#silver plated carousel

[yourcoffeeguru]

Vintage Money Box CAROUSEL by Jamine made Hong Kong Fine Quality Silverplate || SWtradepost - ebay

[mylunajewel]

Vintage Money Box CAROUSEL by Jamine made Hong Kong Fine Quality Silverplate // swtradepost - SHOP

[thelegendofefscot]

/:\ I /:\

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Es ist gefährlich, alleine zu gehen! Ich werde dich mitnehmen! - AGRIPPA

-.- ( o ) -.-

Eyes awake. Before dawn, you were the only light.

In the pitch, your hand crept along the soft-shaved edges of the wood as a caterpillar clinging to a branch.

As though by the probing of some unseen, but always sifting feeler, you let yourself be guided to the matchbook and flint. Ricochets off your roundabout wrists as the serrated edges fly through the abyss in an invisible arc iotas before your eyes. Caught in the slits of well-oiled hinges. Fanning and descending. Ascending and catching.

A rush of air swift as the cry of a slain spirit, the phosphorous roars to life. From the din of the spark, all whispers leave your ears, some shimmer of the linen, some sheer of the weave, distinguishes itself from the brickwork of the wall, and all the world is lines and edges, as you -- cradling flame in hand, by the shield of your young and calloused paw -- guide the light to the candlewick, to see it smolder and part the dark.

Rising to the edge of the bed, your head falls forward, and in your guts some corrosion anchors and boils, some dross in the crucible dissipates, the nausea rising, and in a daze you silently watch the flame revolve through a carousel of hexagonal lenses, stupefied by some omen of disturbed sleep, still half-clinging to memory, some guilt of the previous day -- dimming your vision, yet not crystallizing into sight.

You were up. You were down. The stones cold against your palms. You kissed them. Pore smooth to pert of lip til, by the flickering light, you could see them beaded with the splattering of your sweat, feel some waters running down the ridges of your obliques, hand-irrigated to the iron-cut marble-sculpted civic sewers of your abdominal ridges.

Up. Down. Up. Down.

You held the pattern. Held the tension. Until the ache of your chest, the pressure on your back -- the burning lead in your arms -- outpaced the morass of what still clung to your sleep-addled brain. Your sight was sharp. Protracted. Magnifying every grain of the porous stone.

Now you stood. By your own light, you knew this darkness.

Your room as you'd left it. A desk to dedicate yourself to what studies you were able. Your tablet. Your lead. A reed and drum to practice rhythm and percussion. Anvil and plates for variation in stance and pressure.

Uncluttered chambers gave way to an uncluttered procession of thought, freeing one of distraction before sleep, shine and task.

You let yourself linger -- on the hand-illustrated portrait on a sheet of goat-skin which was your latest. Though perforated by increasingly pin-point exposure to high-velocity arrowheads, you could still admire the finer details of vein, anatomy and perspective which gave this muddy and frenzied abstraction some semblance of daemonic reptiloid form, which cemented it -- at certain half-glances -- as startlingly real.

The door was to your left. You went through.

In the halls, the smell of the seas swept through the open archways, the columns still framing what shone of the descent of the moon, the smells of salt and storm rising from the battering surf, bathing the portico in dissimilar silver which was as muted as the steam which rose from your body as you marched, loined in your undergarments, still tarred with the grime of sweat and sleep, into the song of the rolling sea.

Plunging down. A vastness so dense, a murk so thick, though you could peer miles ahead, you could not penetrate by sight one hand before your eyes, though leagues below there were no floors -- only drops and steps, a maw of trenches into which one would fall only through what folly they willed, and yet tempted themselves seemingly always so willingly.

Pulling up. The grey so dense, all light snapped and banded. A shield which was the bow of a ship, ceramic in the lattice of seafoam, held howling waters in invisible skins, stiff and glossy as the fold of an always-crying eye, from which crystal spires sliced the scintillated pulp.

You would trudge. Trudge forward until the feeling relented.

Though your arms hung heavy and your back unracked itself, your legs propelled forward by the frenzy of unstationed liberty, and in your heart and in your head, you could not dispel some deeper certainty pertaining to what you had dreamt -- some notion sliding over awareness sleek and deceitful as a tasseled curtain skimming tiled floors upon retreat, beckoning always hidden chambers in which you longed to lie awake.

When you were dreaming -- it was already tomorrow.

At his desk, he sat with his back to the window. At his vanity, you peered into the mirror, seeing past him, and looking out the window.

Looking through the window, back at him. Back at yourself in the vanity.

He had removed the stopper from the vial of ink. An albatross dived into the flowing obsidian. Beaches arose from around the rim.

The room seemed temporarily bereft of doors.

Only upon noticing the lack of doors, and the lack of certainty you felt with regard to the windows, did it occur to you to question if you had known this room at all, for it had no immediate analogue in memory, and yet you experienced it with a familiarity so placid you would never think to question it, but for your now inability to place any of the specific details of the architecture into a viable chronology of sequential experience.

In the black well, his quill was stirring.

You were certain you could trust in your own certainty, certainly.

A man who was not capable of acting with certainty by exercising his own judgement could be driven mad in the attempt to humor all-manner of obscene fringe possibilities and non-probabilities, and yet certainty was often a symptom of diligent experiential procedure, and if a man could not trace his circumstances or his whereabouts, and so account to himself as to how he'd gotten in the position he's in -- and why -- it's not likely he would be as capable of acting with the certainty he needs to permit himself the bold action necessary to complete the task at hand.

Certainty reveals itself in practice, with keen observance and certain considerations. Watch and permit yourself. You will attain union with the sensible through surrender to the sensory, when all is censured in you.

From his desk, he could see into his vanity. Were the back of your head not there, he could peer into his own face, miniaturized by the distance.

Had you turned his desk to the window, you could see the back of his head. He could stare out, at his own face, so close behind the glass.

Had you turned his vanity from the mirror, you could be facing him. Eye to eye. A flurry of silent tongues. A flutter as he dropped his pen.

He would look up from his notes. He would smile.

On your knees, you would be already at his feet. He would forget. His hand would brush his face. He would think himself arbitrary in the abuses of his station, enfeebling himself by acceptance of your voluntary surrender, and yet sultry and half-resigned to stagnation.

He would be slow to contradict himself.

He would be on his knees near-simultaneous with you. His hand would brush yours as you seized his pen.

Down here. In the shelter of the hardwood, the heat of the air hangs heavy with veils of dust, kicked up by the pressures of your breath and his. The current quickened to a stream. His smile echoed yours and yours too his, losing sight of him as your eyes sire freshwater springs. You fail to look away as you can only dare , with the hand he did not pin, which did not cradle what was rightfully his -- with your free hand, throwing the weight of your arm around his broad and brotherly shoulders, feeling the mutual collision of your cheek and collarbones; for you longed most to affirm your kinship, so taken by the passion it propelled you out of time, out of space, that you arose prematurely to bash your skull against the stiff and impenetrable underside of your new and hard-won covenant.

A vessel spun, leaping of its own volition to shatter to the floor, cresting out a wave of emblems, hues of molten ore all his likeness.

Warm exhalations of laughter. A morning breeze billowed from his nostrils. Soft percussion flattened the air from his lungs.

The tears were running down your cheeks. You could see clearly soon.

He saw you well-enough. His hand clasping yours.

"For you have been with me so long, and have come to treat me so well, I would forsake any obligation to the contrary. For though it may be, at this juncture, too much for me to endure, I can make no claim of you, for you are not me, though a gift to me and this land. You remain, in spite of my uncertainties, a man of rare moral courage, and virtues the like of which I had not henceforth found perceptible. Do me this honor, for you could do me none greater. For though it aches, and though it is leaden, I wish to let it lay here now upon your brow... That I may see it ablaze upon you?"

On the beach, veils of steam poured off your arms. Veins puckering as worms fresh from the morning soil, taut as lute strings in the skin.

Beneath the soles of your feet, rock crystal studded palm clusters in the warm sand. The land glowed, by the torrent of the storm which would herald the dawn. The moonscape of cinnabar and sulfur, torches in conical welt, a banner of seaweeds braided and battered.

Howling roared around you.

An eye saw little and all. The air parted and danced, cleaving itself into embers. Cloister-bursts and toad caps of billowing fire.

It was becoming clear.

You were with him -- some moments later -- in the hall.

You were looking for the doors. It wasn't that you wanted to run. You needed to be certain -- you could escort him out of any situation, be it strange or stranglehold. You needed to be certain this place you recognized was the place you were acting as though it were.

What you saw in front of you -- could be nowhere else.

The high windows shone in pale luminosity where all was more silver than light. More pastel than rustoxide, castiron and chrome.

Around them the walls were as a gradient, casting rays of vantage point onto themselves, emblazoning the deep singularity of every voided surface with an openness beckoning the impossibility of entry.

You would remain at his side. Though the walls were worlds within themselves, and the procession down the aisle a fog of faces which were only mouths, only limbs, some vestigial mass of pelt and pink meat more air coagulated from corrupted waters than living wills alive with love and fascination, the daring to dream and to deem. These tendril-masses of antennae, tooth and tine lay fit to constrict, to consume, to putrefy and puree, tear the fat fruit dangling overripe from these well-hung branches hanging so low, they let themselves forget only to spare themselves the anguish of confronting what futility was their own.

You would remain at his side.

You wouldn't be afraid. What reason would you have?

It was your will, to fight on. To fight on, even when he was gone.

Every step.

Every step you walked would hurt.

Words such as hurt, such as fear, as shame -- these registered nothing in the mind, only in the guts. There, on the nausea, you floated in the seas. Eyes peering up into the night, blacker than black waters, something in the ice, sweet and cloying as berries and barbitters. Your eyes were open. You moved. You were not pushed, for you were the pusher.

Endurance begot euphoria, and exhaustion was an unknown to you -- too distant a land to be staked in this life, or the lives of our sons.

You were not falling.

For you had carried him up the steps, and saw him above the neck, could still feel his clavicle warm and exposed to the sun. All around the airy chamber hummed, and the arches of the hall were open to the air, and the vault of the heavens descended by fire to columns of strut.

It was time. It belonged to you.

You bowed your head, and you bowed to him.

As your hand brushed his bone, basking so nakedly in your rightful humility, the quire lilted and clanged, some thunderhead of sound -- and in simultaneous trumpeting, you felt yourself rise higher, rise above him, out of the tabernacle of his seat, its columned panels, rising above the murals, past the carvings of the rosewood, down the steps of the pleated roots, the forking trunk which rose to spiraling tusks.

Upon his seat, he was sat and waiting.

Upon his seat he rose, and all the heavens billowed away as formulae from a blackboard, for a veil of dust had come between you, and before you the coils of the serpent faces hissed and snapped, and behind them he was standing, for you saw -- across the hall, he presented his head.

In hand, in yours, the light haloing out -- you could not believe, the actuality of the evident reality before you. The weight of the stars. The tones of metal above your palms. How they burnt, but did not scald, charred, but did not consume or corrugate the flesh.

Their eyes were on you. The eyes of the all in one.

His kingdom was there. His kingdom had come. You were the doer, now doing, and were not done. You were not falling. No matter how much you fell, or did not, you never seemed to reach him, though he was never getting farther, and yet must have been impossibly far.

What was that, some shade sulking the mid-distance? Some silhouette of an arm, airy and white, which seemed to rise lilting from the shadows? A smile hairline, beyond the cloak of your eye's own lenses?

Onto his, the vault of his crown. Every hair laureling out. The straw spun gold, ravished by wind and wheat to sun. From out a nest, it stared. An opalescence which swallowed the light as it polished its eggwhites.

You could not look away. Into it, whispers crystallized into cubical barbs.

Out of your hand -- you felt nothing.

In the vacuum, you were suspended without orbit or momentum. Before you had felt anything, you'd realized... you were holding on to nothing.

\ : / o ( ) o \ : /

The bottom of the drain. All flowing into.

A pearl around the rime. A spire of quartz.

Drifting grooves. Round the winding city walls.

( )

[evilelena]

Old bad 90210 fanfic, part 3

They are still in the jail. David grabs the sword from Suzanne and holds it to himself.

DAVID: Nobody move!

MARCHETTE: He's gotta sword!

DAVID: I'm tired of this life, if I can't have Brenda I don't want anybody.

GINA: But, David, I thought you loved me. I thought you wrote "You're So Precious to Me" for MEEEEEEE.

VALERIE: He told me he wrote it for me. (she frowns) He told me the same thing about "Baby It's You Girl".

GINA: They are really all for Donna. (says to Dylan-) He doesn't love me and neither do you.

DYLAN: Yah, I know. You're my girlfriend of convenience, but I really love Kelly.

BRANDON, COLIN, MATT, BILL TAYLOR: Me, too.

They all look at Bill.

BRANDON: Say what?

BILL: As a father, fool.

COP #1: I am starting to think you want to stay here.

GINA: Come on, Dylan.

Gina and Dylan leave.

MATT: Come on, Brandon, and you can work on your article for the Beat.

BRANDON: No, no, good buddy. My plate is already full as it is.

MATT: But everyone needs to find out about Lenny and Leah.

They leave, talking about Lenny and Leah. Muntz leaves wordlessly. David slowly puts the sword down.

DAVID: I will live for one more day.

He leaves. Colin, Valerie, and the others start to follow but the policeman pushes them back into the cell and the scene changes

Now we are at the Walsh house, and everyone is gathered in the living room. Noah, Donna, Steve, Janet, Dylan, Kelly, Ray, Jesse, and Ondrea are all playing poker. Hannah is giving Maddy a ride on the carousel horse.

ONDREA: Hannah, be careful with her, she just a baby.

JESSE: She is fine. Let her be.

JANET: Ondrea is right. Hannah, honey, put Maddy in her crib.

MATT: I will take her.

Matt takes Maddy and begins to cradle her.

KELLY: He will make such a good father. It's too bad I can't have kids.

ERIN SILVER, WHO IS ALSO THERE: I'm a kid.

KELLY: (smiles at Erin) I know you are, honey, want sone chocolate sundaes?

ERIN: No, they are too fattening.

KELLY: But you're so skinny!

DAVID: Jackie told her to watch her weight and they ate salad together after Jackie's face lift.

NOAH: Look, are you going to play the game or what.

Noah adjusts his yellow sunglasses.

STEVE: Oh, no, I lost!

Steve takes off his t-shirt.

ALL THE OLDER GIRLS: Whooooo!!!!

RAY: (to Jesse) So what can I get Donna and Max for?

MATT: It's Matt Durning, Attorney at Law, bozo, and I can get you back and send you to jail.

Donna leans over. Erin and Hannah giggle at that. Nobody knows why.

NOAH: Can those kids go to bed?

DONNA: You have to go to AA, Noah. Remember?

NOAH: (in a rush) Oh no, you are right, first AA meeting is tonight.

He runs away, tossing his glasses aside.

RAY: (to Jesse, sadly) My mother will be there. I poured all the alcohol out of the house but she got more frum the PPAD.

DONNA: (whispers-) I'm so sorry, Ray. How about I get out my violin.

She stomps off to cry in the kitchen. Ray stares after her.

RAY: I will get her.

Dylan and Steve and all the ones playing poker turn around.

STEVE: Quiet, Ray. We are concentrating.

He puts on Noah's glasses.

STEVE: Hay. These cards are marked.

He makes an operatic noise and the scene changes

Now Noah is walking back to his AA meeting and has a bottle of wine in a brown paper bag.

Inside are Ellen, LuAnn, Austin, and a few other people.

LUANN: Hello, my name is LuAnn Pruit, and I'm an alcoholic.

ALL THE PEOPLE AT AA: Hi, LuAnn.

Noah watches from the outside. He takes a sip of wine from his bag because he does not want to go in.

Next we go to a commercial, and when we get back it is back at Casa Walsh. The game of poker is over and the kids Hannah and Erin are asleep in sleeping bags on the floor (Maddy is in her crib). Kelly and Brenda and Ondrea and Donna and Janet are watching them.

BRENDA: Remember when I lived here and I had a slumber party.

KELLY: I remember that girl Amanda Peyser.

Donna makes a claw and they all giggle.

ONDREA: That was the first time I felt like your friend.

Janet smiles sympathetically.

JANET: Wasn't Yvonne Teasley supposed to drop by tonight?

DONNA: She had work to do at West Bev.

David walks over.

DAVID: I remember that slumber party, and me and my friend Scott came to take pictures.

His mind goes to a flashback in the hallway of West Bev, where Scott approaches wearing a cowboy hat.

SCOTT: David, good buddy.

The sound of a gun goes off.

SCOTT: David, good buddy.

A gun goes off again.

DAVID: (in flashback and real life) Nooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

DONNA: David are you alright?

(She is concerned because David is her soulmate.)

MADDY: (crying) WAAAAAAAAA!!!!!

JANET: Oh, he woke up the baby. (tells Maddy-) It's alright.

Janet takes Maddy and starts to carry her away. She opens the door.

JANET: I'm going to take her for a walk.

But standing at the door is Clare.

The girls all run over to see her, giggling and hugging her. Steve sees her, too.

He has a flashback to a party at Thanksgiving, with Clare and Chancellor Arnold and other grown-ups.

CLARE: (asks Steve in flashback-) Why are you so down on yourself?

Steve smiles sweetly in the flashback and in reality, and starts to walk over to Clare but trips and falls.

CLARE: Steve!

STEVE: (weakly) I think I broke my neck.

He springs up.

STEVE: Ha ha!

He makes an operatic noise that sounds like "Sha".

Clare giggles and talks about Paris while Janet glares at her.

JANET: (to Brenda) Who is that girl.

DONNA: That is Clare Arnold. She used to live in the beach house with Kelly and me and was Steve and David's girlfriend.

JANET: (sneers-) At the same time?

BRENDA: There's a word for a girl like that.

JANET: Not in front of the baby.

She glares at Clare, who is talking to David, Steve, and Donna. Ray walks past.

DONNA: Hay, look, everybody. Ray is here.

CLARE: (sarcastically, to David) How thrilling.

DAVID: (whispers loudly-) Maybe if we're lucky he brought his guitar and will serenade us.

DONNA: Jesse and Matt say we should work out our differences between Ray and us, so let go bowling.

CLARE: Oh, David. Don't we have to go to Betsy's surprise party?

RAY: Who is this Betsy chick?

CLARE: There is no Betsy.

RAY: You know. I don't need this. I don't need any of you.

STEVE: He wants to be our friend.

RAY: (pushes Steve) You're a jerk, Sanders. You're all jerks.

He glares at all the others.

RAY: I will make your lives miserable.

He leaves, and slams the door. Maddy cries. Clare smirks. Jesse murmurs to Matt. Everyone else stares in shock, and the scene changes.

Now it is at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center and Rush Sanders is standing over Ryan's bed. Ryan is still unconscious.

PETER: I'm afraid it doesn't look good.

JOE: What's going to happen to him? (he winces) My heart.

Peter rushes to tend to Joe.

RUSH: Ryan, wake up, wake up. Why are you doing this to me? You and your brothers always cause so much trouble. Was I that bad a father? Where is your brother Austin, oh, where?

The scene changes back to the AA meeting, where Austin is talking.

AUSTIN: Hello, my name is Austin Sanders, and I'm an alcoholic.

PEOPLE AT AA: Hi, Austin.

AUSTIN: (grins) And it is the life, baby!!!

The people at AA gasp. Ellen shakes her head, and when doing this she sees Noah outside.

ELLEN: S'Noah!

She runs outside, crying.

NOAH: Ellen.

He is drunk and speaking gibberish.

NOAH: 7, 8...9. Is that you, Donna?

ELLEN: (sobs-) Donna, Donna, I will never live up to her.

Noah watches Ellen run away and he thinks.

NOAH: (says out loud-) Maybe I should go in there. I don't want to be like her. Donna wouldn't want me to.

He walks inside.

NOAH: Hi, my name is Noah Hunter, and I'm an alcoholic.

AA MEETING: Hi, Noah.

LuAnn smiles and motions for Noah to sit next to her.

LUANN: I got a boy just your age.

NOAH: (drunk) How do you know how old I am?

LUANN: Wanna go to a bar? I want a kamikaze shot.

NOAH: Shot? (yells drunkenly-) MY FATHER SHOT HISSELF! (quieter) My father blew his brains out in one shot..

Noah makes his fingers a gun and points to his head.

NOAH: Pop.

LUANN: (runs her arm across him) Oh, you poor thing. (whispers-) I've got a secret. Wanna know what it is?

NOAH: (smoothly) You tell me...kamikaze.

They leave AA to go to the bar, and the scene changes.

It is now the beach house, where Kelly is with Dylan, Brandon, and Matt.

KELLY: Tonight was fun.

DYLAN: I have a present to make it even more fun.

He pulls out a painting.

KELLY: Ooo, Dylan, it's beautiful.

DYLAN: Look on back.

Matt and Brandon roll their eyes at each other as Kelly giggles and reaches to the back of the painting.

KELLY: Tickets!

She reads them. It says they are for a trip around the world with Dylan.

KELLY: Dylan, these must have cost a fortune!

DYLAN: I sold my old car.

KELLY: (concerned) You did?

BRANDON: The one where your wife was shot?

DYLAN: I don't want to talk about it.

He storms off.

BRANDON: Well, I have a gift for you, too, Kelly.

KELLY: (laughs-) I don't deserve this. BRANDON: Yes, you do. (says to Matt-) She does justice, loves mercy, and walks humbly with her God.

Kelly laughs self-consciously.

MATT: I don't know how you can be so good, Kelly. You're kind, beautiful...

Brandon frowns.

BRANDON: Aren't you going to open the present?

Kelly opens a big box and squeals.

KELLY: Roller blades! Oooo, Brandon, I love them.

BRANDON: Reach inside.

Kelly does and squeals again.

KELLY: Is it a spider?

BRANDO: No, you silly girl.

He hands her an engagement ring.

Kelly looks shocked.

BRANDON: It's no trip around the world, but I think we can take quite a journey together.

Matt clears his throat.

MATT: We have a problem.

Matt hands Kelly a box with a vegetable corsage on top.

MATT: Sorry about the corsage, that's all I could find at the courthouse.

KELLY: It's beautiful, Matt.

MATT: Not as beautiful as you.

BRANDON: Nothing is.

DYLAN, WHO IS BACK: I second that.

MATT: Open the box.

Kelly pulls out another engagement ring. It is very big because Matt stole his client's money. It is bigger than Brandon's ring.

Matt gets down on one knee.

MATT: Kelly Taylor...will you marry me.

Kelly looks at Matt, Brandon, and Dylan, unsure of what to do

To be continued.

[celtalks]

Curtain Call for Sean Bailey and A Fresh Spotlight on David Greenbaum: Disney's Executive Shuffle Heralds a New Era of Enchantment

Disney's Sean Bailey Steps Down While Searchlight's David Greenbaum Steps Up

It's the end of an era and the start of a new chapter in the House of Mouse as Sean Bailey, Disney's President of Production, Walt Disney Studios Motion Picture Production, decides to step down after an impressive tenure. Yet, the plot thickens with the appointment of Searchlight Pictures' own David Greenbaum, signaling a bold new direction in leadership. Bailey, known for his monumental role in ushering in Disney's live-action film revival, is passing on the baton to Greenbaum, a figure synonymous with success and creativity in the cinematic landscape. It's a time of transition at Disney, and the industry is abuzz—what does this mean for the already glittering portfolio of Disney live-action adaptations? While at Disney, Bailey's magic touch has been unmistakable. Under his guidance, the world was re-introduced to classics such as Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, and The Lion King—but with a modern twist, drawing audiences both nostalgic and new. These reimaginings have not only won hearts but also dominated box offices globally, remolding what many thought untouchable tales into fresh, contemporary narratives. Meanwhile, David Greenbaum, co-president of production at Searchlight Pictures, is no stranger to the silver screen's sparkle. Hailed for his discerning eye for storytelling, he's been the force behind some of Searchlight's most definitive works. Now, as he's set to bring his touch to Disney, cinema enthusiasts can only speculate what innovative vistas he might unveil. Indeed, Greenbaum's ascent to this Disney throne offers a tantalizing hint about possible new directions and a rejuvenated focus on quality that could take Disney's storied live-action division to even loftier heights. It's not merely a changing of the guard—it's a strategic shuffle that suggests the melding of the artistic rigor Searchlight is renowned for with Disney's legendary storytelling pedigree. Let's not forget that with big power comes big responsibility. Greenbaum's plate will be spilling over with high-stakes projects, from advancing ongoing franchises to spawning original creations. Already whispers of upcoming titles like Haunted Mansion and The Little Mermaid's enchanting reprise also pave the way for developments in Disney's dynamic narrative arc. As Sean Bailey retreats from the spotlight, his legacy is both a treasure trove of box office successes and a testament to his visionary outlook. There's no denying his boots are colossal to fill. But in steps Greenbaum with a record that stands its ground and the industry's eager eyes upon him. It's a narrative befitting Disney's own penchant for spellbinding tales: a harmonious melding of the old guard and the new, a tale of change merged with anticipation. What fairytales will Greenbaum spin with Disney? Only time will tell. For now, the lights dim on one chapter and beckon the bright dawn of another—as cinema's gilded carousel spins on, unabated and more captivating than ever. Read the full article

[sellndakine]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Vintage Mid Century Silver Plated (SilverSmiths) Carousel Music Box By Sankyo.

[maggie-yo]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: VTG Silver-plate Horse Carousel Coin Bank.

[helenandlarrytravels]

February 12th, 13th, 14th, Varadero

15th, Varadero to Home

12th

Slept in and then wandered down to breakfast. Sat down with the Concierge to book our dinners for the week. Tonight was full at all the specialty restaurants but Monday we are at the International (French) and Tuesday the Italian restaurant. Japanese was booked. Then headed to the beach and spent the morning down there. The water is a beautiful turquoise colour, however it is very windy and the water is choppy. Lunch at the sports bar, burger and fries and lemonade. Then walked around and found chairs by the pool, where we swam, read and people watched. Larry went to inquire about deep sea fishing. $450.00 US and sail fish not in season, probably only catch Dorado. Opted not to go. Broke my croc flip flops. Dinner at the buffet was excellent. Checked out the sports bar with the big screen tv. Decided to go back to our room to watch the game. Larry has caught a chill. It has been very windy and cool this evening, I wore a sweater. Super Bowl game was on the tv with the Commentator speaking in Cuban Spanish. When the score was 14/14 Larry feel asleep so I turned it off and read.

13th

Up just after 8:00 and went for breakfast. Bit of a shamozzel this morning, they ran out of plates so breakfast took awhile. After breakfast we changed and walked from here down the peninsula to the Marina and the shops. Once this was a stop for cruise ships. Trump cancelled all cruise ship stops to Cuba but I don’t know if Biden has rescinded that law. Anyway tons of shops and restaurants and no customers. Finally found a shop that sold little tshirts (first one in Cuba) $20 US of size 3. I chose not to purchase. Also found a shop that sold jewellery with supposedly black coral imbedded in the silver pieces. Black coral is an endangered spices and not permitted back in Canada. Don’t know about other countries. Walked back from the marina, changed to our suits and today found a lounging bed with a canopy by the pool. No getting burnt this morning anyway. Lunch and more sitting by the pool. There were dancing lessons and competitions today by the pool. Very entertaining. There is a large and I mean very large Spanish man and he is always dancing and boy can he move. Went back to our room to dress for dinner, we have dinner reservations at the Marseille restaurant. We have Greek salad, chicken salad and Cordon Bleu and Chicken and rice dish with peach pie. Beautiful dinner.

14th

Up for breakfast and then walked a bit before heading to the pool area. Characters dressed a Cupid and love gods walking around handing out flowers. Spent sometime talking with a couple and their sister from Montreal. Larry has made some friends from Alberta and Whitby, Barrie area. Lunch was sparse today, wondering what is happening. This afternoon by the pool, there was synchronized swimming, aerial acrobatics with ribbons, dancing and acrobatic flips and such. Wonderful afternoon of entertainment for Valentine’s Day. Dinner was at the Italian restaurant where they served a 5 course dinner. Beautifully prepared and delicious. Walked back to our room. The evening are very cool.

15th

Breakfasted, gathered up our stuff and hopped in a taxi for 10:00 to the airport. Our flight was for 1:55 pm so we looked for food and souvenirs in the airport. Food very sparse and no T-shirt’s that were appropriate for my monkeys. Flight was on time and Scoop staff were great, plane was new, clean and comfortable. We arrived on time and luggage was there when we arrived at the carousel. We had two medical emergencies during the flight that required the paramedics to come on board before we could deplane. It appeared both ladies would be okay, we hope. Grabbed a taxi to our park and fly hotel as we didn’t want to wait. Went for dinner at the Kelsey’s near the hotel where we had a great dinner. Drove home through high winds but arrived home safe and sound just before 10:00 pm. Looked like high winds at home had taken down the eavestrough on the garage. 

Great trip, glad to be home.

[gongnight86]

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Vintage Money Box CAROUSEL Fine Quality Silver plate || swtradepost

[ephemerlskies]

in the stars tonight | pjm

⇢ pairing: jimin x reader

[other members - seokjin, taehyung, namjoon]

⇢ genre: series, ANGST, enemies to lovers au, actor!jimin, actor!oc, (eventual) fluff if you squint

⇢ word count: 8.4

⇢ genre: Landing a role that might launch your entire career as an actor had come with the most unpredictable and daunting circumstances: grappling with the tragic loss of your boyfriend, Namjoon, and co-starring in a film with the vexing yet enchanting (and famous), Park Jimin.

⇢ warnings: explicit language, themes of grief/loss, themes of depression, (many) mentions of death, mentions of driving under the influence (please stay safe!!), themes of alcoholism, themes of escapism, mentions of alcohol, mentions of marijuana, unhealthy coping mechanisms, lots of internal dialogue with one deceased boyfriend, arguing/bickering, seokjin being seokjin, eventual love triangle (ish) feud

♪ playlist: dynamite - bts, move! - niki, saint nobody - jessie reyez, through the night - iu, ilomilo - billie eilish, the truth untold - bts, slow dancing in the dark - joji ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 (coming soon)

a/n: i, and i cannot emphasize this enough, can't believe this came out of me.... it was just a lil idea in my head, but then it expanded into this entire story that was way too long to fit into a one shot. so, here's me serving up a hot plate of enemies to lovers with a generous side of angst and longing!!! i hope y'all enjoy (and hate) arrogant jimin as much as i did hehe <3 ps i have no idea how long i want this series to be i'm lowkey winging it

The world does not slow down for anything. Not for catastrophes or miracles or even something as devastatingly common as death.

When your boyfriend of three years, Namjoon, lost his life due to another's drunken mistake, you realized this. The world revolves on a scheduled orbit, and not even your tragedy wedged a wrench big enough to halt life just a moment. Just to let you breathe and grieve without feeling left behind. However, you were left behind, both by the world and him.

Every sun and moon, every skipped meal, every unfulfilled rain-check, every isolated Saturday night, and every cancelled audition that came as quickly as they left paid tribute to this merciless phenomenon. It seemed you now existed just to watch the days pass, just to balefully relive the moments before Namjoon's passing. And that seemed to have been the only way you could have survived. To make a recluse of yourself because if the world was careless enough to let someone as amazing as him go, then what held it back from spilling even more wreckage into your life? For the past six months, you stuck to the cold, dead past. It was all you had to hold onto; letting go meant plummeting into a depth far too unknown and inescapable.

You and Namjoon were steadfast. You were still steadfast, or more appropriately, stuck now that you had no one to be loyal to anymore.

You and him were one of those couples other people saw and wished they could replicate into their own lives, but when it came down to it, rooted for your happy ending with him. The type similar to that of highschool sweethearts who beat the odds, or the type whose encounter fell along the silver lines of fate. Something beautiful that automatically made all the love poems authenticated by you and him. And when he held you, the idea of worry or evil seemed like concepts that did not exist past fictional tales. So warm, so loving, now gone.

The way in which you and Namjoon grew over the three years you were able to love him was in a convergent manner.

Your branches and vines were woven into his, and his into yours. Even your roots, the elements of your past, began to entangle beneath the soil. To root between each other meant there had been a foundation from which you grew, a stability that was once neat. There was no boundary of which would discern your life from his. And at one, more favorable, point in time, your life did belong to him. Namjoon was someone you only knew for a mere fraction of your life, however the moment he wandered into it, you had unlearned how to continue without him.

You didn't think you would have to relearn.

But then one decision forced you to do so. One person, who decided paying fifteen bucks for an Uber was not a wise enough investment, ripped out the plant of his body from your shared soil by means of inebriated judgment and a missed red light. You had no choice but to absorb the cruel sustenance of the sun completely alone. Most of your branches of life were left barren, with torn twigs where your body once borne fruit and leaves and beauty. But the roots were where most of the pain inhabited. A stubborn, sharp ache resided in your chest, deep enough that you might have had to be cut open and searched through to find the source.

It had been six months of 'Sorry for your loss' and 'Gone too soon' and your personal least favorite 'He's in a better place now'. It made you angry, because was there a place better for him that didn't have you in it? How could anyone know what was better for him when they didn't experience something as tender and gentle and loving as your relationship?

But none of the sympathetic smiles or half-hearted condolences made you quite as angry as the monster who was too selfish to call someone to drive them and consequently punctuating the eternity you were meant to spend with Namjoon. You always followed the virtue that an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. Forgiveness was a sweeter release than anything else, but if you could, you would take that drunk driver's life in a heartbeat. You would have gauged out your own eyes if the chance fell into your reach.

Though, no matter how hard you screamed at the universe for hurting you, despite the countless pleas to somehow retrospectively tell Namjoon not to go out for something as trivial as toothpaste so he might be alive today, holding your hand in this waiting room, telling you that you're going to do great, you knew the world wouldn't stop for you or your sorrow.

It revolves, waits for no one, and you had to pace yourself to jump back into the turning carousel of life.

"___. We're ready for you!" His voice was ten notches above a volume that wouldn't irritate you. The only hint you let slip that his tone made you want to throw this script at his crotch was the muted sigh.

You knew this audition was going to play out like the rest. They would ask you to read, stop you in the middle of your monologue, then say something like 'Thank you for your time, we'll get back to you soon' which was show business code for 'We are not giving you the role'. The only reason you were here was because you had been out of work for too long, the piles of overdue bills on your kitchen table a cruel reminder of that. Plus, you knew Namjoon would have told you to go.

He would have said something like, 'Get your lazy ass out of bed and go to that audition! You don't want Hollywood to miss out on a star just because you want to sleep in fifteen more minutes'. And it would have worked. It always had. Now, the only motivation that came to your aid was the echo of his voice, and even that had begun its slow descent into forget. Other than that, guidance of your own volition was as fleeting and disarrayed as a violent wind.

"Hi, my name is ___, and I will be auditioning for the lead. Jordan." Your hand must have been fielding its way through a nervous tick. The person you assumed was the director was eyeing the way it had been contorting at your side, and you hated showing that you were nervous.

"Perfect! We've already casted the other lead role. This audition will mostly be based on whether we think you'll have good chemistry with him." Him. So your possible running mate was a man. Before a list of names engraved on rows of stars cemented into the Hollywood walk of fame ran through your head, you lifted the script and collected all the air your lungs would allow.

Maybe, you thought, my courage and passion might come with it.

And when you opened your mouth, something magical that you credited to talent claimed sovereignty over your body. Now, you were Jordan. Jordan didn't have a dead boyfriend, now ex boyfriend, or luggage enough grief to sink a depression into the crust of the Earth. Jordan was a kind, low-energy, and sentimental artist coming into an age of overwhelming success and fortune —and love.

That's what alluded you in acting. For a moment, you could escape your life, leave your pain on the back burner while you emerged into someone who was unacquainted with the pain of losing the love of your life. It was akin to a drug, administering an intoxicating fill of temporary serotonin. Instant relief, and if you got this job you would have your fix of this twisted sort of high that tempered the Namjoon-sized void in your life. And Jordan's life definitely seemed to have, quite literally, all the things yours lacked.

"Wow, ___, was it? That was absolutely incredible!" The hand-covered whisper that followed this appraisal gave you time to begrudgingly peel of the Jordan mask. Within a half second, all the pain seemed to compound into your body. If you hadn't already shaped your entire life around that weight, you would have fallen over. Though you had done this, and even worse, you had been shouldering it for so long, you would have felt naked without such a burden. "Okay, well, we have a few more auditions but I think we have our Jordan! We'll send your manager the full script along with the schedule for the first week of shooting in about two weeks."

"Uh-" If you had not said something quick, the opportunity might have slipped away all too fast, the way Namjoon had. You vowed to grab hold of anything remotely good that arose into your life, giving you more than late nights of choked sobs and transfixed gazes out of half-curtained windows. This offer was clutched tightly in your fist. "Oh... Th- thank you! Thank you! Fuck, thank you so much. This means so much to me, thank you!"

Before you proliferated the meaning of the words thank you and the director's smile turned into rolled eyes, you stumbled your way out of the door. Waiting on the other side was a world that might strike against you with partially docile cruelty. The wind pressed against your skin, almost blowing away all your grief with the help of this successful audition.

That feeling, as always, was as comforting as it was fleeting. Because the scars of your past would not have budged for any brash current. Because your next thought disrupted the scant flourish of joy. It was the thing that came easier and sooner to you than eating and blinking; telling Namjoon any news of both good and bad ranks, sharing your life to celebrate or stress over. One of the many things that remained by an undissolvable adhesive along your mind. You tried to soak it away with liquor or smoke it out with weed, but there was no breaking of habits you loved almost as much as Namjoon.

I did it, Joon. I landed my first role. You thought, because that was the closest you could have gotten to relaying the news.

Your heart began to physically hurt. Heartaches were literal in your case. Literal and grim. You felt the grip of loss pierce its sharp thorns into your flesh. It had nearly been as painful as all the times your words were met to deceased ears, speaking to someone that had not belonged to you anymore. Six months had passed and pain cannot tell time in the way people can. So, you knew the marathon of your grief was one that followed its own metaphorical clock. You just had to keep running in hopes you could make it out alive.

Though, being Jordan for the next six months would help momentarily satiate your grief. If there were a remote for your emotions, this role would be the mute button. Your pain would still move as it usually would, but now it would be silent. You wouldn't have to listen to its unforgiving taunts and crippling obscenities. It was only just that you were paid reparations for six months of utter misery with six more months of narcotic, soundless distractions.

Two Weeks Later

If the universe had given you one good thing, it was skill and dedication to your craft. The script was memorized in just short of four days, and even a sizable amount of lines of the other characters had been stacked atop your memory. Doing an acceptable job at this role wasn't something that was worried you. In fact, the idea of wearing another's life on your body and on your heart was something you looked forward to. 

It was a bit difficult to convince yourself how good this natural born gift was when the universe took something that felt a thousand times more crucial to your existence. Acting, or anything else that planted joy in you, was a consolation prize for merely participating in life. Namjoon was the reward you were meant to win in the end.

And you had no idea what the hell to do when the prize becomes in all of the sense of the word unattainable.

You hadn't driven in six months, despite the run-down Honda parked in front of your street, desperate to be given some sort of purpose. It was too much. Ever since the accident, the idea of manning a wheel that could take away more than it could ever offer was a responsibility you felt entirely too daunted to assume. Even though seat hogs, missed busses, and overcrowded walkways had been inconveniences of an indescribable level, it wasn't enough to put your body into the same vehicle that derailed your life.

Luckily, the bus stop was only three blocks away from the studio. It gave you plenty of time to get into character, however it also nestled in a span of time for Namjoon's voice to filter in and out through running your lines.

He talked to you a lot. As much as it made you want to cry, you held onto it, feeling as though it might be the last of his voice you'd be able to recall. If Namjoon's internal commentary were to suddenly disperse, you might forget his voice entirely. And you wouldn't admit this to anyone else, but you would always answer back. Sometimes out loud, and sometimes, when company forced you into sanity, you responded mentally. It kept you separate from life and any form of interaction with actual people, but it felt better than living in a world without him. Additionally, it helped keep his voice alive, which when you thought about it, was such sick irony. His voice, alive, his heart and mine and soul, dead.

And that was the only downside to acting. When there was another mind you had to engage in, Namjoon couldn't have broken the barrier and his voice wouldn't even register as an echo. Perhaps that was why you waited so long to dive back into your job. It felt synonymous with betrayal to do anything that would sever your connection already hanging by a single, fragile thread.

"___? Hello?" You were immune to every condescending gesture or vernacular weaponized in Hollywood by now. Your makeup artist's snaps fell into the base of annoyance you had grown used to. "Did you hear me? You're all ready."

Her voice wasn't too abrasive. If anything, you should be the one apologizing for dazing in and out of consciousness. Though, Namjoon's sweet compliments about how beautiful you looked with your stage makeup should have been the one to acquire this remorse.

"Sorry. I'm, uh, tired. Not used to waking up at six in the morning quite yet."

"Well, get used to it, or you'll have a rough few months ahead of you." Her laugh had shed whatever shell of pretentiousness once veiled her previous impression. "I'm Nayeon, by the way. I've heard many great things about you, ___. Let's hope you live up to the hype."

Nayeon's nudge was friendly, and it comforted you that within the first day you hadn't pissed off the person who could easily turn your face clown-like with a few heavy strokes of her brush. She was beautiful, too. If she hadn't been dressed in a black T-shirt strewn with foundation and powder stains, then you would have mistaken her for an actress.

"Let's hope so... I guess the director was selling me better than myself." Your eyes scanned the area, though no one seemed a fitting candidate to be your lead. "So, who's the other lead?"

"Park Jimin. I'm surprised they didn't tell you yet. I guess it's some obscure, artistic director decision to keep you in the dark. I’m lowkey fangirling right now… But, don't tell anyone that." Before you could respond, let alone react, Nayeon had collected all the products she needed for her next subject and was about a yard away from you. "Good luck, rookie!"

Park Jimin. You've definitely heard of him, but it surprised you that someone like him accepted a role in a romantic, indie, coming of age film that had not the budget to pay half of what he usually made in his repertoire of previous movies. He was certainly what one would consider an 'A-list' celebrity. The type paparazzi actually cared to stalk, and fans recognized in public, but were too shy to approach due to his sheer intimidation. It hadn't eased your nerves that he was notoriously withdrawn when it came to the behind the scenes portion of shooting a movie.

And, like any decent person, you did your very best to refrain from placing judgments without the opportunity for them to fill in their own narrative. Most of what you ‘knew’ of Jimin had been hearsay. However, you had some hunch Jimin wouldn't qualify as one who labored tirelessly for the roles he had landed or authenticated any sort of compassion with his rising fame.

See, acting and snagging a big role in a movie was characterized as a tall building for you. If one reached the top floor, then they would assume a wealth of opportunities and Oscar nominations and acclimation. Of course, this film industrial structure had various modes of climbing to the top. Some had stairs which called for more excretion and effort but still, all you needed were persistent legs, then each step would eventually get you where you wanted to be.

You had more of a ladder. Each wrung was slanted at an angle of which only deepened your brawl with success and had not been sanded down enough to save you from a generous supply of splinters. After a while, your hands began to ache and the fear that some high-society type would kick the base of your ladder always stalked the forefront of your worries. It certainly had not been a choice means of arrival to whatever awaited you on that top floor, however it was the only one available.

And while you had a ladder to overcome, Jimin had an elevator. The most he'd ever expend to reach that coveted floor was a few presses of a button. And perhaps his only sacrifice would be sharing the elevator with one or two others. Things just worked out for people like him. And an elevator’s delivery was always in a manner that was quicker than the likes of a staircase or a ladder.

When he arrived on set, dragging himself like his own body was a weight he shouldn't have to carry himself, you fought that instinct of yours to assume everything you needed to know from him.

Just because he's wearing sunglasses inside doesn't mean he's some arrogant asshole, even if that is the most cliché character trait of one. This internal lecture was certainly of Namjoon's doing, since he was always one to never run out of allotting the benefit of the doubt.

Yeah, I guess. But, come on, he looks like a fucking idiot. You replied as if he were really there before walking up to the callous man with your gauntlet thrown down by default. No need getting on Jimin's bad side, because you were sure it's complement was being blacklisted from the film industry. Instead of sharp edges you offered him a non-threatening smile and handshake.

Play nice. Namjoon reminded you before you had the chance to decide what you wanted to say.

"Hi! It's such an honor to be working with you. I'm ___." Jimin looked at your hand like you had filled it with mud and were intending on smearing his Gucci jacket, which you assumed was worth more than your monthly apartment rent. "Um, wanna touch base before we start shooting or..."

If his admonished glare at your hand wasn't encouragement enough to retract it back into yourself, then what he said, or more fittingly, what he didn't say next was.

The way his sigh infused a scoff within it made you feel small. It felt like fire, how thoroughly it burned you into a pile of ash, but then it felt like a gust of prickled wind that would scatter your remains completely. If it had not been for the way his head shifted from your head to your toe, you wouldn't have known that his shielded eyes were trailing the length of your body. Such a glare seemed like a calculation of your worth; it must have totaled out to that of a fly he had to swat away because the second you stood on the outside of his peripheries you stopped existing in his world altogether.

His back made a longer impression on you than his eyes, and that was your que to huddle yourself in the corner and stick to the two things you were best at.

Imaginary conversations with Namjoon and rerunning through your already memorized lines.

Before you say anything, I already think he's a prick. It might be pathetic to have instigated theoretical conversations with your dead boyfriend, but the world wouldn't know he would have scolded you first for already constructing an agenda to avoid Park Jimin whenever you could. You just felt an itch to lay down the first word.

You never know, maybe he had a bad day.

Yeah, well people like him don't need to be professional unlike the rest of us. I mean, I'm on the verge of openly conversing with you and I'm the one that has to turn the other cheek? Your script was decorated with a number of wrinkles. Proof that your anger was sleeping from your insides in the form of tightly gripped hands that were pretending to pinch Jimin's skin instead of the script. For once, you felt some grain-sized semblance of luck for having a grasp of acting to pull off pretending to love Jimin.

"Hey." You weren't quite thrilled to meet the person you had imagined pushing down a staircase standing over you. Without his glasses, it was difficult to remember why you had been so angry with him and you hated that. His eyes consisted of more than just irises and pupils, though you would not have been able to place what exactly accompanied these features. They were just eyes, after all, parts of a body. Functional. Mechanical facets of being. And yet, his seemed more than that. More than just sense mechanics. Perhaps beauty. 

But for him to have been beautiful, it would have tainted the very idea of beauty.

"We're about to start shooting. Don't make this difficult, I'm trying to leave on time." 

"Okay... Sure." Those were the two words you substituted for the 'fuck you' itching to crawl from your throat.

"I'm Jimin, but you know that already." The way he spoke was punctuated as though it was a waste of his time to spend any attention on you. If you weren't already drained of your strength from that tube of toothpaste that was some sort of paraphernalia of the night Namjoon became an article of your past, then you would have rolled your eyes or retorted with something that would knock him down a peg.

"I do." Your own weak will bothered you more than Jimin. "Um, I-"

"Let's not." Though he had no idea what you were about to say, a part of you agreed to not even indulge in small talk with him. It would be too forced and uncomfortable and that might leak into your performance on camera. Still, he had an abrasive way of going about it that made you want to disagree with him just to be able to lie contrary to him.

"Fine." It rolled off your tongue easily, like silk. His lingering eyes had you wondering if you somehow impressed him with your passive agreement or insulted him for not groveling for his approval. Either one would have satisfied you.

"Alright! Looks like you two got acquainted. We're jumping right in." The director, Kim Seokjin, was chirpy. Even if this project wasn't necessarily mainstream or highly anticipated, he was the type to salvage all his passion and pour it into anything he created. It comforted you knowing someone other than you found this to be somewhat life changing. "Please, Jimin, ___, on your marks. This is the scene where you two meet, so we're hoping you two can infuse that feeling of being slightly awkward but nevertheless enthralled in each other's presence. Got it?"

"Yessir." You said, and Jimin only produced a nod which seemed generous for him. Fighting the urge to snarl or squeeze your brows together came as a difficulty you had to practice at.

"Slate! Quiet on set..." Seokjin’s voice filled the empty space of the entire studio.

"Scene one, take one." Just as the snap of the slate reverberated through the room, your eyes changed just as abruptly. Your gaze upon the set transformed it into your reality. You looked at Jimin and now saw Laurie, a young soul filled with enough dreams and kindness one could have mistaken him for a cloud; the kind that spoke in loving whispers and gentle caresses. He reminded you a lot of someone else you knew.

You tucked Namjoon's voice away with the rest of your grief and became Jordan.

Amazing things seemed to happen when you least expected them too. You guessed that was the nature of amazing things, for if you expected them then they probably wouldn’t feel so amazing. About halfway through the scene, after a number of cuts, re-shoots, directorial notes, you noticed something. Or more so, this something willed you to notice.

Once you fell into stride with your character, it became easier to pick up on the person acting opposite of you. Maybe you hadn't given Jimin enough credit before. You knew maybe was an understatement, though you felt a sting admitting talent had fallen into his hands just as all his accomplishments had.

Jimin's acting rested on the side most polar to your own. You replicated, he revolutionized. You became your character, shrinking yourself enough so that one wouldn't have been able to tell who you were beyond who you were playing. Jimin, however, made the character his own. There was no minimizing his own body to fit into the mold of the character. Jimin was the mold, and he sculpted the character to fit along himself. He forged his movements, voice, and confidence into whichever role he played and brought life to someone strewn with a signature of his own soul polishing said character. All the while, he was inventive with each intention and emotion that were strung into his lines.

It was difficult to pull this off, being that you could easily begin to just play yourself in a movie and neglect any character mannerisms that you were supposed to portray, however Jimin seems to slip in and out of his role with ease. And with each take, he peppered in more dimensions to a character. He gave meaning and depth to a person constructed onto a paper script until you couldn't believe this person didn't exist in real life.

That was the amazing thing that kept your well-rehearsed lines behind an impermeable wall of reluctant admiration.

What hadn't helped, though seemed to have been timed to a tee to unwind your sensibility, and timing had always worked against you like you had done wrong to it, was the part when Laurie was written to sneak his hand along your waist after Jordan stepped backwards into his body.

His palm felt so warm. So warm that the entire world felt too cold for you to be anywhere but apart from his touch. Then, all your lines spilled from your recollection. He was standing close behind you, the plush of his cheek tickling your ear and sending the entire world away so you and he could reserve this moment just for yourselves.

"Your line." His whisper wouldn't be picked up by the mic, though it had no trouble debilitating the rest of your senses. Did he intend for it to blur any sort of attraction his character felt for you into the life beyond the camera?

The director called cut to the scene, and it felt like a lifetime before you were released from the entrapping heat of Jimin's body. When you spun around, hoping you could at least dig through your throat to pull out a deflated apology, the smirk laced along his lips illustrated every bit of his arrogance and once again shut you up.

From the way his eyebrow was arched, you assumed he must have read your mind. He knew what he did to you, and it reminded you of everything you disliked about Jimin. Presumptuous, prideful in his taunts. It also reminded you that he stood many floors above you in this architectural competition of acting. You were grabbing hold of each wrung as you went, unprepared for something as disarming as Jimin. All he had to do was peer down at the sight of you to make you feel a hundred times lower than him. 

“___? What’s wrong?” You looked over to find Seokjin’s half worried, half irritated expression. 

“No, nothing. Sorry, I just blanked for a second.” Jimin’s snide chuckle at your confession to a faulty performance didn’t help simmer the burn of embarrassment.

"It’s okay, I get it.” The director offered a smile as a peace offering, and since he looked not seven years older than you, it had you assuming he was the laid-back type. “Let's take five. We'll block a few of the scenes and finish the rest of this and we'll call it a day."

You made your nest over at the snack bar. Shoving half of a donut into your mouth had almost resurged your energy. Nayeon made a swift return to pat your face with more powder.

"Hey, you're pretty damn good." You were stuck with a mouthful of donut to null any chance of responding. "Except for when you kinda just shut down at that last scene."

You would have felt embarrassed, or rather more embarrassed than you currently did, if it weren't for the light laugh that followed. All you had to reply with was a shrug.

"I mean, I don't blame you. Jimin's pretty hot and if I were cozying up to him during a scene I'm sure I would also fuck up my lines." Nayeon finished applying whatever touch ups she felt necessary, not without a suggestive eye arch. This either meant she was going to shuffle over to another actor in need of visual repair or she would stay and talk. Her continued monologue advocating for Jimin's talents and good looks proved the latter was what you had in store. "I mean, damn. Also, I'm pretty sure he's got abs under that shirt. So, are you into him? Is that it?”

"It's not like that." The harsh delivery gave an impression contrary to what you said. "I mean, I just... He's just really good at this. I guess I got kinda intimidated."

Normally, you would have sought Namjoon's voice ringing in your head about how you could do this, reminding you how he believed in you. It would have gotten you through the scene however, Jordan didn't know Joon.

"Well, he won an Oscar for a reason, babe." You finished the rest of your donut and begun a prowl for another savory comfort food. "I mean, damn, twenty-five and already winning Oscars and getting nominations. It ain't for nothing."

"Yes, this is helping so much, thank you." You twisted in sarcasm as if that would make you seem any less intimidated. Again, Nayeon laughed off any shroud of roughness coating your words.

"What, do you want me to lie? Is that how you want to start this friendship, with lies?" Her elbow nudged you, and that alone communicated more than the brief exchanges you two shared. Now, you had a friend. Someone else to talk with that wasn't a figment of your own imagination.

Look at you, already making friends. Your smile was not as hidden as you attempted for it to be. Namjoon's little encouragements had that effect on you.

"What's that smile for?"

"Oh, nothing." You scarfed down the mini muffin, turning towards Nayeon. "Just happy my makeup artist goes easy on the blush."

She winked, and you felt ready to be sent back into the throes of this film. You weren't keen on Jimin feeling closer to a competitor than a partner in this project, however if that is how he wanted it to be, you were never one to submit so easily. You were determined to level this playing field, and your communion with victory felt like a well-deserved birthright.

"Thought I told you I wanted to go home on time, rookie." You watched his lips shape such venomous words, since his eyes, the unnamed, nearly beautiful presence, might have sunk you back into that state of speechlessness.

"I take it you're not a method actor, since Laurie is so sweet and you're a fucking ass." It felt good for all of one second before a series of reprimands fueled by none other than Namjoon now had you on the brink of apologizing.

"Feisty, huh?" Again, his lips eased out sharp words as if they would not nick the plump skin as it went.

You hoped Joon had nothing to say about how you were now tracing the lush of Jimin's lips. And yes, it had been six months, though you knew your love-ridden heart had yet to free its hands from grabbing hold of Namjoon, still, the feeling of attraction, no matter how brisk it might have been, felt like you were committing adultery. Adultery, over someone who was dead. You weren't the one who left him behind, and at the same time, you never got that shiny patent of closure. There was no break-up, so perhaps that was an explanation as to why your heart was foolishly stuck in love, never realizing its oath to loyalty was graced upon the deceased. 

You thought of love now, while you were supposed to be getting into character. You thought of the one thing you once had held worn so easily, and now you had been chasing it knowing your legs weren’t enough to catch up.

There was a well in your eyes, supplied by the same source which fossilized a ragged lump in your throat. And you must have blinked twice as many times as you normally would since Jimin's eyebrows met halfway between his forehead as he watched you. Or, more disappointingly, he might have noticed your tendency to grow red in more places than just the whites of your eyes when you were about to cry. Holding those tears in hadn't helped with keeping your skin less flushed.

It frustrated you that he might have noticed, which only twisted you tighter into the verge of crying. You knew it was unlikely that his watchfulness of your pre-breakdown expression was due to a lapse of genuine concern. For all you knew, he was subtracting even more value from your worth, plummeting you into negative integers.

And if you weren't so dedicated to your craft, then you wouldn't have the ardor nor the ability to pull off acting like you loved him.

Nayeon is a good makeup artist, I think you have a thick enough cover of foundation and powder to hide it. That of course, along with any sliver of light in this dark tunnel, had always been attributed to Namjoon. He was the reason you kept going, the reason you had been able to get out of bed to drink a glass of water once in a while, the reason you did not completely break down every time a tube of toothpaste fell into your line of vision. Him and the memorialized voice was what chipped the lump free from your throat and dried your tears before they had the chance to spill.

"What-" Whatever motivated Jimin to ask you something had been gone almost immediately after it sprouted.

"Quiet on set!" There was no way you'd figure out what he was going to say if the director had mandated pre-shooting silence.

The rest of your day went accordingly. Nothing too devastating happened that cleared away the momentum of excitement of this being your first big role. Though, not that you weren't beyond grateful for this chance, you made a chore of reminding yourself to be aware of your good fortune.

And, with the help of a few well-placed improvisations that made you seem somewhat of a visionary in your craft, your previous mistake had been washed with water under the bridge in the director's eyes. It escalated your ego and confidence to watch Jimin scavenge for an unpracticed reaction to go along with the slight details or lines you infused into the scene. At a certain point, you could almost describe him as impressed with your acting. Maybe enough to bump your worth up a few decimals, not that that should be occupying your worries.

"Wow, ___! Look's like we hired the right thespian. Great work! By the looks of it, things will flow easier from here." The director, who you finally felt on a first name basis with, approached with a hug. Though, usually this would have sent red alerts, you could tell Seokjin had no ill intentions of the predatory type. "Also, you two have chemistry, but it's not quite there yet. I want this to be believable. There has to be some real life element of camaraderie if this story is going to be genuine."

"So, what exactly are you asking of us?" Jimin, of course, sounded all but thrilled with whatever Seokjin was suggesting even when it hadn't been specified yet. And though you hadn't expressed it outwardly, this aversion for what Seokjin has been suggesting was shared.

"I don't know, get to know each other? Method acting works usually. I mean, Jared Leto did it for that movie and he seemed pretty crazy." The attention was never yours to claim once Jimin had already pressed his phone to his ear and Seokjin was off reevaluating the shots taken today.

You were alone again. Surrounded by an entire crew and cast, but alone nonetheless. Your version of escapism was never as consistent as you needed it to be. All it took was a moment of stillness for you to drift into some place much darker than your current reality. Jordan was sealed away for now, and you were trapped in your own body. It felt horrible. Being you without the man who loved and cared for such a kindred soul felt no different than writhing in pain. Being you without him was empty. Before long, you might have fallen faint in front of your coworkers.

The only target you could acquire as of now was Jimin, taken away from the world for reasons much less burdensome than your own. Where you had a plight of grief to sift through, Jimin had a phone and most likely a supply of friends to text and busy himself with. Seokjin wanted you to get to know him, try your hand at method acting so to speak, and that was the excuse which allowed you to walk over and try to kindle some sort of conversation.

"Hey, so, uh..." The pause came to no avail, since it seemed as though you could have said nothing at all judging from his reaction. "Hey."

It took a fictitious clearing of your throat and three more seconds of unwavering silence to lure his eyes from his phone.

"What?"

As it had been for this entire day, everything involving Jimin was made to be some sort of challenge. A feat you had to overcome without an ounce of reprieve, just to remain standing.

"Seokjin said we should, like, get to know each other. Or, at least get along. I think that's a good idea." His eyes gave absolutely no clues to anything below the exterior of an expressionless face.

"Why are you trying so hard?" You waited for him to laugh, or even for a laugh of your own to slip and loosen the tension. A laugh to make what he just said a joke, victimless banter, because it would have been wildly insulting if that were the most genuine thing he had said to you all day.

"What the hell does that mean?" Your arms were crossed as if that would keep your heart safe from his cruel tactlessness.

"I'm not taking this shit seriously." He laughed, but it wasn't the one that you wanted previously. It sunk wounds deeper, with such a dull edge too. "It's just a side job so people think I'm humble, or whatever my manager said."

The puzzle began to piece together, it took this admittance from Jimin for the picture to emerge from ambiguity. This movie was some form of damage control for his reputation, and that might be because your accurately placed criticisms of his lackluster humbleness did not stand solitarily. Your big break had been reduced to a convenient plot of image reconstruction. You were familiar with anger, it was one of your trickier stages of grief to surmount, but it still affected you to the same degree as before.

He didn't expect a response. You could gather that much from the way he instantly turned back to his phone, rendering you nonexistent once again. Namjoon would have told you to remain civil. But Namjoon was gone. It hurt to think that way, but if his voice hadn't emerged to mitigate this situation now, then Jimin was yours for the taking.

"You're a fucking ass." It seems brash was the only approach to seize immediate attention from Jimin. His eyes widened as if you had grown twice as large and the vision of you wouldn't fit in his narrowed, judgmental glare. "This may be a joke or a throw away gig for you, but this means a lot to me."

"Wanna back off, Jesus. I only-"

"No, I don't wanna back off. I haven't had the best year, and having a co-star that treats me like shit isn't really helping either. And, I get it, you're some sort of elitist who thinks they earned their success." You scoffed, tethering his eyes with yours as though there were a string tying them together. And with each step closer you took, the knot only secured tighter. "But people like you, men like you, don't do shit to earn where they are. But it's so cute the way you think you did! Truly, it's embarrassing watching you flaunt your ego around like you actually have something to be proud of."

"So it's like that, huh? You know, I was almost starting to respect you." The fact that his delivery suggested this was some sort of badge of honor made him all the more pathetic. You should not have put it past Jimin to boast over paying a fundamental level of respect where it's due.

"Wow," You doused a generous layer of sarcasm over your throat so the words came out so. "Basic human decency? From you? How can I ever repay you for such kindness?”

"I said almost."

"You're pathetic."

"Like you're one to talk."

"Yeah, well at least I don't pretend I'm hot shit." The tip of your shoes finally closed the gap between his. Again, you were snared in his warmth, however it didn't feel as tranquil as before. Now, it was closer to a pot of boiling water, evaporating flesh and bone until you were steam floating along the air, bendable and displayed out thinly.

"You don't pretend because you're just that bad of an actor, huh?"

It suffocated you, being this close with him; the blurry details of his face became sharp this way. His eyes were hypnotically watchful of your lips, preparing for your next gambit. You surrendered only a smirk, hoping it would antagonize him. And you could have sworn standing at the furthest point of the Earth from Jimin wouldn't appease this invasive thronging. The universe had yet to expand wide enough to provide an acceptable distance away from him. Until then, you were left with shallow bouts of breath tasting of metallic hatred, hoping those would alchemize into words that would make you seem more intimidating that you really were.

"Please, I could act circles around you. Your performance is transparent. Anyone with a scope of the basics of acting could see through you."

"Is that so?" You hated how quick you had been to notice his tongue slip along his lower lip. He must have found this delicious, patronizing someone who only had 'friend number five' or 'cashier' as proof of their employment. Jimin was greedy, devouring all the blood spilled from his wounding retorts.

In some perverse way, being the focus of his attention had you feeling fulfilled. Jimin, the man commonly sought after among the demographic of teenagers and middle-aged women. Not only were you proving your merits of qualification to act alongside him, but you had something to prove to yourself. You weren't going to let Jimin push you around without pushing him right back. You were strong enough to fight. It seemed to have come natural to you to enjoy provoking anger in him. It felt as if you were finally accomplishing something that was unattainable to anyone else. 

And even if you wanted to retreat, his gaze guaranteed your obedience. It was a battle, along with every other exchange you have had with him. Even when silence was the only parcel between you two, when the only semblance of noise was heavy, jaded inhales, it felt as though you and he were at wits to gather more air than the other. To see who would fall breathless first.

"You're pathetic." His words hit like physical blows, and you might have had to check for bruises along your ribs and torso from the churning sensation in your stomach.

"If I'm pathetic, I don't know what that makes you." You wanted your rebuttal to feel like fire. You wanted to scorch and sear blisters along his flawless skin for proof of any successful hit. “A privileged boy with enough of daddy’s money to get him any job he wants. But, I’m the pathetic one?”

He appeared unscathed, with one end of his lips rugged upwards, mocking you without needing any of the words to do so. Perhaps he'd gotten the best of you, as you were searching through your arsenal of refutes only to find it overspent. It would not have surprised you to discover his supply of acidic insults piling without a visible dent. 

His eyes looked fully employed in studying you, and you felt disrobed to be under such scrutiny from a stranger. Jimin seemed to have been reading you like words on a page, armed with a twisted smile that was unnervingly addictive, but you tried your hardest to keep your book closed. You didn’t want him to know how weak you really were.

"God, you're so-"

"Oh, great! Both of you are still here." Seokjin's voice reminded you that there was a world of events beyond you and Jimin. For a moment, you had felt secluded into a universe constructed especially for any collateral destruction that might have come of whatever war was about to be waged. "I have some notes for you two. Go home, read, digest, and come prepared tomorrow! I have full confidence in the two of you."

"Thanks." Succinct yet not lacking any tonal sentiment, Jimin got the first word in with the director, leaving you scrambling to find yours.

"Thank you." You were frustrated in how recycled your responses felt after Jimin handled them. Actors like you always fed on scraps of the higher-ups, and they were never as appetizing or filling as you would hope.

"See ya, ___." Your name sounded awful on his tongue, like his voice had filtered out the good parts of it and the waste remained spilling from his lips. Like dirt or decayed flesh, or both, and saying your name was akin to saying a slur.

"Fuck you." Those words couldn't sift through your screwed jaw or muffled throat, but it gave you satisfaction that it had been said in the slightest.

It wasn't until you were halfway to the bus stop that the realization pummeled you down a hole you hadn’t recollected being dredged. That whole time, what might have been the product of a mere ten minutes, was the longest segment you had gone without thinking of him.

It was the most intimately you had ever engaged in a conversation with someone other than the late, imagined voice in your head. And it was the most you've gone without consulting with said voice before speaking. You simply spoke, and listened, and responded; like you were normal. You couldn't tell whether that was good, because maybe you would finally be able to move forward with the world, perhaps catch up with the life you were supposed to be living. But, at the same time, the guilt festering something acrid in the pit of your stomach had you convinced this wasn't entirely sunny skies and bright futures.

"I'm sorry." What frightened you, besides your mental slip to keep the words meant for Namjoon in your head, was the unreturned sound of his ringing through. It took the longest ten seconds of your life for the mental silence to be furtively trimmed by your own train of thoughts.

Jimin had done this to you, that you were entirely sure of. Jimin and his carnivorous tongue and greedy glare had drained your head of its second conscious. The one it had adopted when Namjoon's body could no longer harbor it. And that's how he lived on, through you.

Jimin took that away, somehow. You could almost kill him for it, but you had not favored a life in prison nor tabloids that headlined the Park Jimin being murdered or 'Crazy, Jealous Co-star On Murderous Rampage Targets Jimin'. So, for the time being, all that was accessible was quiet hatred.

And you took that over nothing. You hated Park Jimin.

[ao3feed-hawks]

The Carousel Goes Up

The carousel goes up by Blancfortune

Touya's eyes snapped open, gaze fixated on the night sky with its splattering of stars, as lightning ran through his bones. Well, that wasn't uncomfortable or anything. It didn't help that Touya was laying on the ground. That wasn't a familiar feeling but it also wasn't an unfamiliar one.

Some nights Touya would run away from home. He'd fancy himself a rebel and that this time he'd not return to the choking house that was supposed to be a home. In the end, he'd always return, too worried about his siblings. He didn't care about his father or his mother but Touya loved his siblings, even Shouto, although that relationship deserved the status “It's complicated”.

However, on the nights when Touya strangled the urge to return, he still had to sleep somewhere. After trying a lot of places, he'd taken to kipping besides a bar, mostly because the bartender, a silver-haired guy who identified as Giran, usually threw a blanket over Touya and would leave him a glass of juice and a plate with leftovers. Giran was a good guy.

Words: 1087, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 11 of Private Fic Fight - the rage of battle never ends, Part 3 of Giran is a villain name even though he's such a dad

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Gen

Characters: Dabi | Todoroki Touya, Okuta Kagerou | Giran, Midoriya Hisashi, Takami Keigo | Hawks

Relationships: Dabi | Todoroki Touya & Takami Keigo | Hawks, Dabi | Todoroki Touya & Okuta Kagerou | Giran

Additional Tags: De-Aged Dabi | Todoroki Touya, De-Aged Takami Keigo | Hawks, burning someone alive out of reflex, mentions of running away from home and having to sleep in alleys, hc: dabi knew Giran before his death

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33592360

[sunshinehighway]

prompt 11: are you sure about this, please.

When Callum steps out of the shower that morning, the sun is just beginning to claw its way over the city, heat filling the tiny bathroom as it blazes orange and bright. There’s a note stuck to the back of the door in Ben’s loopy handwriting.

Don’t be too long, I’ve got your favourite breakfast on the go. Ben xx

Callum towels at his hair and quickly dries himself off, grabs for Ben’s dressing gown from one of the hooks on the door, the soft grey one that he’s come to love. 

At this time, their tiny kitchen is dusted in a blush of pinks and oranges, the sunlight waiting idly at the window. Ben’s skin glows in the light, a constant flush clinging to his cheeks, his collarbones and his elbows and knees. Even after all these years, he’s the most gorgeous thing Callum’s ever seen. The sky, with its sun and moon and star, ain’t got nothing on Ben.  

Ben doesn’t say much when Callum shuffles into the kitchen for breakfast, but Callum doesn’t think anything of it, his boyfriend won’t ever be a morning person. Instead, he just hums a quiet sound of appreciation as he eyes Callum’s attire and plates his breakfast up. Pancakes, with a heap of Nutella. 

“Your table manners are horrendous,” Ben says, as Callum wipes a lump of chocolate from his bottom lip, and then he’s standing up, picking up the newspaper on the counter before sitting back down across from Callum again and pushing it towards his plate. “Here, read this.”

“Uh, thanks,” Callum says, placing it off to the side of the table. “Why?”

“Hey, you’re supposed to actually read it, y’know,” Ben frowns.

“But I’m not finished eating yet,” Callum says slowly, his eyes slow and steady on Ben’s as he forks at his pancakes and then bites off a piece.

“No, Cal, come on,” Ben says, picking up the paper again and pushing it towards him. “There’s this really hilarious bit at the back, you know, on that announcements page, some lad in the dog house, trying to apologies to his wife. Classic, I’m telling you.”

“Alright, alright,” Callum makes a face, laughs despite himself, eyes bright and smile a little mischievous, bitten down between his teeth.

He flips open the newspaper, keeps flipping and flipping until he’s near the back, because that’s where Ben said the funny bit was.

“I still ain’t sure anything more important than food,” He says, and he can feel Ben’s eyes on his face, skin burning with something anticipated. 

“Just—just read it, will you?” 

Callum sticks his tongue out at Ben, but does as he’s told because it’s Ben, and if Ben thinks he’ll like it, he knows he will. Scanning down the page, he starts to grin because there it is, right there in small print beside a little turquoise bullet point.

Callum reads it out loud, following the words with his finger.

“To my wonderful wife Lily, I would like to apologies for forgetting to feed your seven—seven—beloved goldfish whilst you were away. I’ll make it up to you,” Callum finishes, and then he grins. “Oh, Joe in Manchester really is in the dog house, ain’t he? This is gripping news, honestly, thanks for sharing.”

“Shut up,” Ben laughs, eyes glowing, skin flushed. “Keep reading. There’s more.”

“Alright,” Callum sighs, moving onto the next one. It takes a moment for him to remember where he left off, but then his finger is back on the words, and his voice is falling out into the room, slow and sleepy. 

“Callum,” he starts, and then pauses, his eyebrows furrowing together in concentration. “Uh, I can’t imagine my life without you. And I don’t want to, either. Will you marry me?” He finishes, eyes burning and blurring all the words and colours together, white noise filling his ears, heart in his throat. “It says, from Ben—Ben in Walford.” 

When Callum dares to glance up, Ben is looking down at the ground, fingers pulling on a loose thread of table cloth, shaking, his chest rising and falling steadily, mouth pressed in a thin line. It’s as the first few chords of You & Me Song start to crackle through the speaker, that he finally speaks.

“Sounds like a charmer, that Ben.” 

“Ben,” Callum says, his voice slow, choked and thick, as he glances back down at the paper, running his finger over the words again. Will you marry me, marry me, marry me. “Ben, look at me?”

And, with that Ben lifts his eyes back to Callum’s own, gentle and warm, dampening in the corners, with something behind, something new and so familiar all at once. Callum feels everything around him go a little fuzzy, the second they look at each other, the whole room turns into an electric field. He wonders if Ben can see how fast his heart is beating, how hard it’s thumping against his ribs.

“Yeah?” Ben whispers, so quiet and flushed. 

“Are you sure about this?”

Ben stays quiet for a moment, just watching Callum with careful, cautious eyes, full of stars. The stereo is still whistling behind them, sounds of you and me, always, and forever, filling the air, and a buzzing warmth runs through Callum, oozes from his heart into his limbs and fills the whole room.

“Yeah,” Ben says finally. “Yes, I want you in my life forever, Callum.” 

There’s a moment, then, suspended, where they’re just staring at each other with blinding smiles. Calum’s entire face hurts, his eyes leaking beyond his control now, but he can’t stop it, can’t push it down. He doesn’t want to.

“Marry me?”

Every single nerve ending in Callum’s body lights up, blood pulsing through him in a mad rush, a mad scramble, to process everything bright and unexpected, like fireworks. Because this doesn’t feel real, that’s the thing. He’s loved Ben for so long—loving him like he’d die if he didn’t, like he’d drown if he couldn’t. His love forBen was like a private constellation, at first, a star growing inside of his belly, bigger and bigger until the light spilt out onto his tongue. And the light stayed, shone brighter with each day, unable to hide itself from the world, and it’s here right now, and it’s making him nod, frantic and rushed like there isn’t enough time in the world for this moment. “Yes.”

“Yes?” Ben repeats, chokes a little, eyes widening, but his smile, well, it could power cities. 

“Yes,” Callum says again, just to taste it. And then he says it once more, just because, because it’s the answer to every question that Ben could ever ask. Will you always love me? Will you stay with me forever? And even past that? Yes, yes, yes. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Ben. Shit.”

The room seems to freeze when Callum speaks the words, and they just stare at each other for a moment, a moment that’s all silent and sun-filled, a clock ticking somewhere in the house, the music drowning out. Callum makes sure to catch everything, tucking pieces of this moment away in his memory, the shutter of his mind clicking in grainy snapshots—the way sunlight shifts over Ben’s face in soft patterns, his eyelashes casting shadows across his cheekbones, the stray tear tracking down his face like a pearl drop, his mouth is slightly parted, bottom lip bitten red raw with nerves. And suddenly, pathetically, Callum wants to kiss him, never stop kissing him.

Ben takes a step forward, says, “Cal,” and that’s all it takes, really.

They kiss messily, so fast, too fast, tongue and teeth and thudding hearts.

“I love you,” Callum chokes out. “Ben, you—you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

There’s that dizzy feeling again, like he’s on a slow-moving carousel and everything around him is blurring in and out of focus, leaving just him and Ben and the slow morning sun, him and Ben and the humming of the birds, him and Ben and the rest of their lives.

“I love you too,” Ben gasps out between kisses, pressing in hard. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long. Marry you.”

“Ben” Callum says again, because he can’t say anything else.

“You have no idea,” another searing kiss, a hot press of their bodies, “how much you mean to me.”

“How could I not?” Callum says, then he’s exhaling sharply as Ben bites at his bottom lip, laughing into Callum’s mouth as he kisses back, fast and then faster, Callum’s body becoming nothing but a kaleidoscope of sun and stars and blood, blood buzzing through his veins like static, buzzing in his ears, so loud that it’s nothing but a swimming sound that spells out Ben, Ben, Ben.

“Oh, wait—” Ben says, his voice sudden, rushed.

Callum blinks, frowning as Ben shoves his hand into one of his back pockets and pulls out a little black velvet box. Callum stares at it for a moment, and then the reality of everything rushes into place, and he laughs, loud and bold. “Ben—”

Ben makes a face. “It’s what I’m supposed to do, isn’t it?”

Callum nods, still giggling. “Well, yeah, but like—”

“Just shut up and give me your hand, would you? I don’t have all day.”

“Yes you do,” Callum says, but he holds out his hand anyways.

And there’s a moment where Callum literally thinks his heart stops.

It’s the moment when Ben opens up the ring box and the silver inside catches the light of the sun, and Callum suddenly realises that this is real, this is real life and he’s going to marry his best friend in the entire world.

“Shit,” Callum breathes, his voice barely a whisper.

“What do you think?” Ben asks suddenly, voice careful and cautious.

“What’s this on the side?” Callum questions, eyebrows furrowed down at the ring. 

“Oh,” Ben says, a flush flooding his cheek, he looks embarrassed, almost. “It’s our initials, look.”

B + C. Forever.

“Ben,” Callum says, a little dazed, mouth wet and eyes fuzzy. “That’s—I love it. It’s perfect. You’re perfect. I love you”

Ben smiles. “That’s good to know.”

When mouths touch again, and it’s molten, soft and melty and everything, Ben’s bottom lip caught wetly between Callum’s own. He has to let out a shudder of a breath, toes curling up so hard it hurts as Ben’s fingers gradually start to twist in his hair, pulling him closer. 

“I want this too, y’know, always have,” Callum starts as Ben’s lips leave a train down to his collarbone. Callum fists a hand in the back of his jumper, pulling him in close, close, closer. “I want you forever, in this life and maybe even the next one.”

“What d’ya mean, maybe?” Ben teases.

“If you still look as good, I mean,” Callum finishes.

“Hm,” Ben ponders, “well, I’d still love you if you were the sun, and I was the moon, y’know?” 

And that, that hits Callum right in the core of his heart, feels it twisting and thumping with emotion. He lets out a little huff of teary laughter, smiling blearily through it as Ben continues. With every word, he feels everything around him swirling, soaring. “You’ll never feel like you’re alone again, Callum,” eyes earnest and purposed, smiling around the words. “I’m your home, and you’re mine.” 

They’re forever, him and Ben. This moment, right now, began years ago, with that first look, that first touch, and they’ll be in this moment forever. There won’t ever be an end to this feeling, or an end to the two of them. Not even when they’re gone from the world, because Callum knows that whatever happens, they’ll find each other in every world, up in the sky with the rest of the stars or in the next life.

They’re forever, perpetual, infinite.

[reach4themoon]

We All Fall Down

Warnings: Death, description of bodies, slight mental torture(?), portrayal of murder and betrayal

Genre: Horror, murder, Carnival

Word Count: 1,936

Taeil came rushing into your apartment, excitement flooding the house as your friends and boyfriend shouted. It was your birthday and today was the first celebration with your boyfriend, you had known each other for a month but only started dating last week after his confession to which you happily obliged. The night started with drinks and dinner before your best friend brought out a cake and started the chorus of singing from around the room. You clapped, laughing along as they sang at the top of their lungs and drunkenly danced before finally blowing out the candles sitting atop the sweet dessert with only one wish in mind- to spend the day with Taeil.

It was an odd wish, yes, but you felt almost distant from him after you started dating. He rarely spoke of himself and only showed affection when others were around, as if it was only an act.

As everyone finished their cake, they began to hand you the presents they brought, smiling proudly as you opened them all and giddily thanked them. The only problem was Taeil, you were on the last present and yet you had not opened his, if he even brought one that is. Your guests seemed to pick up on the discomfort as you open the last gift of a silver necklace with the note reading Renjun. You tried to hide your disappointment but the tears threatened to spill as you said goodbye to everyone and thanked them for showing up, leaving you alone with the one person you couldn’t bring yourself to look at.

“You’re mad at me~” He called from the couch after seeing your slumped figure walk in.

“It’s my birthday, why would I be anything but happy?”

“Well that’s good, then you weren’t going to comment on the lack of a present today.”

The playful sound of his voice only angered you as you rushed into the bedroom and locked the door, huffing as you fell on your bed. How could he not even get you a card knowing you’d be upset?

“Honey~ You didn’t even give me a chance to explain.” He cooed, hand gently rubbing your back before you jumped up. You knew you locked the door.

“Do you have anything scheduled for tomorrow? I wanted us to go on a trip together.” Adrenaline rushed through you, forgetting everything else as you inquired about the trip with his only response being ‘It’s a secret.’

You don’t remember everything after that clearly, simply drinking some tea with Taeil on the couch before waking up in your bed the next morning. You smiled hearing a quiet voice outside following the smell of coffee and pancakes, grabbing one of your sweaters you rushed out to find Taeil standing by the stove humming along to a song only he could hear. Stalking over to him, you slipped your arms around his back, drowning in his scent while he finished cooking.

“Sit down, I’ll bring everything to you.” He gently removed himself from your arms, grabbing a nearby plate and sliding the pancakes on. Skipping over to the island table, you slid into the first chair and watched as he poured a glass of coffee and set it in front of you along with butter, syrup, and the plate.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” You watched him stand in front of you, nothing but his own cup to occupy him.

“I ate before you came out. When you’re done, get ready and we’ll head out because the drive is long, and I want to make sure you see everything in time.”

You nodded, doing as he asked while wondering what he possibly had planned for the day.

 The drive was quiet, your partner simply staring ahead while you looked out the window suddenly realizing he wasn’t what you had always thought about him. The buildings flew by as he drove, only slowing when they morphed into trees and occasionally stopping for breaks along the way. It took everything in you not to ask him to turn around and take you home, you wanted to spend the day with him but this was not what you had in mind, the silence was deafening and the longer you watched the sun climb the sky and make it’s descent the more you wanted to scream.

Turning to him, you were about to tell him to go back when he pulled into a small dirt road and finally smiled, patting your leg excitedly as he cheered.

“We’re here! Close your eyes, I’ll guide you the rest of the way in.” He quickly stopped the car and unbuckled his seatbelt to get out and walk over to your side. You watched, hesitantly following his instructions, and getting out after closing your eyes.

“I’m right here, don’t be scared.” His breath tickled your ear as he covered your eyes with his hand and gently pushed you forward. You had no idea where you were and the darkening sky concerned you, but his excited presence was reassuring, telling you exactly where to go and avoiding any branches or dips in the ground.

“You can open your eyes now.” Removing his hand, he shuffled forward as you opened your eyes to a large, rusted gates before you. The arch above the doors read CarderVille, a name you couldn’t recognize despite how excited Taeil seemed as he turned back to grab your hand and pull you in.

“This, my love, is the country’s biggest carnival. It was closed and abandoned years ago, leaving only those brave enough to explore it to keep it alive in history.” You exhaled in awe as the structures came into view before you.

Even in the dark you could make out a large, colorful tent sat in the center with dozens of booths and old buildings surrounding. The site was thrilling, and you jumped up and down in excitement, this time dragging Taeil with you to look around.

Your first stop was at a carousel, the partially broken horses and dusty floors did nothing to prevent you from climbing on to admire, not noticing the disappearance of your boyfriend at first. After several laps around the contraption, you finally take a few steps back to look at it from afar when you think you spot something on the roof. Squinting, you stare at it and blink a few times, it closely resembled the figure of a crumpled human.

“It’s only the shadows messing with your eyes.” You try to convince yourself as you walk away, hoping to spot the one who brought you here in the first place.

You continued talking to yourself, reminding yourself it was safe and that Taeil would protect you from any harm.

When you reached a concession stand you stopped, curiously looking inside, and calling for Taeil as you see a shadow. With no response, you lean over the counter to get a better look and scream just as the lights suddenly flash on. The figure was not Taeil, the old rotting form before you were an unfortunate stranger. Turning away, you gagged, the smell sinking into your nose and forcing you to your knees to rid your stomach of its contents. You hear his cheers before seeing him in the distance, assuming he went to turn the lights on

You call his name's a few times but no response, you're sitting and waiting in hopes he's trying to mess with you when the lights suddenly flash on and you jump in fear only loosening when you hear Taeil cheering in the distance and minutes later running out on the main street. Despite the lights being turned on in the dark night, it's difficult to see. The orange tint adding little depth to the grand setting of the place and all you’re left to do is walk.

 You walk, hoping to catch up to your beloved boyfriend when you hear whispering in a concession stand, the lights outlining a figure as you come closer to see. You wanted to call out to them, but your throat constricted and all you could do was curiously look closer. The body was old, rotting with the bugs crawling over it and signs of birds and other animals eating from it made you sick to the stomach, the contents from dinner earlier suddenly climbing its way back up as you turn away and collapse to the ground.

Once it seemed as though nothing more could come up you shakily crawled away from the booth, using a pole for lights to stand and look around. Taeil was nowhere in sight.

Your throat burned and tears pricked at your eyes as you called out for him, your voice pleading into the darkness met with a familiar melody. Following it, you blindly walked into the main tent only to find all sounds muted, the hushed silence combined with a lack of lighting spiking your anxiety once again.

Standing in the center, you looked up at the domed ceiling that appeared to go on forever with the shadows until your eyes adjusted more and you could faintly make out bleachers surrounding the edge of the tent. The longer you looked at them the crazier you felt, figures…bodies of people seemed to be placed throughout, their heads rolled to one side and shoulders slumped.

“Taeil, I want to go! Where are you?” You couldn’t take this anymore, you just wanted to leave.

That was when the song started up again, the melody seeming to haunt you now.

Ring around the Rosie

The image of Taeil humming in your kitchen clouded your mind. The morning of your birthday he had visited your apartment, claiming he wanted to make your breakfast and refusing to allow you to help. His smile was the brightest you had ever seen as he poured the batter on the pan, humming along to what he claimed was his favorite song. Now that very song felt like it had nailed your feet to the ground, your body felt like it wasn’t your own as you stood frozen in fear.

Pocket full of posies

You shouted and screamed hoping your dear boyfriend would show up. That maybe this was the nightmare and your brain had simply played a cruel prank on you and you still laid in bed the night of your birthday wondering what Taeil was going to do the next day.

Ashes, ashes

Tears streamed down your face, reminding you this was more than reality. A nightmare your brain would never create. You thought about running, but where would you go? You thought about hiding, yet you didn’t even know where safe was. So, you continued to let your fear hold your legs tight, believing that maybe this could be a cruel prank and that maybe the lights would turn on and you’d find family and friends laughing at your reaction. “Taeil.” You were shaking everywhere, the name quietly falling on your lips.

We all fall down

“I'm here my love,” the singing stopped. Taeil whispered right behind you, the shiver running down your spine telling you he was the last person you needed right now.

But by then it was too late, the piercing knife went through your back and all you could do was watch. Watch as you fall to the ground, Taeil pulling the knife out in the process and the blood beginning to pool around you ever so slowly. All you could do was listen, listen as Taeil began humming the tune of your favorite song as he wiped the blood on the knife off on you.

[nicolewrites]

We Stand, Fate-Tested - V

Alright, folks, I'm going to make this clear: the second half of this chapter discusses miscarriage. There are some descriptions of one as it occurs, including a brief description of blood. Please take care if this is something that could be triggering or sensitive for you.

Rating: T+ Genre: Mystery, Friendship, Romance Characters: [Byleth/My Unit, Dimitri B.], [Byleth/My Unit, Claude R.] Words: 6,206

Almyra is more enlightening than she imagined it would be. / Politics are painful, but her personal life is almost worse.

AO3 | FFN

V - How Everything Breaks

Garreg Mach University - 19 Ethereal Moon, 732 AU

“Are you really going to stay in town over the break?” Flayn’s wide green eyes were charming and innocent and they made Byleth feel slightly guilty.

“I hadn’t planned on going anywhere and I thought that maybe I could do more work if there were fewer people around,” Byleth explained. She took another sip of her tea and almost winced at the disappointment on Flayn’s face.

“And you won’t come with us to the coast?” Flayn asked again.

Byleth shook her head. “No, I take up enough of your father’s time. I don’t need to tag along with you guys on this trip. I know what it means to you to be able to get to visit your mother. I don’t want to intrude.”

Flayn frowned and nibbled at the tart on her plate. “It’s not intruding if we invite you,” she tried.

Byleth sighed. “I’ll be fine, Flayn. I did this last year too. It’s alright.”

“What’s alright?” Seteth asked as he approached the table, holding his own cup of coffee. He looked between Flayn and Byleth and seemed to read the conversation fairly well. “Is this about the break still?”

“I’m going to try to get ahead on work. I’ve still got paperwork to process before the dig starts anyways,” Byleth excused.

Seteth shook his head. “Byleth, I finished that last week. And the break is for taking time off, so even if you won’t come with us, you must promise you won’t spend the whole time working. Do you have a friend you could visit?”

Byleth briefly considered the option, thinking of Leonie, a girl who had studied martial arts under her father who Byleth had been friends with for a few years during her undergrad. Leonie was in her fourth year of study now and had extended an invitation for Byleth to spend the holidays with her the previous year and would likely do so again if Byleth reached out. Still, she didn’t want to burden Leonie. She knew how hard the girl worked to balance school and a part-time job to pay off her loans.

“I’ll be fine, Seteth,” she said instead.

He frowns, looking much like Flayn had. “You say that and I still worry. What about near Shambhala? Is there anyone you worked with over there who you might want to visit?”

Byleth paused before she could shoot him down. While she wasn’t particularly keen on caving to Seteth and Flayn, there was somewhere she was interested in going for both personal and academic reasons. The brochure had been taunting her for almost two weeks and it had taken her until two days ago to look through it fully and find that Claude had tucked his phone number in the back of it in the event she did decide to visit Almyra.

“What if I went on a trip for research purposes?” she asked. “Is that better?”

“For research?” Seteth inquired. As personally invested as he was, there was just no turning off his genuine curiosity.

Byleth dug into her bag for the brochure and placed it on the coffee table. Flayn picked it up and studied it curiously before she passed it to her father and gave Byleth a surprised look.

“Almyra?” she wondered.

Byleth shrugged. “It’s an itch I want to scratch. I’m running into all the same walls as other people. Maybe something could strike while I’m there.”

Seteth hummed in agreement. “It’s an idea for sure. I’m interested to know what you think about these too,” he added, tapping one of the small, fuzzy pictures on the inside of the brochure.

Byleth bit her lip. He was referring to the same tapestries that Claude had alluded to the first time they had met. Seteth was correct, too, because Byleth had wanted to see the tapestries since she first heard about them. In photos, she could only see so much, but she was hoping that if she could see them face-to-face she could put aside any lingering nerves about why everyone she knew kept saying she looked like the Guardian of Order.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Seteth said after a pause.

Byleth felt a small smile curve up her lips and she drummed her fingers over the brochure on the tabletop. “Okay,” she agreed. She lifted the edge of the paper and spied the scrawled phone number written on the inside page. “I guess I have a call to make then.”

- ~ -

Jodat International Airport, Almyra - 21 Ethereal Moon, 732 AU

As soon as she grabbed her luggage off the carousel, Byleth called Claude. She tucked her phone between her shoulder and her ear as she lugged her suitcase and purse towards the exit doors. She nearly dropped her phone and swore loudly and was greeted by a loud laugh in response.

“You always curse like that in the heat?” Claude’s teasing voice said through the phone.

Byleth huffed as she managed to situate her stuff so she could keep a grasp on her phone. “Shut it, Claude. Where do I go once I leave the main exit?”

“Head straight for like a minute until you see passenger pick-up. You’ll see me.”

Byleth exited the airport into the bustling pick-up zone. A gust of warm air fluffed her hair and Byleth stifled a groan at the radiating heat. It was the Ethereal Moon and it was still as warm as it was in the summer at Garreg Mach here. She didn’t want to imagine what it would be like during Blue Sea Moon or Verdant Rain Moon.

True to his word, Byleth spotted Claude almost immediately as she walked out. He was leaning against a fancy silver car, grinning at her over a pair of sunglasses as she approached. He pushed off the car and opened the trunk for her as she arrived at his side.

“You know, Teach, when you said you’d consider it, I didn’t think you’d actually be coming here.”

Byleth shrugged. “I wanted to get away,” she offered as an excuse.

Claude quirked an eyebrow. “Sure,” he replied nonchalantly.

Byleth dumped her suitcase in the trunk of the car and quickly lifted her hair into a makeshift ponytail. Claude watched her with a smile and waited for her to get more comfortable before he walked around to the driver’s side of the car. It felt a bit weird to see him outside of the university setting, especially since he was dressed in stylish white pants and a long-sleeved black shirt. There was no way that he wasn’t burning hot, but he didn’t seem phased at all.

Byleth got in the passenger side and was almost immediately taken aback at how nice the car was. She glanced from the leather dashboard cover to the fancy console to Claude and gave him a skeptical look.

“This is snazzy,” she commented dryly.

He laughed. “Child of a diplomat, remember?”

Byleth immediately rolled her window down and looked out curiously. She had never been to Almyra before and the bustling airport in the capital had a very different feel from the big airports in Fódlan.

Before she or Claude could say anything else, there was a high-pitched female shriek from nearby. “Khalid!”

Byleth blinked in surprise as she watched a trio of girls across four lanes of pick-up traffic wave frantically and try to fight their way towards the car. She looked at Claude.

“Friends of yours?”

“Nope,” he replied evenly and started the car. He pulled smoothly away from the curb before the girls could get close to their car. “If you put the window up, the AC will feel better,” he suggested as if nothing had happened.

Obliging, Byleth rolled up the window but kept a cautious gaze on her host. “Who’s Khalid?” she asked Claude.

“No idea,” he said in the same casual tone of voice.

Byleth noted that his hands were tight on the steering wheel and he kept his sunglasses on, covering his eyes. He was hiding something. “Claude,” she pressed, “who’s Khalid?”

“Some celebrity I’m sure. She must have mistaken me for someone else. Maybe she mistook you for someone,” he suggested.

Byleth crossed her arms. “Aren’t I owed a bit of honesty if I came all this way?”

Claude sighed heavily. “Look, I’ll explain everything soon, okay? None of it will make sense right now, so just pick a radio station, okay?” He gestured to the console in the front of the car.

Byleth fiddled with the dial until the speakers in the car crackled to life. A smooth, upbeat song filtered through and she recognized it. It was a pop song from Fódlan that was playing all over the radio stations back home too. Not trusting herself not to turn directly to some random Almyran news channel, she left it.

“Thanks for picking me up,” she said to Claude.

He grinned again. “Hey, I’m honestly glad to be out of the house for a bit. Besides, I don’t often get visitors out here so I’m happy to be your guide for a few days.”

Byleth dug for the gallery brochure in her purse. “And what makes you so sure that you can even get me into the gallery?”

Claude smirked. “Don’t you trust me, Teach?”

Byleth glanced out the window to look at the city as they drove by. “I guess I don’t have much of a choice,” she admitted. Claude drove past the highway exit for the main downtown and she looked back at him. “Where are we headed anyway?”

“You’re not going to freak out, are you?”

“Do I need to be freaking out?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged. “Debatedly,” he said cryptically as he changed lanes into an exit lane.

“Which part of Jodat do you live in?” Byleth asked instead.

“Do you know much about the city?” he asked, contemplating his answer.

“No,” Byleth admitted. “This is my first time in the capital here. I’ve been through the Locket a few times, but I’ve never been this far east.”

Claude laughed. “Oh, you’re in for a treat then.”

They drove in relative silence after that with the only interruption being the pleasant music of the radio. Byleth studied the architecture of the buildings around her. It was very different from Derdriu or Fhirdiad, the two biggest cities in Fódlan. The sun was shining brightly in the sky, but the AC of the car was refreshing and made it so that Byleth wasn’t uncomfortable in the heat.

After Claude exited the highway, he drove down two or three major streets before getting onto what looked like a private road that led away from the downtown core of Jodat. The area got sparser and sparser until it was like they were driving through private property. She turned back to Claude to ask him about it when she spotted a massive palace ahead of her. Her lips parted in surprise and her question died on her lips as Claude continued towards the palace.

At a gate on the edge of the grounds, security flagged them to a stop and Claude rolled down the driver’s side and passenger windows. A security guard stepped up on either side of the car and they both looked in through the windows, assessing Claude and Byleth.

Claude said something to them in Almyran that Byleth didn’t understand and the guard on the driver’s side pulled away from the car. She watched as he gave a stiff, upper-body bow and Claude just nodded in reply. The guard signalled the security booth and the gate in front of them swung open, leaving them to drive closer to the palace.

“What is going on? Claude, where are we?” Byleth demanded as Claude drove leisurely towards the towering building.

He said something in Almyran to her, smirking and Byleth scowled. When he noted her displeasure, he sighed. “Look, whatever happens next, just promise me you’ll let me explain before you freak out.”

Byleth didn’t get a chance to respond before they had reached the front of the palace. Claude parked the car and immediately got out, leaving Byleth to scramble out after him. He was already pulling her suitcase out of the trunk by the time she shut the door behind her. Byleth craned her neck and looked up at the gorgeous palace before them.

The heavy doors in front of them swung open and a man and a woman ran out, wearing similar uniforms. The man said something to Claude in Almyran and held out his hand for the car keys. Claude dropped them with a sigh and turned to the woman and spoke a few words quickly. The woman clicked her tongue against her teeth and frowned, but turned and walked back into the building.

“Right!” Claude said quickly. He whipped off his sunglasses and tucked them in the front of his shirt. His green eyes were sparkling as he waved his hand towards the palace. “Let’s go inside.”

Byleth felt rooted to the spot. “Claude, what is going on?” she demanded again. “You told me you lived near the Embassy in Jodat.” She gestured to the palace. “This looks like a royal palace,” she trailed off as she said it.

Byleth looked from the fancy building to Claude and then back at the long private driveway, massive gate, and private road leading up to it. She thought about the instant responses of the man and woman at the house and the guard at the gate. She recalled Claude’s reaction at the airport when the girls had screamed at him.

She dropped her purse in her surprise.

Claude winced and quickly grabbed her bag, offering it to her. “Can we have this conversation inside, please?” he requested.

Byleth shook her head to clear it but followed him inside the palace. “Were you ever going to tell me, Khalid?” she asked, putting extra emphasis on the name.

He sighed. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I like the unknowns of everything better,” he said as they walked into a grand entranceway.

“You’re Khalid Al-Qadir,” Byleth pointed out. “You’re the Crown Prince of Almyra and you’re studying at a Fódlani university under a fake name?”

Claude led her down a hallway towards what looked like dozens of large bedchambers. “Khalid Al-Qadir doesn’t leave Almyra. Claude Rahan, the grandson of diplomat Oswald Rigaud, is studying at Garreg Mach.”

Byleth stopped walking. “Same person,” she said bluntly.

Claude stopped and turned to her. “My mother is the daughter of Oswald and I really am half-Fódlani. I just also happen to be the prince of Almyra. Now, my fascinating life story aside, I believe you came all this way to see the Royal Galleries didn’t you?”

Byleth frowned. She was absolutely not done picking at Claude’s cover. But, she did want to get into the Royal Galleries and it made sense that the prince would have access to the galleries and could get her in without the stigma she might normally face as a Fódlani native trying to view the private gallery of foreign royalty.

- ~ -

Almyran Royal Galleries - 21 Ethereal Moon, 732 AU

There were three tapestries. Each was the height of a wall and a full arm span wide. Each tapestry was preserved behind glass with a small inscription card at the base explaining what each depiction was supposed to be.

The first one of the three–the largest one–was the King of Dawn. The King of Dawn had been the leader of Almyra in the Post-Unification Years. The tapestry depicted him riding on the back of a dragon-like beast holding a bow in one hand and the Almyran flag in the other. His features were stoic and neutral, but he didn’t look unkind or harsh, just neutral.

“I was named for him,” Claude said from beside her, his eyes on the woven face of the king. “Khalid,” he explained. “My father wanted me to have big footprints to fill, I suppose,” Claude mused.

“No kidding,” Byleth agreed.

In the hours that she’d been in Almyra, she had managed to wrest the rest of the story from Claude. He chose to study in Fódlan because he had friends there that he had made while visiting his grandfather during Oswald’s work as an ambassador and because he wouldn’t be recognized as royalty. That was the explanation for the fake Fódlani name as well.

Byleth stole a glance at Claude and then looked back at the King of Dawn. “You look like him,” she said quietly.

Claude laughed. “My mother thinks so too. It’s why she thinks it’s especially funny that I chose to go by Claude at Garreg Mach.”

“Funny?”

Claude gestured at the Almyran king. “He supposedly had Fódlani blood too. In the records of saved correspondence we have, apparently he went by a fake name for a while too.” Claude said something in Almyran that sounded a bit like he was butchering his own name and shrugged. “It doesn’t really have a good translation to Fódlani, but it sounds enough like Claude that it’s where I got the idea for mine from.”

Byleth laughed. “That’s one way to fill someone’s shoes.”

Claude gave her a wry smile and nudged her towards the second tapestry. This one depicted a tall blonde man with an eyepatch brandishing a lance toward the sky. It wasn’t hard to recognize the King’s Relic as the lance in the pattern. This was an image of the Saviour King.

Byleth hummed to herself as she admired it. “It’s interesting how Fhirdiad refuses to acknowledge these,” she commented. “They’re the only surviving visual depictions of the King and the Guardian and yet they claim that they’re not accurate.” She shook her head.

Claude pondered that thought for a moment. “I think it’s partly because of the way they’re portrayed. Look at the King of Dawn and how regal he looks in his full royal regalia. This king,” he gestures to the Saviour King, “is wearing battle armour and has an eye patch. Those details aren’t exactly flattering to a figure known in Fódlan as the Saviour King.”

Byleth nodded. “I agree.” She tipped her head to study the features of the Saviour King. “He’s more expressive. It’s like someone described this image to the artist whereas with the King of Dawn it was more of an artist’s free interpretation.”

“You’d be correct in saying that,” Claude affirmed. “All three of these tapestries were commissioned by the King of Dawn. There was also supposedly some kind of enchantment placed on them to preserve them through time.” He smiled fondly. “It’s why they’ve survived so long.”

Byleth turned away from the Saviour King to the last of the three tapestries. On this one, a woman stood pointing a blade high toward the sky. Light seemed to be pouring out of the blade and even out of her. She had mint green hair and eyes and an intense look on her face. Like the Saviour King, she appeared to be dressed in attire appropriate for battle. Notably, she lacked any iconography that would have linked her to the church of the time.

“That’s a woman I would trust with my life,” Claude commented, slipping his hands into his pockets casually. “I still think she looks like you.”

Byleth touched her hair self-consciously. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “I thought seeing her in person would let me decide for sure if all of this was crazy, but I don’t know. She’s detailed too, so I’d bet that the King of Dawn described her to the artist in this image.”

“It means it’s probably accurate in the physical description,” Claude finished. He glanced at her. “They’ve even gotten her sword right which tells me that the person who gave the details for these pieces knew her fairly well.”

Byleth crossed her arms. “Yes. It’s been widely speculated that there was some kinship between the King of Dawn, the Saviour King and the Guardian of Order. If it’s true that the King of Dawn commissioned these pieces, it’s basically proof that they were friends in some capacity or at least that they knew each other better than surviving Fódlani records indicate.”

“Maybe they were friends,” Claude said lightly.

Byleth smiled faintly. “Maybe,” she agreed. “It would make for an interesting historical connection, wouldn’t it?”

- ~ - ~ - ~ -

Royal Palace, Fhirdiad - 7 Great Tree Moon, 1 AU

“If this is an issue regarding unity, we should both be there,” Byleth said firmly.

She placed her hands against the table and pushed herself to her feet. Her fingers crinkled the paper of the map and she immediately flinched at the four separate voices that cut her off.

“No!” they all urged, each in different tones.

Byleth sighed and looked around the room. In the council room of the palace, she felt out of her depth. Usually, if there were disputes, the issues were brought, with her husband, to Garreg Mach, but this had arisen during one of Byleth’s few stays at the palace in the capital.

The meeting this time consisted of Dimitri and herself, Seteth, Ingrid and Sylvain, Ashe, Dedue, and Mercedes. They were really only missing Annette and Felix to have had the whole gang together, but Annette had had responsibilities in Dominic that had required more immediate attention and her fiancé had gone with her.

Sylvain, Seteth, Ingrid, and Dedue had all spoken out against Byleth’s idea.

“With all due respect, Your Grace,” Ingrid began, in a calmer tone, “since the issue is with unity, it’s too dangerous to have you both go. Someone may see that as an opportunity.”

“She’s right,” Sylvain agreed. “If I learned anything from my time dealing with Sreng, it’s that you can’t send all your best soldiers in your first wave. Diplomacy is just a special kind of war.”

They were right, of course, but it didn’t mean Byleth wasn’t annoyed with the fact that she and Dimitri both wouldn’t be able to go. Dimitri sighed and rose from his seat, skirting the table so he stood behind Byleth as he pressed a comforting hand to her back. He could sense her agitation and she knew he didn’t like them being separated any more than she did.

“Then I will go,” Dimitri said.

Byleth frowned. “You have other things to worry about here. Surely I can go?”

Seteth shook his head. “I’m afraid His Majesty is correct. The people in this region,” he paused to gesture at the map, “are not our most pious believers. They were more affiliated with the Western Church before the war so I would not feel comfortable sending you, Your Grace. His Majesty should handle this.”

Byleth folded her arms. “Fine,” she replied shortly. “Is there anything else to be discussed?” She let her eyes flick between her friends.

Ashe shook his head. “That was my only report,” he said. He stood from the table and gave a short bow to both Byleth and Dimitri. “I have some correspondence to write, but send for me when you’re ready, Your Majesty.”

Dedue and Mercedes both spared Byleth and Dimitri smiles before they left the room. Sylvain watched the others leave before he rose from the table as well. He glanced almost warily at Seteth who returned his gaze sternly. After a long moment, Seteth’s eyes narrowed and he bowed to Byleth and Dimitri before sweeping out of the room. Sylvain inhaled like he was trying to gather himself and Ingrid reached up from her seat and took his hand.

“We had something we wished to tell you both before all of this started happening,” Ingrid said, directing the words to Byleth and Dimitri.

“We wed last month,” Sylvain confessed.

“What?” Dimitri asked. Byleth felt him tense behind her. He sounded offended. Byleth knew he was not overly shocked at the fact that his two friends had been wed, but he was surprised that there had not been a ceremony for him to attend.

Ingrid winced at Dimitri’s tone of voice. “Your Majesty, it was a small ceremony. We hadn’t intended for it to go down as it did, but other circumstances had called for it.”

“Other circumstances?” Byleth pressed. She had a faint idea where the conversation was going, but it made something in her stomach twist uneasily.

“The same circumstances that will make it so that I will not be accompanying you on this endeavour,” Ingrid admitted. “I am with child.”

“Congratulations,” Byleth said earnestly. Even though she truly meant the words, they felt bitter on her tongue.

Dimitri chuckled behind her. “I am happy for you both,” he said firmly. “I hope your affair was suitable to you both at least.”

Sylvain laughed. “Well it was just us, Mercedes, and Felix in a tiny room in Galatea, but it was perfect. We’re sorry we didn’t have a bigger celebration.”

Dimitri shook his head. “No, I understand.” His thumb stroked Byleth’s back. “We understand the desire for privacy,” he added.

Ingrid smiled then, a much more relaxed and sincere expression. “Thank you, Your Majesty, Your Grace.”

Byleth forced a smile over the lump that was welling in her throat. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

With that, Sylvain helped Ingrid up and they each gave a short bow before slipping out of the council room, leaving Byleth alone with Dimitri. As soon as they were gone, Dimitri slid his hands up to rub at her shoulder blades. His thumbs pressed into tightened wads of muscles and Byleth tensed before relaxing under his touch.

“Are you alright, Beloved?” he asked quietly. “You’re tense.”

She shook her head. “I am fine,” she assured. “I just find it funny how only moons ago we were joking that all of our friends would be pairing off and now they are. We have Felix and Annette’s wedding next month and Dedue and Mercedes have begun courting as well. From Leicester, we have even heard of Marianne and Lorenz’s betrothal and from Aegir, Ferdinand has proposed to Dorothea. And Sylvain and Ingrid will be having a child.” Her last addendum came out softer than the rest and Dimitri picked up on it.

He dropped his hands to her waist and spun her so that they were face to face. Worry had furrowed his eyebrows and Byleth immediately reached up to cup his face and smooth out his concern with her thumbs. He didn’t seem appeased by her gentle touch.

“I am sorry for the politics that are coupled with our relationship. If we could live quietly in a tiny house on a hill somewhere, I would, but,” he trailed off, looking sad.

Byleth smiled at him and brushed her thumb along the string holding his eyepatch in place. “I know,” she replied. “I am just afraid I am letting you down, my love.”

Dimitri looked affronted. “How would you ever let me down?”

Byleth dropped her hands to cover his on her waist and slid one over her stomach, frowning. “I suppose hearing their news has only highlighted my own inadequacy on that topic.”

Dimitri heaved a breath and quickly wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in tightly so she was pressed flush against him. His lips pressed firmly to the top of her head and Byleth traced her hands over the expensive silks of his jacket as he held her.

“We have been married for 4 months, my dear, anyone who is already worried about an heir is crazy.”

Byleth leaned back enough that she could look into his face. “I am worried,” she confessed suddenly.

“What?” he questioned softly.

Byleth shut her eyes. “I don’t know if I’m truly mortal, Dimitri,” she said. “Surely you have noticed that I lack a heartbeat, haven’t you?” The way his brows knit told her that he hadn’t processed the information even if he had noted it. “I don’t know what I am,” Byleth confessed quietly.

“Why would you not be mortal? You are flesh and blood in my arms here,” he said firmly.

“No mortal can wield the Sword of the Creator without a Crest Stone,” she countered.

Dimitri looked concerned for a moment. “What does this mean for you?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe these troubles we’ve had conceiving will never go away. Maybe I will never bear children. Maybe they’ll all be born dead.”

The last thought was so grim that her voice broke and she felt tears pricking against her eyes. Dimitri hugged her even more tightly and kissed her head again. She breathed in his scent and clutched to his warmth for reassurance.

“We will figure this out together,” he said firmly. “We can talk to as many healers as it takes.” He leaned back to stare into her face, his gaze unwavering. “But I will always love you, no matter what happens next, alright?”

Byleth exhaled and nodded. “Alright,” she agreed.

- ~ -

Royal Palace, Fhirdiad - 10 Great Tree Moon, 1 AU

The bed next to her was already cooling by the time she awoke. Byleth’s hand reached across the sheets and found nothing so she blinked her eyes open. She was alone, but there was movement in their chambers. She shifted, pushing herself up onto her elbows as she watched Dimitri dress from the bed.

Her movement drew his attention and he turned back toward her. “Good morning,” he greeted pleasantly.

“It would be better if my husband hadn’t risen without me,” she teased.

Dimitri smiled faintly as he laced his pants and looked around for his shirt. “How unfortunate,” he agreed. “More unfortunately, I do have to leave this morning,” he reminded. “I have made Ashe, Dedue, and Sylvain linger long enough.”

Byleth huffed. “I want to go with you.”

“I know,” Dimitri agreed. “I wish you could join us. But, Seteth is right. We should not test the Western Church at a time like this. The Kingdom is still fragile.”

Byleth nodded. “I know.” A small bead of pain pulsed in her abdomen and Byleth shifted so she was sitting fully to relieve the cramp in her stomach.

Dimitri located his shirt and was pulling it on when he glanced back at her and saw that she was sitting and that the sheet had pooled around her waist, leaving her exposed from the waist up. He immediately turned away and did up his shirt.

Byleth laughed at her husband. “Oh come on, are you really going to just leave right now?” Another cramp twisted in her stomach and she frowned, rubbing the heel of her palm against the soreness. More pain radiated when she touched it and she exhaled breathily against it.

Dimitri heard her and turned back to face her, looking worried. “Byleth?”

She shook her head and closed her eyes as the pain faded. “Just a cramp,” she assured. “I’m fine-” she cut herself off with a gasp as a headache blossomed between her eyes. Pain spiked from her stomach again and she couldn’t hold back the whine that slipped between her lips.

“Byleth!” Dimitri cried out as he bounded across the room. He knelt beside her bed on her side and reached for her. “Byleth, what’s wrong?”

Byleth curled her arms around her stomach and whined at the splitting pain again. “My stomach,” she gasped between the sharp waves of pain radiating out. A particularly bad pain seized her and she cried out in pain.

As the strong wave faded, Byleth felt something wet rush between her legs. Slowly, she reached down and felt for the wetness. When she pulled her fingers back, they were coated in a sticky dark red substance. She and Dimitri both stared in shock at the blood on her hand. Almost immediately after, another strong pain hit her and Byleth buckled to the side.

Dimitri’s arms shot around her as he caught her before she could collapse completely. Byleth’s eyes fluttered from pain and she felt them burn with tears. He immediately reached for the slip draped over the headboard and pulled it around her and cradled her in her arms.

“Byleth, are you alright?” he asked, fear clearly evident in his voice.

“It hurts, Dimitri,” she breathed out as another sharp flare caused her vision to tunnel momentarily. She felt a few tears glide down her cheeks as her headache intensified. Byleth rested her head against his shoulder and tried to steady her breathing.

Dimitri’s arms shifted and then she was suddenly airborne as he held her tightly. “Mercedes!” he yelled.

Byleth’s whole body twitched from pain and Dimitri immediately stood from the floor and made for the door to their chambers, still holding Byleth in his arms. He slammed the doors open so hard that she was pretty sure the wood splintered and yelled for Mercedes again.

Down the hall, in the guest chambers, a door slammed open and Sylvain sprang into the hallway wearing a pair of pants and two different shoes. Ingrid peered around her husband down the hall towards Dimitri and Byleth.

“Mercedes!” Dimitri yelled again.

This was finally enough to catch her attention as Mercedes’s door slammed open and she ran out into the hallway towards them. She reached their side quickly and Dimitri lowered himself and Byleth to the ground so Mercedes could kneel and assess Byleth.

“What happened?” Mercedes asked calmly. Her brow was knit, betraying her worry, but she kept her tone even and clear.

“She was just suddenly in pain and then she was bleeding,” Dimitri said quickly, his voice wavering.

Byleth turned her head toward Mercedes and watched grief spread over her healer’s face. She whimpered when her stomach muscles spasmed and Dimitri made a noise like he had been stabbed as he looked down at her.

“Bring her to the infirmary, quickly,” Mercedes instructed, jolting back to her feet. She spun in the hallway and saw that the rest of the guests in this wing, Dedue, Sylvain, and Ingrid were all standing a few feet back, staring on in horror. “Ingrid, please, I’ll need your help.”

Ingrid looked startled. “Mercedes, I’m not a healer,” she argued.

Mercedes shook her head firmly. “You’re a woman,” she pointed out and then immediately started down the hall to the infirmary.

Byleth clung to consciousness as Dimitri practically jogged with her to the infirmary. As soon as he had laid her down on one of the cots, Mercedes shooed him from the room.

“Absolute not,” he hissed. “I am not leaving her.”

“Yes you are,” Mercedes said firmly. “You will wait outside and let me work, Dimitri.”

His shoulders crumpled and he gave Byleth’s hand a firm squeeze. “Please help her,” he whispered to Mercedes. Dimitri left then, sliding past Ingrid who stood tentatively in the door to the infirmary.

Mercedes immediately set to work creating a poultice of herbs and called Ingrid over. “I need her to eat this,” she instructed, handing Ingrid the bowl of crushed herbs.

Mercedes cast a Fortify spell and Byleth gasped at the relief the spell gave her. Ingrid carefully fed her the bitter herbs and Byleth choked them down, forcing herself to swallow despite the pains that made her gag. Mercedes ran a comforting hand through her hair as she cast another healing spell.

“That’s it, Byleth, it shouldn’t be long now.”

Ingrid held her hand and Mercedes continued brushing her fingers through Byleth’s hair for what felt like an hour before there was a last weak pulse of pain in her stomach that faded. Byleth closed her eyes and just took several deep breaths to steady her breathing. She dimly felt Mercedes move around to her lower body and do a brief clean-up before she came back up to be level with Byleth’s head.

“Byleth,” she said gently, “did you know you were pregnant?”

Byleth’s eyes shot open and she half-sat up on the cot just out of reflex. “What?” she demanded breathily.

Mercedes gave her a sad smile. “I guess that’s a no,” she assumed.

Ingrid squeezed Byleth’s hand. “I’m so sorry, Byleth,” she murmured.

Byleth breathed in sharply and looked between the two women. “Why are you sorry?” When Mercedes didn’t answer immediately, Byleth jerked her hand away from Ingrid and wrapped her arms around her stomach. “Why are you sorry?” she pressed.

“You miscarried, Byleth,” Mercedes said quietly. “We lost the baby.”

A chill spread from the centre of her chest through her whole being and Byleth shifted so she was sitting up. She wound her fingers in the thin silk of her shift and stared blankly ahead at the wall. She hadn’t even known there had been life inside of her. Mercedes and Ingrid, to their benefit, didn’t try to comfort her further. Instead, Mercedes sent Ingrid out to retrieve Dimitri.

In the back of her mind, Byleth heard Mercedes explaining what had happened to Dimitri. She heard him let out a choked sob before he was sitting on the edge of the cot, pulling her into his arms tightly.

Numb, Byleth let Dimitri whisper words of comfort into her ear and she closed her eyes and just listened to the steady thrumming of his heart.

[skiphunt]

Porto Wine Cat Feed

The next stop was Coimbra and a few other towns heading North. Lovely, but the usual travel stuff. First, had to find a budget place to stay, then look for some food, then look up in the guide book or maybe ask around on the street what unique things Coimbra is known for, then wander around aimlessly. Finally, I’d dare adventure fate to take the reins. The usual.

Might’ve called it too quick, but after a good hike around the town, checking out the University campus, and a couple of the parks… it basically just felt like any other cozy college town. Small bars and coffee shops, pretty landscape, and mostly quiet. Figured it might take more time to find any potential adventure than I’d afforded to this one location. I’d only stopped in Coimbra sort of randomly on the way North anyway. Not even sort of randomly. Literally at random. I met another traveler who said he liked to jump on a bus going anywhere, then get off at one of the stops randomly. Sounded cool and so I tried it out with Coimbra. 

Definitely, a lovely place to go to school and live, but wasn’t quite giving me that adventurous edge I was hoping for. Pleasant, but decided to cut bait and keep on moving North toward Porto.

When I made it to Porto, near the border with Spain and the Northernmost port city in Portugal... named after and known for its delicious port wine, I felt the travel magic start to kick in much stronger.

I’m not even entirely sure of the moment the travel vibe shifted from rote to full-on mystique. Might’ve got a hint of it in the ancient Porto train station as I gazed at the giant clock’s antique second hand begin to move in what I began to perceive in slow motion. Or, it could be when I took the train for the day, passing through the vineyards in the rainy emerald green countryside. I looked out the back window of the last train car, through the raindrops collecting on the glass... the vineyard-lined tracks appeared to fall away faster than the train was actually moving. 

It’s bizarre how the perception of time can so drastically change in psychedelic ways when you’re traveling. It speeds up and slows down in ways that can sometimes induce mild vertigo. That’s when you know it’s about to get good.

The moment in Porto that was likely the strongest trigger happened later that day and is also the most vivid. 

The port of Porto is fed by the sea and into the Douro river. The sides of the Douro are lined with tug boats, colorful architecture, and lovely silver bridges. You can wander all day along both sides and will perpetually be presented with the most amazing views across the Douro from just about any point of view.

Near the mouth of the Douro are dozens of places where you can taste fine port wine from various vintners for only a few euro. This is what I’d spend the afternoon doing after the train returned from the vineyards. The sun was now out and the sky defined the words Royal Blue. Contrasted with the colorful tug boats and architecture… it was simply sublime.

Tried to keep my wits about me and pace myself with regard to the wine tasting. The port wine was so incredibly divine that this conservative task of pacing myself was hopelessly futile. Before I knew it, I was so intoxicated that walking and remaining upright had become a bit of a challenge. 

Luckily, while I could still mostly function I realized the beautiful warm light falling all over the uniquely curved and stacked architecture. I knew this would be my last chance to get some final photos before moving on into Spain in the morning so it was time to voluntarily cut myself off from the sweet port nectar. 

Meandered and wobbled my way into the shadowy passageways decorated with flourishes of laundry hung to dry with pigeons swirling about. I could mostly still function well enough to compose a few quick images. I hadn’t counted on the buildings blocking the majority of the best golden light rays streaming across the city. Most of the corridors had already fallen into the darkest shade. 

I panicked that because I’d once again been too lazy and not bothered taking the needed time to capture this special place. Started darting quickly from passageway to passageway, desperate for any bit of leftover light I could find. Moving like an early evening moth drawn to the last diminishing pockets of sunset light. There! I spotted a final sliver of amber rays shooting down a long dark tunnel. I quickly made my way toward the end and when I popped out the other side, I was instantly blinded by last rays of sun burning directly into my retinas. 

Tried to shield my eyes but couldn’t see anything at all until several seconds later when they finally acclimated. Reached into my pocket for a cigarette and lit it to kill time. At this point, I was reserved to the fact I’d have to give up. I’d lazily let the day slip away and wasn’t going to get anything decent after the sunset. And, I didn’t have the time or funds to stay on another day. Besides, had I stayed another day, I’d have likely tried to do the exact same port wine tour I’d just done and would make the same mistake again. I know myself too well. 

Inhaled the cigarette and exhaled slowly, watching the last of the rays dance in the swirling smoke. There was a sound that I couldn’t quite make out. Sounded like small seeds or small pebbles being shaken onto a big tin plate. I looked to my right. My eyes had finally adjusted and noticed that the last shaft of sunset light was illuminating an old Portuguese woman standing on her balcony tossing refuse down below. It was as if she was in a theater with the main spotlight illuminating her. The sound  I heard was whatever she was tossing from her balcony, landing on a large tin roof below. There were about a dozen cats scrambling across the tin roof for the discarded treats. I could also now hear the cats meowing and scrambling for the best bits. A large, lone seagull watched the cats from above as sentry and I noticed the shaft of light diminishing rapidly as it moved past the opening between the buildings. 

Didn’t even have time to check my camera settings or consciously frame the image. Still partially blinded, I raised my camera up quickly, turned it vertically to my right side and blindly snapped one image. Then, just like that, the magnificent light was gone and the old woman went back inside her home. The cats scattered away and the seagull flew off.

Frantically checked to see if I got the lucky shot. I had. This was the precise moment the pure travel magic truly kicked in. —Skip Hunt

(from Absinthe Carousel - A Novela by Skip Hunt - Available as ebook on Apple Books + In Print and on Kindle at Amazon + As a PDF download from this Site)