunted. Oh, and the gem is located in a wyvern den.

         FIRE RESISTANT ARMOR WILL NOT BE PROVIDED. PLEASE BRING YOUR OWN.

         ONE (1) SUPPORT MANDATORY.

         For further information…

Mei’s reading trailed off as she reached the address, having already committed it to heart, and her thoughts instead wandered to the newest challenge at hand. She did not have a party. Not currently, at least. She had left Bulwark and the others in Whitestone two weeks ago after they had told her about their plans to stay in the city for a while, build a headquarters of sorts, and bunkered down on their research.

Unlike them, she could not stop.

Not when there was so much world left to see.

But — they were not her first party, and they would not be her last.

“I wonder if Sasha’s in the area,” Mei muttered under her breath. Somewhere rattling in her pack, probably lodged between her spare flute reeds and lyre strings, was a sending stone. And, maybe, if she had not turned the corner and spotted the red brick cottage in the distance, she might have taken it out and sent a message, but — as it were — she saw her destination and any thought of rekindling fragile flames fell flat in the face of her resurging excitement.

She was about to meet Scanlan Shorthalt.

Her idol.

Her inspiration to take up the bardic call.

Very little could deter her path now, and Mei took off down the road with a jump and a click of her heels.

                                                                ❀❀❀

Pike Trickfoot was as beautiful as every story and legend described. Gentle eyes above a dazzling smile. A voice like a summer breeze. “Oh, hello,” was all she said, “Can I help you?” and Mei fell mute, the tips of her pointed ears burning.

With the paper held tight in her trembling hands, Mei presented it to Pike.

“You’re here about the quest?”

Mei nodded.

“Great! Come on in. Make yourself at home,” Pike said without a dip in enthusiasm, ushering Mei through the foyer to the living room. A whimsical dance of flute music drifted from somewhere deeper in the house, and Mei melted into an offered armchair, eased by the sound. Pike, with a quick “I’ll go get my husband”, smiled and disappeared up a nearby staircase.

Mei waited until her pounding footfalls faded before bouncing up from her seat. With rapt attention, she walked around the living room and snuck peeks at the other areas of the house. It had been some years since Mei left home, and many more years since her family had lived in a true gnomish home. Mei could see the bread starter on the kitchen windowsill from here, and she ran her fingers over the knick knacks on the mantelpiece. There was an empty space of wood flooring between the dining room and the living room, perfect for a spell of dancing after an evening meal. Mei’s fingers plucked at invisible strings as a plucky, folk tune sprung to mind as she continued her exploration.

Amongst the knick knacks and on either side of a statuette of Sarenrae were two wooden dolls, weather-worn and clearly hand-carved: one of Pike and the other — Well, she could only assume it was of Scanlan.

Huh. She’d never really thought about it before...that she didn’t know what Scanlan looked like, not truly, beyond the elaborate portraits he would include in his books.

“I carved those myself.”

Mei’s hand paused a centimeter away from the face of the Scanlan doll. She could feel the almost-sensation of contact on her fingertips. Flushed and embarrassed, Mei spun around to face Scanlan Shorthalt in all his true glory.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to snoop. I just — Your home is beautiful, Mr. Shorthalt! It reminds me of my own childhood home, and — ”

Scanlan laughed and waved a hand as if dismissing the rest of her ramble and, as if by magic (and maybe it was), Mei felt the words leave her. “Please, call me Mr. Trickfoot, if you must. Scanlan is preferable. Shorthalt is my nom de plume.”

“Oh.”

“Do you have a name?”

“Oh! Yes!” Mei hurried forward, holding out a hand to properly introduce herself as her upbringing would dictate. “My name is Mei Birdwhistle, sir — Ah, I mean, Scanlan.” When Scanlan took her offered hand, she shook his hand with — she would admit — a bit too much vigor. “I am an adventurer by trade and an enthusiast by hobby! I am so pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Birdwhistle, huh? Any relation to Ken Birdwhistle, the councilmen in Emon?”

“Yes, he’s my father!” A pleased warmth flooded Mei’s cheeks. How amazing! To think that The Scanlan Shorthalt knew her father’s name. “Have you met him?”

“Once, when he was sworn into his post,” Scanlan said, gesturing for her to take a seat in her abandoned armchair before sitting in the rocking chair by the fireplace. “Sometimes the powers that be in Tal’dorei seem to forget that I’m not the only gnome of note...but! Your father’s doing a lot of great work in Emon, so I won’t say it wasn’t a pleasure.”

Mei nodded. She couldn’t believe her father had never mentioned meeting Scanlan. She was still a young girl when her father moved them from the countryside to Emon. Then again, when she considered it...Things were often a blur in her adolescence...She wondered in her father had ever tried to seek Mrs. Trickfoot’s assistance with…

“...about the quest. However, I notice — ”

Mei came back to the moment with a chirped, “Hm?”

“Is the rest of your party on their way? Or, did you pick the short straw at the tavern?”

“Well…I don’t...Technically, I’m at the moment...gathering…”

Scanlan laughed. “Didn’t think that far ahead, huh?” and as much as it was accusatory, his tone was equally paternal, like he caught her with her hand in the cookie jar and not admitting that she came here just to meet him.

“I don’t have a party, no, but I can get one.”

“I wasn’t aware they were just handing them out these days.”

Mei grinned. “You would be surprised.”

Again, Scanlan laughed, and Mei followed his lead. First, she giggled her usual windchime of a laugh — short and sweet and contained, but she could not help but be memorized by the casual manner in which Scanlan lounged and laughed, his expression open and his voice filling the room.

She could not help but follow.

She threw her head back and laughed, which — if she were to reflect on the situation — was exactly where she went wrong. Half a laugh in, a spear of pain spiked through her chest, and her next laugh became half a cough and the next a cough half-laughed until she was coughing and wheezing and fumbling for her handkerchief.

“Um, Pike…”

There’s Scanlan’s voice and then the rattling of a tea tray somewhere beyond her before a gentle hand laid itself on her back, and Mei finally sucked in a breath that stayed. Meekly, with her handkerchief clutched tight to her chest, she looked up through her bangs at the gentle, smiling face of Pike Trickfoot and mumbled,

“Thank you.”

Pike did not remove her hand right away, a flicker of something flashing across her features, but... Then a teacup found its way to her hand, and Pike settled by Scanlan’s side and Scanlan resumed their conversation as if they’d never left off and...Maybe Mei was just being paranoid.

“I’ll be honest with you, Mei, I’m getting up there in years now,” Scanlan said, and Mei noted the wistful note to his voice and how, at his side, Pike muffled a laugh. She hid her own smile behind her teacup. “That’s why I’ve been more prone to outsourcing quests, you see, but...Well, how about I accompany you on this quest?”

Mei just barely saved her teacup from spilling as she jolted with surprise. “Y - You’ll come with me?”

“Sure!” Scanlan boomed and turned to Pike with an added, “My lovely wife and our friend, Grog, will come too, right?”

Pike nodded. “It will be nice to get out of the house, and — ” The door to the back garden opened, and Mei turned to see a goliath ducking through the doorway, stomping his boots and calling out his arrival. When she turned back to Pike and Scanlan, she saw Pike beaming widely, “That’ll be Grog. Here, how about we put this conversation on hold for a moment and start some dinner. You’re invited to stay, of course, Mei.”

Mei’s head spun, but her need to politely decline still came through, “Oh, I wouldn’t want to be a bother…”

“A bother? Nonsense!”

“We insist!”

Mei refused two more times before, with common courtesies accounted for, she smiled and agreed.

                                                               ❀❀❀

“So, you think it’s her?”

Pike and Scanlan stood in the kitchen, tucked away in a corner out of sight from the dinner table where Mei and Grog were playing a game of bolder-parchment-sheers over the last biscuit. Scanlan pawed at some dishes in the sink, eyes on the horizon beyond the window but his mind farther. To Pike’s question, he shrugged.

“You know how these visions are….You never know for sure, but Ioun hasn’t knocked on my head to tell me ‘no’, so I’ll take it that we’re moving in the right direction.”

Pike leaned into his side, her cheek squishing up against his shoulder. Under her touch, an until-then-noticed tension melts away with a sigh.

“The girl’s cursed, by the way.”

Scanlan groaned, folding forward to lean over the sink in defeat. “And, this is, I’m just going to assume here..No whim-wham-Greater Restoration-and bam?”

“Yep.”

“Shit.”

[getyourblisson]

A Look At March 2021

A Look At March 2021

  March is a time where the seasonal year is transitioning.  Nature is completing its cycle; and is in preparation for being reborn, and to come to life once again.  At least in the Northern Hemisphere this is the case; and in the Southern Hemisphere, it is meeting the half way point in its cycle.  It has been active and strong and producing; and now it is beginning to quiet down.  Many of us, naturally feel these bigger shifts happening from within us

 In general, March tends to be very favorable for artists, creativity, writing, journaling, personal expression, speaking up, and exploration.  It is a time, that naturally calls people to get creative with what they have; so that they can either have enough stored up for Winter, or can get by until nature starts providing more food for them.  This month naturally encourages us to interact, sing, dance, or to get ready for being busy.

 This year, we find that March provides us with a very introspective approach to life. Things may feel stuck, or not moving at all; and this is certain, to be a sign that we are perhaps needing to refocus our attention.  It may be letting us know where we have gotten off track; and have gotten too wrapped up in the doing.  It calls us, to come back into awareness; and to put our spiritual focus and practices first.

 It is during this month, that we are called to take time to really look at what the causes and roots are of what we are fighting for.  Are we standing up for something, or perpetuating a fight through being divided?  Are we standing up for a cause, or simply standing in opposition to something?

 This is a time, where Divine principles must come first.  We must be standing in the soul self, if we are to have or make progression. If these principles are not in place, and this is not our key focus; then we will block all our own efforts. As individuals, cultures, and as humans we have lessons that we must learn right now; and if we do not learn them, then we will keep ourselves stuck in division, separation, lies, deceit, and will lock ourselves into perpetuating spirals.

 This month shows that we must particularly look at the nature of our relationships.  Are we operating in true partnership and respect of one another; or are we too arrogantly stuck in our limited mindsets and differences?  What we often miss is, that our differences make us stronger; and we cannot let them be what separates us.

 We need to look at which relationships and partnerships in our life, are rooted in love, and centered in the heart; and which ones have no spiritual connection to them.  Which ones are you living as your soul self in; and which ones lead you into addictions, anger, hate, and to disregard ethics or to destroy life?  This is a time, where we need to set aside our differences; and form connections that are rooted in love, that are heart-centered, that realizes how great our differences are, and how much stronger we become when they are integrated together.

 We must form our relationships from our soul selves; and not because of where we live, our skin color, or even our belief system.  This is a time where values, integrity, and ethics must be at the center of what we do.  Loving each other as souls, is the lesson that must come forward right now; if we are to progress and to move out of the spiral that we are in.

 From March 1st – March 18th is a time for true leaders to step forward. Remember, that a true leader is not interested in governing others; but seeks to bring a variety of people together as a group.  They create a partnership of everyone on the team that supports, nourishes, and values the skills that everyone has to offer.  With true leaders, there is no better than or worse than others.  A true leader brings out the skills and gifts of each person involved.  It is through this respect and appreciation of each person on a team, and appreciation for what they have to offer; that we are able to create the greatest successes. It is in listening to each person’s perspective and concerns, wisdom and questions; that we can create something of true value.

 This month shows us that success comes from where we work together as a team.  This applies to our personal relationships, team efforts, and the relationship that we are keeping between our human and soul self. It is during this time, that those whose wisdom is most respected, will be those that naturally find themselves in leader positions; because people want to know what they think, and rely on them to provide an objective position.

 If you do choose to step into a leadership position at this time, it is very important that you do so in a way that nourishes a love centered approach.  It is important, that leaders stand up for those that are being taken advantage of; and it is important, that they remain focused on the experience that people are having, instead of strictly an end result. Remember, that one of the big keys right now is that people learn to experience unity, integration, respect, and harmony.  Someone’s differences do not make them wrong; it means they have an expertise that is different from what others are focusing on.

 From March 19th – through the end of the month, stress and tension rise.  It is likely, that this is coming from a couple of different spaces.  If it is connected to where we are working in groups, or with others; then it is likely where we are learning to adjust, and integrate our differences.  In essence, it is likely to be “growing pains”; and rooted in the uncertainties and pieces that have taken us out of our comfort zone, and brought us into working with things that are new to us, and that we are not as familiar with.

 If this is coming up in our personal lives, then it can be related to feeling the pressure of meeting our responsibilities and obligations.  It can come from realizing the commitments we have; and perhaps re-evaluating them to see if they are what we really want or not.  This can be a time, where we feel pressured to make decisions; and are getting pressured by others to go in a certain direction.  It is important to take the time, to consider what we really want to focus on.

 It is during this time, that we need to make certain we are choosing for ourselves; be that connected to our own life, or regarding things that we are doing with others. However, during this time, it may be hard to rely on others; and we want to make certain, that we are only taking on that which we can handle on our own.  This can be a good time, to tackle the larger projects that we have for ourselves.

 It is important that in considering our obligations, responsibilities, and commitments; that we look at what that means beyond the physical “rewards” or “luxuries” in life.  It is very important, that we work with what is in hand, and do not try to live beyond what we presently have to work with, as it will only bring greater burdens for us to carry.  We need to consider, if we are putting our focus on things or values; and what changes need to be made for us to focus on values.  Our true obligations and responsibilities have nothing to do with personal acquisitions, and everything to do with how we care for ourselves and others; it is how much we are operating from a pure and loving heart, and how we are contributing to helping one another.

 In Summary, this month calls us to check in and place God and the soul self as a priority. We are asked to interact with others soul to soul.  We need to consider what is genuinely important, and to better understand what we are fighting for.  Is it truly an issue that needs to be addressed, or are we only taking sides, because true causes and concerns do not take sides?

 We need to foster and nurture soulful relationships, which are rooted in Divine presence and universal principles.  We need to embrace, welcome, and realize the value in being different; without allowing those differences to separate us.  This is a time, where we need to learn to work together as a true team; and to focus on unity.  This is a time for true leaders to step forward, and to embrace the process of working together; and the experience that provides us.

 During this month, we need to be aware of what the stress is that we are feeling.  Is it “growing pains”; or is it coming from others that are trying to force their thoughts, opinions, and control on us? Is it something that is happening as a natural process of evolving; or is it showing us that it we are trying to take on too much?  Is it because we have committed ourselves to obligations and responsibilities, that are materially based and not providing spiritual nourishment for us?  Take the time to reconsider what your true obligations, responsibilities, and commitments are.

 I welcome you to check in on where your priorities are at; and if they have shifted out of alignment.  What if your true priority is on what nourishes the soul, is centered in God, and welcomes Divine presence?

 I welcome you to consider how soulful your interactions are; and how often you interact soul to soul, or only appeal to the human self of others. What if you chose soul to soul interactions with everyone; no matter how well you know them?

 I welcome you to nurture and develop soul-based relationships with everyone around you.  What if you treated everyone with love, respect, kindness, and compassion?

 I welcome you to realize the value of being different; and the importance of including a variety of personalities and perspectives in things. What if the inclusion of differences made us stronger; and brought us into greater wholeness?

 I welcome you choose unity over separation.  What if we focused on working together and nourishing awareness; instead of separating and closing ourselves off from learning?

 I welcome you to pay attention to the places, situations, and types of stress that are present for you.  What if stress is a natural part of refining ourselves?

 I welcome you to consider if your responsibilities and obligations are materially based, or soulfully based.  What if our key responsibility is to be in the soul self?

   What To Focus Our Actions On

 From March 1st – March 4th we find that those in control and power, will be in for some big challenges regarding how they are using their power.  Those that are using it to command and control others, are likely to see some downfalls.  It is likely that, because they surround themselves with those that do not choose wisely; that they will come crashing down.

 Also, during this time, it is likely that we will see uprisings, rebellion, or protesting where there is an abuse of power.  This becomes more and more visible to us, during this time of great change and transformation.  This is because, the exposure of who these people are, and what they are about; gives us choice.  It gives us the opportunity to choose differently; and to be in alignment with the soul self and God.  When these things are hidden from us, we lose our choice; and become nothing more than slaves to them.

 We are asked during this time, to learn how to see those that are working to control everything; and to choose those, that are working from a heart centered space.  The protests or rebellions that happen during this set of days, must be done from the soul self; otherwise no progression will be made, and we continue to support tyrants and dictators to have charge over our lives.  During this time, it is important that we turn to the arts for self-expression; and that we use our voice, music, or dance to reach out to others and be heard. This is creative rebellion; and it shifts from lashing out in anger, to being a channel for compassion.

 From March 5th through the rest of the month, we find that lies, deception, and manipulation; are used to break up alliances, partnerships, and to create division.  Thus, it is likely that we will be tested in our relationships and partnerships.  This is a time, that we are likely to find out how true they are; and if they are going to walk through the challenges of those that want to separate these relationships and partnerships.

 During this time, people are seeking soulful relationships; and money and material things do not control people.  In essence, people cannot be bought; unless they are in strong distortions, at which point they would literally sell their soul for a cigarette or $5.  Truth is going to be exposed; and those that are living purely and in Divine alignment will come out well from this. However, those that are not, will be brought out into the open for all to see.

 Our actions need to align with what creates freedom; and not with what removes it. We must not buy into the lies, of what appears to give freedom; but only at the cost of losing it and much more. This is a time, where the codes call us to step into Divine wisdom, and to claim victory for true freedom; which includes taking the steps to remove ourselves from what divides, breaks, and tears apart our soul.  Values, simplicity, and freedom must be our top priorities right now; and what our choices and actions need to center around at this time.

 I welcome you to pay attention to what is happening to those in control and command; and to consider how much you are turning over to them, instead of choosing options that give them less control over your life.  What if freedom is about maintaining command of your own life; and removing the amount of control you give to others, over your life?

 I welcome you to rebel with your voice and compassion, instead of with violence.  What if speaking up, and making a call for people to be in compassion; was more powerful and influential than destroying things?

 I welcome you to embrace the truths that arise, instead of rejecting them; even if they are not the truths you want to believe; or have been programmed to believe.  What if embracing the truth creates unity, while remaining in lies creates separation?

 I welcome you to stand strong in what nourishes the God presence; and do not sell out for material things, which are of no real value.  What if those material things, only lock us into being slaves; while standing in Divine alignment, unfolds more blessings in every aspect than we could have previously imagined.

 I welcome you stand in Divine wisdom, and to support freedom for all. What if centering into Divine wisdom, implemented through values and simplicity; is the key to keep us from being pulled into lies and deception?

   What To Focus Our Thoughts On

 From March 1st – March 15th it is important to keep our mind focused on what we need to do for our own self.  What are the responsibilities and commitments that are the most important to us? At this time, we may not be able to rely on others; and so, we want to make certain that what we focus on, is what we can handle on our own.  It is also important, to be in our own thoughts; so that we can clearly decide what is best for us, without the influence of others.

 During this time, we may find ourselves doing a lot of mental processing; as we are making a lot of shifts and changes in how we view things, and how we think about things. This is a wonderful time, to let go of the mindsets that are limited and restrictive in how we view people and things in our world.  It is important, that we hold an expansive and abundant mindset; in order to be able to make wise choices.

 This is the time, where we can see results come through; due to having made wise choices and using our power wisely.  It is a time, to be focused on where we want to create greater abundance in our life. Remember, that one of the greatest pieces to an abundance mindset, is to share where we have an excess of something. This could be something physical, or it could be time, or it could be wisdom.  As we do this, we allow ourselves to receive from others what they are abundant in; and through these exchanges, we are able to take care of each other as a collective.

 From March 16th through the end of the month, we are asked to think carefully about the relationships that we are keeping in our life.  What are they truly rooted in?  it is important for us to realize where they are rooted in wisdom, nourish success, and support us in moving through what is stressful.

 During this time, it is important to let go of those that are founded only on chemistry, or other materially based things.  It is a time, where we are going to be shown which relationships are true; and which ones have been lying to us and deceiving us.  This is necessary for us to see; because as we shift and transform, some relationships will no longer work for us.  As we step into greater truth, we will no longer be able to accept and tolerate relationships that are not also in truth.  As we step into our soul’s path more, we will no longer be satisfied with relationships that are rooted in superficial aspects.

 It is through true and loving relationships, that work in partnership with us; that we find sustaining love and value.  When a relationship is based on physical qualities and features, money, or sex; then it will not sustain us.  This is because as the body ages, or tough times hit; there is nothing solid for it to stand on.  The relationship must then transform; and become based on inner qualities, or it will dissolve.

 I welcome you to stay focused on what you need to do for yourself. What if taking care of your own needs, allows you to be in a position of strength for yourself and others?

 I welcome you to embrace mental processing of what is coming up for you; and to be open to shifting your perspective to an abundant mindset, and to release limiting and restrictive mindsets.  What if an abundant mindset, helps you to make wise choices?

 I welcome you to share what you have an excess of with others. What if sharing your excesses, allows you to receive something that you feel depleted in?

 I welcome you to consider the types of relationships that you are keeping in your life.  What if your relationships were rooted in truth, wisdom, and being supportive in challenging and stressful times?

 I welcome you to release those relationships that are founded only on material or superficial things.  What if releasing superficial relationships, allows you to enter into authentic relationships; which will grow and shift with you?

   Connecting To Your Soul Self

 From March 1st – March 21st we have many codes that are trying to bring us into our soul self.  In essence, everything is lining up that will force us to step more into living from our soul self.  It is during this time, that we will begin to not just see those who are deceptive exposed; but that we will see those that are truly compassionate, and those that completely lack compassion.  We will see greater pushes to squash freedom and rights; and this comes to us through channels, that play on our desire to do the right thing.  It is hidden in the guise of being compassionate.

 At this time, we have both a tug of war between those trying to uphold freedom and rights; and those that are trying to squash it.  We will do best to sit in observation as much as possible; and to focus on bringing the oppositions together in a way, that we can all get along and respect each other.  Nothing will move forward, until we put the love and compassion for humanity first. Until opposing sides are willing to meet soul to soul, little will be accomplished.

 During this time, it is going to be very important to pay attention to our health; and to focus on what nourishes our body, mind, and soul.  People may struggle to cover expenses, and to provide themselves with proper nutrition.  Fortunately, we often need much less than we think that we do; and the more we root into letting our soul presence emerge, then stronger our bodies will become.

 During this time, we are called to simplify, and consider how we can live a rich life; and to reduce our need and addiction to material things.  During this time, we are called to focus on experiences, and the gifts they offer us; instead of trying to get more than we need.  It is important that we do not allow our spirit to be broken at this time, and instead double up on our hope, faith, and compassion.  Our choices must be centered in Divine principles; without this, we are creating our own destruction.

 From March 22nd through the end of the month, our soul is craving true relationships and partnerships, that are rooted in love and caring for one another.  We must remember that it is up to us to create this from within our own self; and with those that are around us.  It is important, that we do not sacrifice our true relationships for material pursuits, affairs, or physical pleasure. This is the difference, between lasting and fleeting; between what sustains us, and what leaves us empty and deprived.

 The lesson at hand right now, is to come into authenticity and truth.  This needs to happen with our own self, and also with others. Our true passions, missions, and what is most important to us; cannot unfold until we are willing to receive the lies, deception, and manipulation that we do to ourselves, that we do to others, and that we receive from others.  The soul requires transparency, honesty, and integrity; and this is the key foundation for all relationships to work, be those with our own self or with others.

 I welcome you to choose to live from your soul self.  What if squashing freedom, squashes the soul; and what if compassionate living, sets us free?

 I welcome you to be in observation, and a catalyst for people to get along.  What if personal and collective successes, are rooted in having respect for each other?

 I welcome you to pay extra attention to your health; and to focus on what provides nourishment to body, mind, and spirit.  What if keeping yourself truly nourished, helps to keep you out of addictive patterns; and naturally helps you to remove the stress and tension, that leads you to not provide true nourishment for yourself?

 I welcome you to double up on your hope, faith, and compassion; especially if you feel like caving in.  What if these are our true nourishment; and what keeps us from creating, is our own demise?

 I welcome you to enjoy those connections in your life, that are rooted in love and caring for each other.  How can this be created from within you; instead of being reliant on external circumstances to provide it for you?  What if the best relationships, don’t need anything physical to make them great?

 I welcome you to be in authenticity, truth, and transparency. What if these qualities are the foundation to fulfillment?

 The Code Journey ~ 2021 Edition

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Side Effects ch.3 (baon)

Summary: All Stretch wanted to do was drop off some pants to get altered for Edge’s cast. He’s obviously asking for too much out of life.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Past Injury, Coffee Shop

CH1 | CH2

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

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Barista, Tailor...

Stretch shifted in his bus seat, garment bag over his knees and his eye lights carefully focused on his phone screen.

He’d only taken the bus once since the whole incident in California, but the one that ran the Embassy route usually didn’t have as many Humans as this one to downtown Ebott.

Today he could feel the looks from other people, Humans, crawling up his spine and it was a little hard to ignore. No one approached him at least, ready to spit some extra-strength vitriol into his lap, so they were probably just curious. That did happen sometimes, either because he was a little bit Twitter famous or because he was just a Monster in general. People frequently took discreet pictures of him or videos, and he tried not to take it personally. Heck, Keanu Reeves got the same treatment when he took the subway.

Stretch sometimes found those pictures on instagram or twitter. Depending on the caption, he’d even comment, hey, being amicable about the amateur paparazzi was probably good public relations.

But it was one of the reasons he usually wore headphones on the bus, even if, like today, he didn’t have them turned on. Friendly was good and well, but sometimes there weren’t enough spoons in the drawer, and headphones acted as a decent barrier of sorts to that shit.

Not that a lack of spoons was a problem today. He still felt weirdly energized after pouring his all into healing Red. What he honestly felt was hungry, hell, starving, his magic pleading for a quick snack or maybe a ten-course meal. Coffee he’d remembered to bring along, but with Edge out of commision, the level of baked goods in their house was hitting critically low levels.

Hm. The stop for the Beanery was coming up and it wouldn’t take up too much time for a side quest into pastry retrieval. Getting Edge's trousers to the tailor could wait a couple mo'.

When the bus rolled to a halt, Stretch hopped eagerly down the steps to the sidewalk. He could already taste those sweet, sweet lemon bars, might even pick up a cinnamon roll for Edge while he was in. He took a moment to dump out the dregs of his morning coffee, might as well get a refill while he was here, and headed in.

The bell jangling cheerily overhead was the same as always, but there was nothing normal about the way the entire shop froze in their tracks when they saw him. Baristas and patrons alike stopped and stared, and Stretch froze right along with them, resisting the urge to glance behind him, cause he was pretty sure he was what they were looking at and not some other skeleton Monster that crept in on his heels.

“um, hi?” he tried, lifting a hand in an awkward wave.

That seemed to get the record playing again. Before he could even lower his hand, Debbie was around the counter, Jennie and Daniel at her heels, paying no mind to the line of people waiting at the counter. Then again, none of them looked put out by the barista parade, they only stood and watched as Debbie dashed up to him and flung both her arms around his ribcage, almost making him drop the garment bag. Jennie joined her, and Daniel, and Stretch only stood there bewildered, caged in Human arms and patting whatever heads and shoulders he could reach.

“um, hey, guys? sorry i haven’t been in, things have been a little weird.”

“We know, dear,” Debbie said finally ,and to Stretch’s horror, when she pulled away, she drew up her apron to wipe at her eyes. “We’ve been watching everything on the news. Oh, sweetie, how is Edge doing?”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Well, fuck, he knew a few internet sleuths had figured out that Edge was one of the Monsters hurt even if he was such a stickler for privacy that his name wasn’t in any of the reports. Stretch hadn’t even considered that the people who knew Edge would be worried out of their skulls, fuck, he’d been home for almost a week, had no one bothered to let the Beanery in on it? What about Thomas at the book shop, he knew Edge, too...but no, he’d probably texted Andy.

Stretch abruptly realized the entire shop was waiting for an answer. Humans that he didn’t know by name, but whose faces he recognized, shop regulars who probably followed him on Twitter, nodding a greeting every time Stretch stopped in. Asgore hadn’t wanted him to post on Twitter about what happened because he was afraid it would open a can of worms and get people asking him questions that he probably shouldn’t answer.

(Which honestly, it wasn’t fair. Wasn’t his fault his fingers worked faster than his brain.)

But obviously radio silence on Twitter wasn’t the answer either, not from all the worried faces around him. He needed to have a chat with Asgore on that front, but first it was time for some damage control.

“He’s fine,” Stretch said, loud enough for everyone in the shop to hear, “seriously, he’s doing okay. he’s a little bang up, he’d got a temporary cast on one leg, but he’ll be up again with a coffee craving in no time.”

To his dismay, instead of being reassured, Debbie burst into full-fledged tears and hugged him again. He leaned down to wrap both arms around her, squeezing tight, until her sobs trailed away.

“I’m sorry, dear,” Debbie pulled away and grabbed a napkin from one of the tables, wiping at her eyes. “It’s only...i was so worried.”

“We were all worried,” Jennie put in. Debbie’s niece was like a younger, taller version of her, complete with her own tears. Behind her, Daniel was nodding along. “When we saw that awful video. But when we called the Embassy, they couldn’t tell us anything.”

Ah, shit, of course they wouldn't, especially not about Edge since he wasn’t supposed to be a public figure. And they probably hit Andy with a gag order, too, so he wouldn’t even be able to say much.

Welp. Stretch didn’t work for the Embassy, thanks, and Asgore only mentioned Twitter. If they didn’t want him talking to people’s faces, they should’ve sewn up any loopholes before they let him out on the street.

“he’s fine, i promise,” Stretch said firmly, then he reconsidered. “deb, do you have a cell phone?”

Debbie blinked, but pulled an iphone out of her pocket. It was older and the screen was cracked, and Stretch made a mental note to deal with that somehow, but that would be later. For now, he opened up her contact list and added his number, labeling it ‘Skeletor’s Second Cousin.’

As he typed, he said, “next time, call me, okay? not that i want a next time but, you get me. call, text, whatever. i’ll tell you what i can.”

Debbie nodded, still a little teary, and backed away enough to let Julia and Daniel get in another quick hug before they headed back behind the counter.

“Come on, let me get you a drink,” Debbie said briskly. She took hold of Stretch’s elbow, leading him up to the counter like a lost lamb, “You look like you’re on your way somewhere.” Stretch followed meekly along after her like a good little sheep. Not like letting her get in a little mom-ing was gonna hurt.

He allowed Debbie to steal his travel mug, watching as she worked her magic to fill it. “yeah, edge needs some of his pants altered if he’s gonna be able to wear them with a cast, so i’m headed down to the tailor.”

Debbie actually paused, lips pursed, “I see. Let me throw in an extra shot of espresso, I have a feeling you may need it.”

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Not much time later, Stretch had a chance to really appreciate Debbie’s foresight.

He knew the Monster tailor, Bruno, as a casual sort of acquaintance but not so much professionally, not since he’d been fitted for his wedding tux. Stretch’s style tended towards either off the rack or out of Edge’s side of the closet, and that was about as far as he liked to think about clothes.

His husband, on the other hand, probably had his t-shirts professionally tailored. Not that Stretch was about to complain, heck no, not when he got to reap the benefits of that view.

But it did kinda leave him in the position to be standing awkwardly, listening to Bruno moan about the travesty he was about to commit on some perfectly good trousers.

“It won’t work!” Bruno declared, for about the fifth time if someone was counting, and Stretch really, really was. “There is barely enough material in his trousers for his legs, he expects me to maybe coax the silk worms into adding more for a cast?”

Stretch shrugged and took a sip of his coffee, munching on his last lemon bar as he watched the tailor pace. Everything on the overflowing tables rattled with every stomping step he took, the pictures on the walls hanging ever more crooked. Stretch couldn’t say he minded, it was kinda like getting a free show.

The sigh Bruno heaved was loud enough to shift all the pictures another inch, “The only way it might work is if I cut the seam all the way up the side and find a way for him to fasten them. The trousers won’t go over the cast, but he will at least be covered.”

“think velcro’s been proven to work,” Stretch offered idly. Even he shrank away from the look of pure distaste Bruno gave him, the void flickering in his vision as he almost shortcutted out to the sidewalk and to heck with the pants. Bruno was one of the rare Monsters who towered over him, with a pair of gleaming ivory fangs peeking out from his lips, the curling horns towering over his head well-polished. From the look of his shop, business was flourishing, which just proved that Human problems with Monsters wasn’t the way they looked.

“Is he planning on tearing them away in the middle of a meeting with heads of state?” Bruno sniffed. “Perhaps do a little dance for them?”

“uh...i hope not?” Stretch offered meekly. “i mean, probably should order a g-string too if that’s on the table.”

Bruno went on as if Stretch hadn’t said a word. “No, he is not. Hook and eye would work, buttons would be more secure, but.” He shook his head with grave misery, “No. he won't like it. No matter what I do, he won’t like any of it. No.” Bruno heaved a sigh worthy of any swooning Victorian heroine, sagging into a huge, squashy chair that creaked ominously. “I’ll do it, but I’m afraid he’s not going to like any adjustment I come up with. I certainly hope he doesn’t tell anyone he’s wearing one of my creations!”

“i’ll let him know to keep the business cards to himself for now.” Stretch leaned against the counter, plucking up a business card of his own to weave through his fingers. Oh, he was gonna regret asking, he knew it, but he was reluctantly curious. That might kill a cat, but hopefully skeletons got off for free. “okay, so, if what edge is asking for won’t work, what would you recommend?”

Bruno brightened instantly, illuminating like a newborn sun and clapped his huge hands with such exuberance that Stretch took a step back. “Ah, well! When it comes to something like a cast, there are a few options, oh, let me think!” He stroked a finger down one long fang, considering, “you both have such slender legs, but very shapely. Ah!” Stretch waited with morbid curiosity, almost expecting to see a bubble with the word ‘eureka’ come spilling out of the tailor’s ear. “I have it! I think he would be dashing in a business kilt!”

A what? “a kilt,” Stretch said, flatly. “that’s what you’re saying. that’s the big idea. not exactly original, is it.”

“Yes, yes, a kilt,” Bruno flapped an impatient hand at him, “and original isn't the question or suitcoats would have died out a hundred years ago! A sedate pattern, of course, nothing too flashy, not for Embassy work.” Yeah, as if that was Stretch’s big concern, that Edge might get stuck with something more appropriate for disco inferno than a business meeting. Then again, bell bottoms might work... “With a kilt cut jacket and tie, oh, yes, something in a dark wool, I think.” Bruno stood and marched over, Stretch bouncing along with every step, until he could lean in to whispered conspiratorially, “He’d look scrumptious and I don’t think I need to tell you that should be his natural state of being.”

“scrumptious.” Stretch repeated slowly, tasting the word. Yeah, okay, he kind of liked that one in the same sentence as Edge, he could warm up to this idea. “how long would it take to make something like that?”

Bruno’s expression turned into one from the sly family, his little smile widening to a toothy grin. “It’s entirely possible I have something in the works right now that might be suitable. If you’ll excuse the pun.”

Uh huh. He sure knew his clientele, didn’t he. “sold. let me know when i can pick it up.”

“I’ll have it done by the end of the week, along with the...trousers.” His distaste from the last word faded into a certain disturbing gleam that began to shine in Bruno’s eye and before Stretch could flee, he took hold of Stretch’s elbow, gripping firmly, “Now. Why don’t we see what I can do for you?”

“what? wait, no, i’m just here for edge!” Stretch tried, digging in his heels as Bruno began to pull. His sneakers squeaked on the tile as he slid along in the direction of the dressing rooms. “no, don’t! help! i don’t need new clothes!”

“Nonsense!” Bruno scoffed, “Everyone can use an addition to their wardrobe. Particularly when you come to me dressed like that,” He paused, his face twisting into a moue of pure disgust as he tutted over a perfectly decent sweatshirt and pair of track pants. “I couldn’t possibly let anyone see you leaving my shop this way. No, no,” He shook his head, tugging Stretch determinedly along. “My reputation won’t have it. Come now, let’s see what I have for you.”

Stretch gulped and cast a longing look at the door as he was hauled inexorably towards the dressing rooms.

Where was a damn explosion when you needed one?

-tbc-

[weepylucifer]

Let‘s Go in the Garden - Ch. 4

Nightingale goes over some backstory. David discovers recent history. Peter’s therapist WILL hear about this.

Nightingale got his permit to grave-rob. Well, officially we were following a lead connected to a cold Falcon case that had suddenly warmed up. Inofficially, we were... actually in fact doing that, but we were also very much opening the grave of DCI Nightingale’s former boyfriend.

The military cemetary was depressing in its uniformity, the way places like this usually are. It must have been thousands of identical headstones. The fact that many of these graves were empty, because in a staggering amount of cases the body couldn’t have been recovered, did not make the environment any more cheerful.

The Folly practitioners were all buried close to each other - those that were, in fact, buried here and hadn’t been left spread over Germany - as they would have liked, Nightingale said.

“Officer present,” he muttered, patting one of the headstones, a twist to his mouth that sent a little stab to my chest.

“Would be weird, huh, if they came out and saluted?” I said, maybe attempting to lighten the mood. Maybe it was just another case of me being unable to keep my damned mouth shut.

“One has,” Nightingale remarked in that wry way of his. “Look, this is Ballantine. I knew him at Casterbrook.” He peered down the long line of graves. He was introducing me to his friends, I realized, and it felt horrible. “And next to him is Smith, and Dance. There’s Simmons, he was only nineteen. Blaise, he could do this impression of Churchill that had us all in stitches. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds... you know? Here’s Greenway, a good friend of David’s. And here we are already at our destination.”

Many of these graves were bare, no one having visited, evidently, in a while. David Mellenby’s grave was not so. Two tiny paper flags were stuck in the damp earth below the headstone, crossed, a union jack, then another one. It was even the new-fangled rainbow, I noticed, with the black and brown stripe added. London pride had been three weeks ago, so I could probably deduce where he’d gotten that. There was a flower too, now wilted, the petals almost completely crumbled into nothing, but even with my limited knowledge of botany, I could recognize a rose when I saw one. There was a sudden lump in my throat. Let nobody tell you that ancient, stern magicians can’t be sentimental buggers when the mood strikes.

I had expected Nightingale to have some spell at his disposal that would instantly remove all the soil in our way, but he just handed me a shovel and waited. Honestly, I sometimes wondered how he’d ever gotten anything done before acquiring his own constable. (He... hadn’t, mostly. He hadn’t at all.) The colleagues at Belgravia could have had an excavator here to get this done within minutes, what the Folly had, especially after the commissioner had gotten acerbic with us recently once more about our budget, was myself and a shovel.

It wasn’t every day that I had to dig a large hole, and soon I was sweating. It was beginning to run down my back when my shovel hit something solid.

I guess I had somehow managed to avoid thinking about the fact that I was standing in an open grave digging for a coffin. But now I had to awkwardly crouch in the hole and unearth the damned thing, and while it was the middle of the day, not at all conductive to a spooky cemetery atmosphere, it was still eerie.

The coffin was partially covered by a length of rotting fabric - “That would be the flag,” Nightingale said - but the wood of it was still entirely intact and very well-preserved. That smelled fishy right away, seeing as nearly eighty years had indeed gone by. I checked for vestigia, but if there was anything, it was very faint and very faded. Nightingale slid into the hole with me, rather elegantly really.

“Shall we open it?” he suggested, and I had to remind him to put a pair of one-way gloves on, which he did, and then we cracked the coffin open.

“Well,” I said after a moment of just staring, “I don’t know what the hell that is, but it’s not human remains.”

What we saw lying in the coffin had the rough shape and size of an adult person, but the resemblance was very much cursory. It was a life-sized construct, a doll of some sort, woven from what had to be thousands of small wooden branches, layered on top of each other to evoke the approximate shape of a head, a torso, legs, arms crossed over the chest. There was no discernible face, no hair, and only a few scraps of clothing that had long since rotted away.

I poked the strange figure with a gloved finger. The ancient, dry wood crumbled under my rather light touch. “What is this, sir?”

“Hmm.” Nightingale eyed it thoughtfully. “It seems to be a changeling construct. You don’t see many of these anymore. That’s... clever. Very unconventional. Very David, but he couldn’t have created this by himself. He had to have an accomplice in the demi-monde.”

“A changeling?” Immediately, I had to think of my adventure in Herefordshire. “Like Nicole Lacey?”

Nightingale shook his head. “Changeling is another one of these umbrella terms. This is an artificial construct, not a living being. The high fae didn’t always substitute members of their own societies for the people they took. In some cases they would leave constructs like this one behind. A fae would have woven something like this from twigs or reeds and enchanted it to mimic life for a short while. When the glamour inevitably collapsed, it would look like the person had died.”

“Could David... Mr. Mellenby... could he have used it to mimic a dead body? And the spell would have worn off after the funeral?”

“That seems to have been the purpose of this arrangement,” Nightingale agreed. “But again, David couldn’t have created a changeling. It’s entirely possible that he called in a favor from one of his contacts in the demi-monde. He was always seeking out the fae, forging friendships, researching. Very odd, for that time.”

I wondered why he had to have asked for help from a fae, and voiced that question. According to Nightingale, not even Mellenby with his unorthodox faerie friends could avail himself of their type (brand? flavor?) of magic. Creating a changeling was simply not something Newtonian practitioners were trained to do, and the demi-monde at that time had been even more tight-lipped regarding their secrets than they were at present.

“He really was serious about faking it,” I said, “Manufacturing a fake corpse... he wanted to drop off the map really badly, huh?”

Nightingale nodded. “Yes, it’s all... a bit much, isn’t it? I understand wanting to quit the service making a clean break, but this seems excessive. Moving somewhere quiet and avoiding the reunions usually does the trick. Hell, I don’t attend the reunions, and I’m left alone these days.”

“Is it... uncharacteristically excessive, do you think?”

Nightingale directed a thoughtful look to the grey, cloudy sky as he pondered that. He’s not a copper in the blood, in the Sam Vimes kind of way, he’s always been a soldier happening to be doing police work, and I suspect he always will be. But enough coppering had rubbed off on him that he knew where this line of inquiry was going.

“No,” he said at last. “David could get extremely melodramatic sometimes. About important things.”

I tried to imagine how Mellenby must have felt, right after Ettersberg. Guilty, Hugh Oswald had hinted at. He had shared knowledge with people who had turned around and used what he had shared to build Ettersberg, to commit unspeakable crimes against humanity there. Hundreds of his comrades had died in an attempt to get their hands onto that knowledge, to, in a way, correct the mistake he’d made trusting the wrong people. He’d gotten back to England in place of his boyfriend. He had thought that his colossal fuckup had to have claimed Nightingale’s life.

“He must’ve been really serious about no one coming to look for him,” I said.

Nightingale’s expression grew as clouded as the sky. “Oh, certainly,” he said. “He might have taken over my duties, had I not returned home.”

“Huh?” I asked eloquently.

“Command enjoyed his scientific expertise during the war,” Nightingale said, somewhat scathingly. “Besides, he’d never been wounded...” (Because you were there ensuring that, I thought but did not say) “...he would have been in an ideal position to inherit mastery of the Folly. I was considered missing in action at the time, as were a number of other, even likelier candidates. It’s not a duty either of us ever aimed for or desired. So he ran away.”

Like a coward, he didn’t add but I could almost hear it nonetheless. Now Nightingale, when faced with the duty of guarding the ruins of British magic, of remaining the last one standing, of shouldering responsibility for all of Britain’s magic-related concerns, had accepted it unflinchingly. He must have also been tired, physically and mentally, he’d been shot, he’d lost everyone he’d held dear. But he hadn’t run for the hills. He hadn’t always done the most stellar job as Britain’s last official wizard, but at the very least he’d been there.

“So that’s why you’re so mad at him, huh,” I assumed.

Nightingale shrugged. He looked very... resigned. “Is that it?” he asked. “Can I fault him for doing a runner? There were others who could have continued to serve in some capacity, not many, but there were a few. They chose to break their staves. Can I begrudge them that? They were my men, my lads, and I wished for them to heal. To get to enjoy life in peace.”

God, that noble, self-sacrificial bastard. I really wanted to throttle him.

“What is it then?” I asked instead. “Why is it still all weird and sad? I mean, no offense sir, but if I had a dead boyfriend and he suddenly came back, I would be dancing in the streets or something.”

Nightingale sighed, and then, right there at the open, empty grave, I got the full story.

----

So apparently on the eve of Ettersberg - well, not the literal eve, the actual operation had been a few weeks off yet - but when select officers were first briefed on the mission, there had been some disagreement on how to proceed. Hugh Oswald had already told me some of it, back in Herefordshire, that Nightingale had been against it from the get-go. That he’d wanted the site bombed from altitude and nothing else to do with it. Now, as a Captain he hadn’t held nearly enough sway to affect command decisions of that magnitude. But The Nightingale wasn’t just any Captain. As perhaps the most gifted and capable practitioner the Folly had turned out in his generation - he didn’t say that to me, but I extrapolated from what I recalled Hugh Oswald having told me - and one of Britain’s most experienced combat practitioners, he had enjoyed a certain reputation. And above all, he had held the unswerving and unyielding loyalty of his men.

That loyalty was hard-earned and entirely reciprocated, and when Nightingale had heard, after years of fighting the Nazis for every inch of ground, that they were sending all available troops into a death trap hundreds of miles beyond the front, he’d gone a bit ballistic. He had appealed to command to reconsider, and he’d voiced his opposition loudly and clearly, and word had gotten around to the enlisted men.

Now, in your ordinary army, the disarray would have stopped there. Command structures and the prevailing culture would have ensured it. But the Folly battallion hadn’t been composed of ordinary foot-soldiers. The Folly practitioners had been, to a private, sons of England’s proud upper middle class. They’d been men who came from money, men of privilege, men used to having their voices heard. So someone got it in his head to start petitioning against the objective, to take a stand, to rally around the Nightingale. He himself had had nothing to do with the petition, he told me; it had been the work of some fool NCO and he in fact only found out about it later.

But army hierarchy had still applied, and Nightingale had summarily been dragged off the field, into battallion command and thence back to London before a board of generals. He had been told in no uncertain terms that what he was doing was considered an act of treason against King and country, and that, out of respect for his service record and the loyalty of his men, he would be offered a choice: retract his opposition, stand down, be a good soldier and go to Ettersberg, or have himself and everyone who’d backed him up court-martialed, lined up against a wall and shot for mutiny.

“At that point, I would have let myself be shot alright,” he told me, “if I thought it might help prevent the worst. But all of my men, no. So I chose compliance... I granted the lads the fate of uncertain over certain death. And a handful of those petitioners actually did end up making it home.”

It was rare that I ever got a war story out of him, so of course I listened. This one was dreary, though, and I couldn’t believe they’d still gone around executing their own men by firing squad all the way in 1945. A less civilized age, indeed.

“What does that have to do with Da- with Mr. Mellenby?”

“Lieutenant,” Nightingale corrected absentmindedly. “Lieutenant Mellenby. Well, while I was opposing Operation Spatchcock, David was in favor.”

“Oh,” I said.

“I told him of the risk. I told him it would be a suicide run. He called me paranoid. He said surely they wouldn’t muster all we had left and send us off to die. Surely that was a ridiculous proposition. I told him he had always been a bit naive as to the way the world worked.”

He sighed. “He gave me a lot of regurgitated rhethoric from the mission briefing about hindering the fascists from their heinous atrocities, for the sake of their prisoners, for the glory of the empire. We got into a right row about the role of the empire in the world. Not that David really cared about the British empire any more than I did. No, David had been personally slighted, and David wanted his research back. And he seemed willing to delude himself so far as to believe he wouldn’t have to climb over the bodies of our lads to get it back.”

Reader, even if I’d known what to say to that, I genuinely didn’t dare interrupt Nightingale now. He was far away again, but this time his expression held none of the dull grief and shell-shock that seemed to be his constant companions. At this moment he was frighteningly alive, standing tall, encased by vivid fury. For a moment, I could see the man he’d been, the war hero. If I’d been some dude named Hans in a Wehrmacht uniform in 1945 catching sight of him, I honestly probably would’ve just shit myself.

“The thing is,” Nightingale continued, and even his tone had gone cutting and militaristic around the edges, as though he was giving an after-action report, “that petition was almost successful. Command really did stick their heads together for a moment and attempt to calculate whether the prognosticated loss of life could be considered worth the empirical value of the Black Library. To determine the answer to that question, they consulted a scientific expert. A scholar on the topic.”

“Oh, shit,” I said.

Nightingale looked at me, and seemed to simmer down. The years settled back across his shoulders like a soft but heavy blanket, the incensed soldier vanishing again. “Indeed,” he said. “And David told them yes, in his opinion, it would be worth it. He got what he wanted. He really must have hugged himself that night. I certainly didn’t. And when the time came to face the consequences, he ran away.”

“I guess I get now why you punched him,” I said.

“Take some samples of that wooden doll for Abdul,” Nightingale said, tossing us abruptly back into the present. “I hope you thought to bring a forensic bag.”

----

Mellenby took the news that he was undeniably himself pretty well. It was just about the only thing that went right that afternoon.

It all started going sideways when we got back to the Folly and ran into Molly in the atrium, as was often the case. When Nightingale asked her where David was, she pointed a finger downwards, indicating the basement, and I swear to god all colour went out of Nightingale’s face within a single second.

“Molly, he’s not... in the old lab, is he?”

Molly nodded.

I think me still being there was the only reason Nightingale didn’t break into a sprint.

I followed him as he power-walked down the stairs and down the hallway leading to the laboratories. Most of them were still unused to this day, but Nightingale stopped in front of a particular door. It was quite a solid door, but I was a bit unsettled by the silence beyond it. I knew Nightingale and I were thinking the same thing.

I kept my eyes fixed on his back, the tense line of his shoulders in the sturdy tweed he considers his work suit, as he reached out for the doorknob. I could spot a slight tremor in that hand. I heard his breath, a bit heavier than normal. For a moment, his hand hovered, an eternity caught in a second. Then he seemed to snap out of it, and in one decisive movement he turned the handle and wrenched the door open.

The air was stale in the room beyond, evidence of how long it had been in disuse. Most of the furniture had been covered by dust sheets, now torn down and haphazardly stacked in a corner. One of the closets was open, revealing dusty, out-of-date equipment. There were several desks, the surfaces tiled, the wooden lab benches shoved underneath worn smooth by continuous use decades ago. There was an ancient enamel sink with faucet, what had, in the old days, probably passed for an eye wash station. And there, by the ancient sink, David Mellenby was patiently and intently cleaning a beaker.

“David,” Nightingale said. It came out in one big whoosh of air.

Mellenby looked up. Today he was wearing a jumper over his shirt, overlarge and a bit worn, but cozy-looking. “Thomas!” he exclaimed with a smile, “And Peter... Constable Grant... hello.” So he wasn’t sure what to call me either. The feeling was mutual.

“You don’t intend to use this lab again, do you?” Nightingale demanded. Mellenby’s smile fell against the banked emotion in his voice, and whatever he saw gleaming in his eyes.

“It’s my laboratory,” he said. “Of course I intend to put it back to use. You left everything as it was, correct?”

“I suppose I can’t keep you from your... work, huh,” Nightingale said.

“You’re keeping me from my magic already.” Mellenby tugged at the cuffs he still was made to wear. “There’s not much I can do here without it, but... I must work. I must experiment. I know why you’re hesitant about it, believe me I do understand your doubts exactly, but I can’t not do my job.”

“You don’t have a job here now,” Nightingale remarked. Ouch, I thought. Me, I would be stung if someone - if he - told me that.

Evidently, Mellenby was too. But he only amended, “Say my calling, then.”

“Your calling.” Nightingale exhaled forcibly. “I can see there’s no stopping you. But, in here?”

“Why not? I always used this room.”

“You scared me,” Nightingale admitted. “When I heard you were down here... goodness, David, what was I supposed to think?”

“Now, it’s not... you know now nothing actually ever happened in here. I can move past that, can’t you?” Mellenby turned, and devoted his attention to the beaker in his hands again. He finished dusting it off, and reached for another one.

“Move past that! Just like that, hm? Of all the obstinate, insensitive--”

“You’re calling me insensitive? Ever since I got back here, you’ve been impossible, posturing like some--”

“Oh, now I’m posturing? It’s morbid, that’s all...”

“It’s not like anyone ever actually died in here, you know! But I suppose you command where I go within your Folly--”

Mellenby had said that last resolutely glaring at the vial he was polishing. Nightingale stepped into his space and slapped it out of his hand. Glass shattered all over the floor. Such a rash, aggressive, juvenile gesture from Nightingale shocked me.

“Now you look here, David--”

I ducked out of the door, not least to avoid the glass shards, but moreso to avoid this absolute scene. Molly was hovering a few steps from the door, hands clenched into her dress and a worried look on her face.

I gave her a frown of sympathy, and we both shrugged, because what can one do?

Something else shattered within the laboratory, and I chanced a quick peek inside, fearing that they were full-on fighting now. They were pressed up against a desk, hands clenched in each other’s lapels, kissing furiously, and I mean furiously.

It was a good thing they’d stopped noticing me a while ago, because I couldn’t stop staring if they’d paid me to. It’s not every day you get to see Nightingale be anything but unflappable, and to see him now, my distant, regal guv’nor, all but wrapped around another bloke, one of David’s hands in his hair, messing up that careful side-part, tugging to what I imagined was the point of pain, to hear him muffle some noise against David’s lips, ugh, well...

Feeling a bit hot under the collar suddenly for some reason, I turned back to Molly, who had arched an eyebrow but was looking no less worried.

“God, what the fuck,” I said to her. “Were they always like that?”

Molly shook her head. It occurred to me that of course, she’d already worked and lived here since before the 1920s, she’d know - perhaps - what they had been like.

“Wonder what it was like,” I said, not knowing what I was expecting from her. Did I want her to, what, whip out a notebook and start taking down the story?

Then Molly did something... weird.

For a moment she paused, her head cocked as if she were deliberating something. Then she suddenly grabbed me, something she had never done before, and she was very close, and I could see all her teeth, and--

I  was stood in the same hallway, but different, observing from the outside, somehow. Molly was no longer in front of me, but on the stairs holding a broom, sweeping down. Just to test my hypothesis on what was happening here, I went up to her and waved a hand in front of her face. She didn’t react. So this was... elsewhere, elsewhen, even with her looking like the same old Molly.

I heard steps down the stairs and soon a young man appeared, one I had some initial trouble recognizing as Nightingale. I put this Nightingale in his early thirties at most, and not only was he not nearly as buttoned up as the Nightingale of the present, his whole demeanor was markedly different. There was a skip in his step, that smile on his face that made him look all of fourteen openly and permanently displayed, his hair artfully ruffled rather than strictly parted. There was a carelessness to him that was, to me, entirely alien.

“Hello, Molly,” said the Other Nightingale. “Is he in?”

Molly nodded.

“I’ll just...” He maneuvered himself past her on the stairs with a natural, fluid grace. “...pop on in then.”

Molly put a finger to her lips. The Other Nightingale laughed.

“Yes, yes, careful. I know, I’m always careful. You keep an eye on the hallway, yes? Splendid.” He sauntered, I noticed, towards the same door I had just exited. Halfway there, he turned around again. “Thanks, Molly. Don’t know what we’d do without you.”

Molly shook her head, in a display of fondness, I thought.

The laboratory, when he went in, was different, all surfaces clean to the point of shining, not a speck of dust in sight, but very much in use. All kinds of equipment and folders with notes covered the desks, all but one at which Mellenby was working. He was in a lab coat, and also looked younger, but it was undeniably him. He was doing something fiddly with a pipette and large petri dish, in which some unknown liquid was currently drying.

“Davey, thought I’d find you in here,” Nightingale said, giving Mellenby a fetching grin, which was met with an absentminded smile. Mellenby looked up from his work with an expression in his eyes that communicated both preoccupation and inordinate fondness.

“Ah, good morning, Thomas.”

“Morning? It’s almost noon.” Nightingale sat down on a lab bench as if he was in the habit to, like he was in and out of here every other day. “Been holed up in here since before breakfast, have you?”

“Yes, I’m... afraid I missed it, didn’t I?” Mellenby crossed the room from one desk to another, scribbling something in an open notebook. “I was going to go up and grab a bite to eat, but time got away from me.”

“And you with your nice new watch.”

“Hmmm.” Mellenby picked up another notebook, leafing through it. For a while he worked silently, peering at samples of something through a microscope and taking notes. Nightingale observed him with an expression of good-natured ignorance on his face, but I saw him grow bored by degrees. Soon he adjusted his tie, shifted in his seat and ran a hand through his hair. Only when he huffed theatrically, a bit of a pout on his face, did I understand that he was preening for his boyfriend’s attention, and I was glad they couldn’t hear the sudden laugh this shocked out of me.

When he wasn’t getting what he wanted, Nightingale leaned back on the lab bench in now starkly evident boredom and cast a tiny werelight. He popped impello and something else on it that I wasn’t familiar with, which enabled him to bounce the werelight off the table and into his palm like a small, glowing tennis ball. He did that a few times and then started shifting it between his fingers, obviously just fidgeting to keep himself occupied.

It got Mellenby to pay attention to him at last. “Thomas, stop. Your magic in here might taint the emulsion.”

“Oh, by all means.” Nightingale extinguished the werelight, looking just slightly put out. “I’ll get out of your hair, then, lest I taint your emulsion.”

That finally got Mellenby to put his many notebooks down. “Is something wrong, Thomas?”

Nightingale sighed. “Nothing. Well...”

Mellenby rounded the table, until he was stood directly in front of Nightingale, resting those large, clear eyes on him. They weren’t touching, anyone barging in would have seen nothing but an intent conversation between friends. But to someone in the know, which I was, there was a sort of intimacy in it, in how they leaned so close together. “Well?”

“I’m only in the country for another week. Once I leave, we might not see each other for half a year. I was hoping we might do something together, something other, that is, than me watching you work.”

“Oh.” Mellenby looked startled. “Oh songbird, oh no. Of course I want to go out with you, these experiments are rather time-sensitive, that’s all.”

“Well, you knew a month in advance when I’d be at the Folly. Yet you simply had to start a time-sensitive experiment just now. If it’s something I did, will you please let me know?”

Mellenby inhaled sharply. “Oh dear. You’re right, that was thoughtless of me. Of course you did nothing wrong. I’m overjoyed to have you here, to talk to you in person, to... just to see you. I was simply so enthusiastic about getting results here, I clean forgot we didn’t have all that much time.” For just a second, he leaned in, resting his forehead against Nightingale’s. “I’ll see if I can wrap up here by tomorrow, alright? Will you forgive me?”

“Tomorrow? But yesterday you said it would take several--”

“There’ll be time enough to start anew once you’re back in Lahore. And I’ll tell you what.” Mellenby disengaged, stepping back behind his desk and retrieving a folded piece of paper from a drawer. “This is a letter from my father. He owns this hunting lodge, out in the countryside. Not that he goes there anymore, on account of his injury. He’s been asking and asking me to go out and check on it. Next time you’re in the country, we could go there together. Hmm? Make a real holiday of it.”

Nightingale cocked his head. “You don’t even like to hunt.”

“We wouldn’t have to. It’ll be us two and the wilderness. Nice fishing pond, too. No one else for miles. Just you and me and a sizeable bed at our disposal.”

“What...” Nightingale lowered his voice to a near-whisper, “Share a bed?”

Mellenby grinned. “If we take enough provisions along, we won’t have to get up for days.”

“Davey!” I swear, not once has Nightingale ever been this gleeful in my presence. He swept around the desk and caught Mellenby in a hug, tilting his head to bring their lips together.

“Thomas!” David hissed. “If someone sees!”

“No one’s here to see,” Nightingale murmured against his lips. “No windows. Molly’s outside watching the door. Come on, just this once. Admit it, you’ve always wanted me in here.”

Mellenby huffed out a startled little laugh. “More to the point, you’ve wanted me in here. Distract me from my work like the menace you are.” Even as he said it, he was backing them up against the desk, hands coming around to rest on Nightingale’s backside and squeezing.

“Mh.” Another kiss, this one deeper, hungrier. “My diligent scientist. I would never.”

“Liar. Tease.” Mellenby stifled a moan, eyes falling closed as Nightingale’s thigh rubbed up between his legs. “Oh- songbird. My sweet songbird.”

I was pretty sure where this was going, and that I didn’t necessarily need to see any more. Thankfully, Molly seemed to share my view, or maybe she too had stopped watching at this point back then. In any case, I felt a sudden, painful, nauseating tug, and I stood out in the hallway again with Molly’s cold, bony hands on my forearms. She let go of me immediately and took a step back, as if apprehensive, maybe afraid she’d overstepped. Had she wanted to share this memory so badly? And most importantly, how had she done that? I leaned against the wall. I was dizzy.

Just as I decided to go upstairs and maybe sit down for a bit, Nightingale came back out of the lab. He gave me and Molly a somewhat quizzical look. He was just slightly ruffled, his tie a bit askew, his lips... oh dear... his lips red and slightly raw from kissing.

“What are you two still doing out here?” he asked.

Molly gave him a look that in essence communicated that she wasn’t standing here for any particular reason, that she did have every right to stand here, that she was going to stop standing here anyway, that she had much better things to do than stand here, and anyway who was he to ask? Then she turned and swept off.

I settled for a simpler shrug.

“Was there anything you needed, Peter?” Nightingale asked me. Behind him, Mellenby stuck his head out of the door. His lips also were very pink and plump, the lower one even bleeding a little. My boss had bitten someone bloody. It should have just been ridiculous, but it sent a chill down my back.

“It’s nothing, sir,” I said. “I was headed for...” Well, what would I be headed for? I’d followed him down here in the first place because I, too, had been worried about this bloke I’d known for a little over two days now. The gym, I might say, because that was this way, or the firing range. But honestly I didn’t feel up to actually going either of these places. I’d already dug a huge hole, unearthed a coffin, and been subject to whatever Molly had just done to me. All I wanted was a break.

“I was going back upstairs,” I said. “If there’s nothing else on, I’ll just be in the tech cave.”

Nightingale nodded. “Do go. You look a tad... worn.”

And you look kissed. I didn’t say that, but I got embarrassingly close. It was weird, how my eyes kept wandering towards his lips. Could I spot a remnant of some moisture there? From Mellenby’s mouth? And why did I care, anyway? It was weird, watching Nightingale get handsy with his boyfriend in Molly’s memory had done nothing to or with me. That had been a stranger I’d been watching, a person I’d never known, not my... not the Nightingale I was familiar with. But the man right in front of me right now was very, very real.

And... so what? He was allowed to have a life, I guessed.

----

Bev was in class right then, but she still answered my texts. How are things at the Folly? she wanted to know.

Still no new case for us, I told her.

I meant the Nightingale and his boyfriend situation.

It’s like watching a telenovela but with old white men, I texted her back. All cattiness and dramatic fight scenes and wild accusations and throwing stuff around. But old white men.

I didn’t tell her about my strange recent observations on Nightingale’s lips; it wouldn’t have been fair on her. Or would it? I needed more time to think about it, and at the same time, I wanted to avoid investing any further thought in it at all. I mean, why did all this even weird me out so much? Sure, I’d never seen Nightingale with anyone before, romantically, nor had he ever mentioned anything like that. But we weren’t attached at the hip, were we? We spent plenty of time apart, during which he might have gotten up to conceivably anything. Why did that thought seem so strange?

I just wasn’t used to thinking of Nightingale like that, I supposed, precisely because I never saw him... date, or whatever, and he never spoke about it. He had seemed, to me, as completely platonic as, say, Molly, or a potted fern, or a lamp. Objectively a good-looking bloke, sure, but I’d pegged him as completely uninterested in any of that. Well, you know someone until you don’t, as experience had proven.

If anything, I reckoned that while I’d been out looking for fun, I had pictured Nightingale in the Folly as always, reading... a slim volume of metaphysical poetry, or something, or sitting in a wall closet plugged into a charger until duty called. Well, maybe that was a bit much. The man wasn’t a robot. He was... he was an institution, was what he was. Nightingale was the Folly. I’d just supposed whenever I was out with Bev, or Lesley back in the day or even Simone, Nightingale would be... here. Not going anywhere. Always waiting.

(Waiting for what?)

(Waiting for me to come back...?)

I dwelled a bit on Molly’s memory, the one she had shared with me. She’d chosen a good one to get her point across. Nightingale and Mellenby had once been a normal couple: in secret, sure, given the times, but still... a normal couple who had pet names, made plans, bantered lovingly, had problems sometimes but talked them out in a level-headed and harmonious way. There was nothing level-headed about that mess now.

It’s not my relationship drama, I reminded myself once again. Sure, the novelty of Nightingale having a love life drove me to pay attention to it, but really it was none of my business.

I was thinking about just taking a look at what was on TV, when I remembered I had a Latin translation yet to finish. I groaned and reached for my textbooks when I heard somebody knock at the door.

Assuming it was probably Nightingale, I called out, “Come on in,” and went to open the door, which revealed David Mellenby instead. He looked... serious, grave.

“Thomas said you would be up here,” he said.

“Anything I can do for you?” I asked.

He nodded. “There’s something I’d like to discuss. May I come in?”

I stepped aside and let him enter. He wandered into the room, momentarily distracted by the changes I’d made to the tech cave. His eyes caught on my laptop that functioned as a HOLMES terminal and then the flatscreen mounted to the wall. “What is that?” he asked.

“It’s a television.” At least he’d picked the easier one to explain. If he’d wanted an intro to computers, we’d most likely be sat here until tomorrow.

“They’ve changed a lot, it seems,” Mellenby remarked. “This must be almost like the cinema.”

“Guess that’s the goal,” I said. “Feel free to come up here if you ever want to watch anything.” It wasn’t like I’d be getting as much use out of it as I once had, what with Bev capital e Expecting and everything. I’d started to wonder, lately, whether I’d soon move into her house completely, and take all of my stuff from the Folly. But Bev probably wouldn’t let me set up a HOLMES terminal at her house, and the Folly was still very much my nick, and would remain so especially if we got new apprentices in at some point in a vaguely defined future, and I simply didn’t have it in me to deprive Nightingale and Molly of their means to watch the rugby or the bakeoff respectively. I wondered idly what Mellenby would want to watch. Documentaries, maybe, or he and Nightingale could cuddle up on the couch and stream Queer Eye. I almost chortled out loud.

“Thanks,” Mellenby said, maybe a bit stiffly. “Much obliged.”

“Hey, not a problem. Um, you said you wanted to talk about something?”

“Yes.” He took a deep breath, as if fortifying himself. “Earlier, in the basement, you were stood before my laboratory. What did you see?”

I wondered where he was going with this. “Drywall?”

“No.” He sighed. “There’s no beating around the bush. Did you see Thomas and myself...?”

“Oh. Did I see you make out? Yeah.”

Mellenby grew pale. “God, I knew this would happen someday.” He was starting to wring his hands.

A bit belatedly, I remembered what he must be thinking now. “I don’t mind,” I said. The treacherous “Many of my friends are gay” was at the tip of my tongue, but I didn’t get to say that, or anything else, because within the blink of an eye, something about Mellenby seemed to... change. Within a second, he grew from nervously agitated to deeply, deadly calm.

“Thomas has rebuilt a life here,” he said, stepping forward. There was something in his eyes, something... wrong, like he wasn’t... wholly here, mentally. “I will not have anyone endanger that now. We have made it this far.”

He raised a hand, and I could feel that gush-of-air buildup of his signare again and it took no thought at all to raise up a shield as I propelled myself behind the couch and ducked and-- nothing. Whatever forma he’d been trying to build was suddenly, abruptly aborted.

Only then did I remember the inhibitor cuffs.

And then the door slammed open, and there was Nightingale, followed on his heels by Molly, and he threw his larger, much more impressive shield between us, and he was livid, I could see it in his face.

“Stand down!” he barked at David, who was so startled he snapped into parade rest. “See, this is why the bloody cuffs stay on!”

He peered over the backrest of the couch down at me, crouched on the floor in a defensive position. “You stand down too,” he said in a much softer voice. “Are you hurt?”

“No, sir.” And thank god all the electronics had been powered down too, I couldn’t afford a new laptop right now. Well, my phone had been on, I’d been using it to text Beverley. Another one ruined. “Just my phone.”

He waved that off. ”I’ll buy you a new one. Are you otherwise alright?”

Was I alright? My first response had been to duck, to make a shield, to defend, and it had come startlingly swiftly, without consulting my brain at all. Otherwise I would have remembered that Mellenby was unable to cast anything. “Well, my therapist will hear about this.”

Nightingale muttered something that sounded like “sorry to hear it” and gave me an absentminded pat on the shoulder as he turned back towards David. “And you! What were you thinking, trying to attack my apprentice?”

At some point, Mellenby had sunk into a squat on the floor. He was now staring down at his hands and avoiding Nightingale’s eyes. It was like all that power I had just now seen and felt in him had poured away again. “He said he saw us... earlier... I was just so scared.”

“I clearly remember telling you that Peter can be trusted with anything you’d trust me with,” Nightingale said sharply. “Including...” He gestured between them. “...this.”

“I didn’t... I forgot. I was just so scared,” Mellenby repeated. “And then for a moment it was like I was... back there.”

“In combat? Hmmm.” A tad gentled, Nightingale put a hand on David’s shoulder and guided him to sit on the couch. “I see, but there is really nothing to be scared of here.”

Mellenby looked exhausted. I doubted Nightingale’s words really registered. Of course, we should have probably considered that he’d be in a volatile mental state seeing as the war was still, to him, very recent. Besides, I doubted Nightingale had had the time or capacity to sit him down for a recent history lecture.

I tried to feel the scope of it all like he had. All the hiding, the extralegal nature of their relationship back then. All that sneaking around. Punishable by jail time, Nightingale had said. If anyone sees... keep an eye on the hallway... it was a lot. Suddenly, I wanted to be the one to give David the good news.

“It’s not a crime anymore, you know,” I said.

Mellenby looked up at me, pure incomprehension and confusion in his face. “What?”

“Oh, yes. That’s true,” Nightingale said, his hand still on David’s shoulder. “They decriminalized same-sex relations in the sixties. We don’t go to jail for it anymore.”

Mellenby sat in silence, mouth opening and closing for a moment. He looked like a guppy. “You’re telling me... what? When?”

Nightingale rubbed a thumb across David’s shoulder, and for a moment it looked like everything would be okay. “July 27th, 1967. That was the day. Just shortly after I started growing younger. When I tell you I wept over the newspaper.”

“What... does that mean?” David asked. “Is it... we can... in public?”

“Indeed.” Nightingale gave him a lopsided half-smile. “You always did say it was all a temporary quirk of our society, that prejudice.”

Mellenby beamed. “I did say that! I knew that a more enlightened era would dawn someday, and that we’d leave all that behind. Everything is change!”

And just like that, Nightingale’s face turned solemn, and cool, and detached again. “Yes. And then there I was, experiencing the new era without you.” He got up. “I shan’t deal with this right now.”

And then he left.

He left me alone with his boyfriend.

Mellenby looked torn between a lot of different emotions. He seemed like he didn’t know what to feel or think first, much less what to do.

“I am deeply sorry,” he said at last. “If I’d known about... this... I wouldn’t have attempted to... attack you, good lord, Thomas is right, what was I thinking?”

“You literally called him ‘the man I fell in love with’ yesterday. I was right there. It’s... I knew.”

“Yes, I did, didn’t I,” he muttered. “How could I have forgotten? It’s as though I lost all control of my actions. All I felt was the panic. Someone having caught us...”

I wanted to say that it was probably at least partially a PTSD thing, but he wouldn’t have known what that was either. Besides, the poor guy did urgently need a crash-course on all the history he’d missed, and it didn’t look like Nightingale was up for it. Inwardly, I sighed. Another item for the to-do list.

“Is he telling the truth?” Mellenby then asked. “Is it... did they really... it’s not illegal now?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” At least here was something nice to talk about. “You know what, if you wanted to, you could walk down the street holding hands with Nightingale, and no one... well, I won’t pretend that some idiots might not still catcall. But no one can arrest you for it. They have flags now, and a pride parade every year where they celebrate being gay and having rights and stuff, and when someone discriminates against you, you can sue them.”

Mellenby sniffled. “A parade? Of people... ahem... people being like this? How many people would possibly attend such an event?”

“In a city like London?” I said. “Easily a million.”

He stared at me for a lengthy moment. Then he said, “I... never dared to imagine there were a million of us in all the world.”

That kind of got to me. How lonely he must have felt. “Welcome to the 21st century,” I said.

Mellenby shifted in his seat, I could see he still had a question. “And I could even... kiss him? On the street?” He asked this almost in a whisper, as if we were discussing some illicit, raunchy behavior.

I grinned at him and tried to imagine Nightingale being kissed on the street. “If he wants that.”

----

I wanted to go spend the rest of the day with Bev, finish my Latin homework with her curled up against my side while she studied for her midterm, in peace and quiet, and also explain to her why I’d stopped replying to her texts, and how I’d managed to break yet another phone. But when I tried to step out, Molly and Foxglove both lingered by the door and stared at me until I got the message. They weren’t comfortable being left alone, with tension steadily mounting until the air in the Folly seemed to hum with it. And, well, fuck. I thought about all the things I didn’t know about Molly, all the things I did know of Foxglove, and why they’d be nervous in such an environment. I couldn’t just leave them.

I texted Bev from a burner phone and did my Latin homework in the mundane library all by my lonesome, but by dinner I wished I’d left after all. There wasn’t much talking. Toby, who had been hesitant about Mellenby at first, had grown to adore him because unlike Nightingale, he’d feed him scraps from the table. Molly placed a giant shepherd’s pie on the table before us, and Mellenby chirped, “Oh, my favorite! Thank you, Molly.” and Nightingale sniffed disdainfully and said “I see how it is, Molly,” and otherwise, the only one who spoke up was me, to inform Nightingale that I had finished my translation and left it at his desk in the reading room. It seemed like whenever fate deigned to nudge the two of them back together, my guv’nor, with the keen eye of the true DCI, unearthed something else to be mad about.

I excused myself once I was done eating and left them to sit and stare at opposite walls or whatever it was they did. But I’d promised Molly and Foxglove that I wouldn’t just go back to Bev’s house, and I was going to have to keep that promise. So I made my way up to my room and settled in for a long night.

[inonezurights]

plot twist: nezuko is actually going to be the one to use the breath of sun technique. theres some evidence for this scattered about the manga but it mostly plays into kny’s ongoing theme of inheritance. 

evidence under the cut!:

1.) nezuko conquers the very sun itself. 

as a demon she is able to do the one thing muzan could never dream of accomplishing (despite using alchemy and various other methods to fix this set back to his conditional immortality)

2.) the markings that appear when she taps into her well of power. she becomes more demon-like but gains a monumental power boost.

nezuko doesnt eat humans. my theory is that this is her demon slayer mark (you could argue that its just a demon mark but it makes more sense for it to be a demon slayer mark) vine-like marks appear all over her body. we know later on in the manga when demon slayer marks are revealed, that they come in all shapes and sizes.

her vines resemble gyomei’s marks in a way. demon slayer marks arent limited to a certain size or shape or only showing up in one location on the body.

3.) spider lily.

relates to the above point. ufotable sums it up best visually in the kimetsu no yaiba end theme sequence. nezuko is associated with spider-lilies. in the manga muzan is turned into a demon by a doctor through the use of a medication muzan’s spent centuries attempting to recreate. 

the medication held a key ingredient- blue spider lily. but a freshly turned muzan killed the doctor before learning its secrets, thinking it didnt work.

the vine-like demon slayer marks on nezukos body may be a reference to this!

4.) A: nezukos blood demon art. 

okay before we get into this.. lets clear up some things about breath of fire vs breath of sun.

all breaths are derived from the breath of sun. its creator, yoriichi tsugikuni did his best to teach as many swordsmen his talent but no one could perfectly recreate it. 

rengokus family utilized breath of fire. 

tanjiro remembers his fathers dance of the fire god in a near-death battle against rui. but... he was unable to sever ruis head by himself. the breathing technique took too much out of him 

(despite his father telling him theres a way to breathe where you wont grow tired even after hours of vigorous activity. tanjiro’s father being a frail man usually seen bedridden before his death but able to dance barefoot in the snow for hours)

just like tanjiros father comes to him in a near-death hallucination, nezukos will is awakened by her mother’s visage telling her tanjiro is in danger. she activates her blood demon art.

the ability for her blood to burn demons or take on an explosive quality.

its only by nezuko coating ruis strings in her blood, weakening them so tanjiro can actually cut through them.

this moments badass and turns the tides in the series but it almost takes a back seat to tanjiros dance of the fire god. its plainly there but the intrigue of his new sword style captivates the audience.

tanjiro and nezuko are the generation destined to end a cycle of hate. 

tanjiro inherited yoriichi’s hanafuda earrings.. but nezuko inherited his will and breath style. the ancestral memories tanjiro witnessed depict young yoriichi as the younger twin sibling to the first upper moon, kokushibou. 

young yoriichi is naturally talented with the sword but doesnt enjoy it like his older brother. instead opting to protect and support the weak around him (for instance their sickly mother. young yoriichi acting as a crutch for her)

(”youre weaker than your little demon sister. but anyways, youre pathetic!! You’re the big bro, so you ought to be the one protecting your little sis, not the one being protected.”

“Hey, man. How do you feel now? You’re alive, pathetic and alone. Your last ray of hope pretty much used up all her strength.”) the above page paralleling the plight of the twins.

during the fight with kokushibou he expresses similar sentiments. hes alive but hes all alone and pathetic, never able to surpass his human brother who died gracefully.

also, nezuko is often in a defensive / healer / support role like her twin counterpart. 

4.) B: Fire vs. Sun & Nezuko’s other blood demon art

Shinobu points out that theres a difference between the breath of flame and breath of sun / fire and to never refer to the breath of flame as the breath of fire. she tells him that he’ll have to speak to rengoku about it

taken from the wiki: “The kanji for "sun" (日ひ hi?) has the same pronunciation as the kanji for "fire" (火ひ hi?).”

nezuko’s other blood demon art is burning demonic poison out of inosuke and uzui

its an advanced form of the technique she uses to wake up tanjiro and the others on the infinity train!

5.) whats in a name? 

nezuko and tanjiros names. taken directly from the wikipedia:

“ The first part of her first name means "red bean" (禰豆ねず nezu?), and is also part of the Japanese word for a flower, the Japanese Snowball(五禰豆ごねず gonezu?). The second part is a common female name suffix, which translates to "child" (子こ ko?). “

nezukos name essentially means “flower child” further proving her connection to the blue spider-lily and it being an intentional detail. also interesting to note with her demon slayer marks.

“ His first name contains the kanji for "charcoal" (炭たん tan?), "to heal" (治じ ji?) and "son, male" (郎ろう rō?), which is also a common male name suffix. “ 

throughout the series tanjiro is shown to be a healer.

he heals urokodakis pain of losing his beloved students. he defeats the hand demon and releases all the dead childrens’ spirits.

he welcomes zenitsu as a travel companion and doesnt abandon him, becoming zenitsus first friend and a motivation for him to stay in the demon slayer corps. 

he earns inosukes respect and helps teach him what its like to live not just for the sake of survival. 

he heals giyuu who still blames himself for his sister’s death as well as sabitos. hes able to push giyuu to forgiving himself and working past his mental block

he even helps get genya and his brother sanemi to the point where they can understand one another again. he gives them that push

he heals shinobu. allowing her to know her older sister’s wish and legacy will be carried out even without shinobu there to ensure it. shes able to commit to her plan of taking in a lethal dose of wisteria poison so she can take douma out. 

he heals the rift in rengokus family with rengokus dying request. even leaving while still injured to speak with the deceased pillar’s surviving family. comforting rengokus little brother.

he helps kanaos heart awaken, giving her the push to do what she wants without the flip of a coin. its through his dedication and kindness he earns her respect

some examples with demons:

he shows mercy to ruis “mother” (killing her gently when he realizes she welcomes death to escape endless terror).

as rui dies he rests his hand on the boys back, realizing despite all the horrible things hes done, he was once a kid.

when confronting the drum demon kyogai (telling him his blood demon art was superb and treating his writing as if they werent trash by refusing to step on them) he allows the demon to remember who he was long ago.

he rolls the temari towards susamaru as she dies, wanting to play with her toy.

theres a few other examples but i think ive... made my point here.

6.) how?

like its creator, i believe breath of the sun came to nezuko naturally. its why shes able to rapidly gain strength in the heat of battle, why she doesnt need to consume humans. her will power is so strong (breath styles typically require self-discipline)

they even make a point of showing shes still breathing but asleep while tanjiro trains.

a style of breathing where the user can move without losing stamina... thats nezukos secret. 

this is how she will defeat muzan and try to save tanjiros life!!!

conclusion: tanjiros a red herring change my mind