#so a lamp it is. Still in my mind that's a magic tool

[mokakeeki]

Elvira, in her pre-bedtime writing session

@honzuki-exchange Winter Socializing gift for @princessserenity14

[demensrage]

d for deep investigation ⚊ • . with albedo

summary: your altruistic personality always leads you to be a people pleaser, that's why you didn't refuse when your coworker asked you to help him with his little anatomy research

cw: unestablished relationship, fingering, oral (f. receiving), blindfold play, protected, slight power play, nothing explicir.

wordcount: 4.3k

note: english is not my firts lenguage so please forgive me for the grammatical errors I may commit

© demensrage 2024. do not plagiarize, copy, repost, feed to ai, or translate my works to any other platforms.

The atmosphere in Albedo's research room always had an air of tranquility, almost mystical, as if time flowed differently within its walls. The alchemy tools were meticulously arranged on the stone tables, and jars filled with ingredients of all kinds gleamed under the dim light of the lamps. You sat there, observing the familiar space, but your mind couldn’t stop wandering. What could be so urgent that Albedo had sent you a letter so suddenly?

You knew your companion had a tendency to oscillate between the most mundane requests and those of overwhelming complexity. You had spent entire days helping him collect simple plant samples or calibrate his tools, only to find yourself later submerged in arcane experiments that bordered on the limits of science and magic. Nothing was predictable with Albedo, and that, in part, was what kept your curiosity always alert.

The echo of your own thoughts resonated in the room as you patiently waited for his arrival. The letter you received that morning still rested in your pocket, and every now and then, you touched it, as if by doing so, you could obtain some additional clue. “It’s urgent,” he had written, but without any further details. Albedo wasn’t one to be swayed by emotions or unnecessary alarms, so if he considered it urgent, it had to be something truly important.

As soon as Albedo entered the room, you stood up immediately, almost without thinking. You didn’t want him to think you had been wasting time, even if all you had done was wait. You always strove to meet his expectations, and though he never directly asked you to, you felt that internal pressure to measure up, to be useful. You were surprised at how quickly you had reacted, but it was natural for you.

Albedo approached with his usual calm, and his gaze lingered on you for a moment, as if analyzing your every move, just as he always did. It wasn’t a critical look, but you still couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being evaluated, which only increased your desire to be as perfect as possible in every small detail.

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” he said, his voice soft but with a touch of seriousness. “I have something important to do, and I need you for it.”

There was something in the way he said it, something deeper than the words themselves. Your breathing slowed slightly, as if your body sensed that the conversation was about to take an unexpected turn. Albedo moved toward one of the tables, and you watched as his hands slid gently over the instruments. There were no potion jars or herbs this time, just sheets of paper and some sketches, but as you got closer, you noticed that the drawings were not of plants or creatures. They were anatomical sketches, detailed and meticulous.

As you approached the table to examine the drawings more closely, something in them stopped you cold. These were not simple anatomical studies like the ones you had seen before. You recognized the proportions, the delicately drawn lines. It was your body depicted on those pages, recreated with a precision that left you breathless. Albedo had spent hours, perhaps days, studying every detail of your figure, every muscle, every curve, with a meticulousness that was both scientific and... personal.

Your mind began connecting the dots, a subtle current of understanding coursing through your body. Suddenly, all those times Albedo had touched you, those soft brushes on your hands, on your arms, took on a new meaning. There was always an excuse: adjusting a tool, helping you hold a jar, correcting your posture while you worked. But now you understood. Those small touches hadn’t been random; they had been pretexts, opportunities to observe, to learn from you, to study every inch of your skin with a purpose that you were only now beginning to comprehend.

“I have something important to do, and I need you for it.”

Albedo’s words echoed in your head, clearer now. It hadn’t been a request but a declaration of the inevitable. He had already decided, and you were destined to be part of it. His eyes, normally so calm, now seemed filled with an almost unsettling fascination, his pupils dilated as he observed you, as if he was anticipating something only he could see clearly.

“I see you’ve noticed already,” Albedo said, his voice soft but laden with a meaning you couldn’t ignore. There was no need for him to explain; everything was clear now. This wasn’t just a study of human anatomy. It was a study of you.

The silence between the two of you grew denser, almost tangible. Your thoughts raced wildly, but at the same time, something kept you anchored in that room, in that strange and subtle dynamic between the two of you. You had always wanted to be useful, to live up to Albedo’s expectations, and now, here you were, facing a situation you hadn’t anticipated, but one that had seemed inevitable from the start.

"It’s a study that requires something more... practical,” he continued, his eyes never leaving yours. He hadn’t touched you again since you entered the room, but now you understood that he didn’t need to. He already knew you better than you had imagined.

And as his words hung in the air, you knew that the line between apprentice and experiment had blurred, that in this “delicate process” he mentioned, you were both subject and collaborator.

"How practical?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper as you watched him approach slowly. The air became thicker, as if everything in the room had frozen except for him, moving with the calculated calm that had always defined him.

Albedo didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he walked around you, circling you with the same precision he applied in his experiments, his steps soft yet firm, making you feel like you were the center of his attention in a way you had never experienced before. His presence felt more intense, almost as if something within him had been waiting to be released.

When he positioned himself behind you, your heart began to beat faster, and before you could fully process the sensation, you felt his hands rise toward your hair. Gently, he brushed aside the strands that fell across your neck, the touch of his fingers sending a slight shiver down your spine.

The pads of his fingers grazed your skin, just a faint caress, but enough to make your breathing slow, more aware of every movement. "As practical as necessary," he murmured by your ear, his voice low, filled with the same intensity you had seen in his eyes.

His fingers traced the curve of your neck, studying every small detail with a familiarity that now felt undeniable. This wasn’t the first time he had done this, not with the subtle pretexts he always found to touch you. But this time there were no excuses, no tools or experiments to justify it. This time, the contact was direct, raw, and for the first time, you were completely aware of the nature of his attention.

“I suppose I can help you,” you said, though your words came with a slight frown, reflecting the hesitation creeping in. Albedo, ever observant, noticed that moment of doubt in your voice, in your expression. His hands, still resting on your neck, stopped entirely, as if he wanted to ensure you understood the gravity of what he was asking.

He didn’t move further. Instead, his eyes focused on yours, searching for something beyond mere verbal acceptance. “I want you to fully agree to this,” he said in a quieter tone, almost like an intimate whisper, but laced with seriousness. You knew that behind his curiosity and scientific studies lay an ethic he would never cross without your explicit consent. Though he could be cold and distant in many ways, this wasn’t one of them.

The moment stretched on, his words suspended between the two of you like an open question, yet charged with intention. He needed to be sure not just that you were allowing him to continue, but that you were willing, that you understood the implications of his request. He didn’t just want your help; he wanted your total approval, your voluntary submission to his study.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, the lingering touch of his fingers still burned softly on your skin, a constant reminder of what he was asking of you. The sketches of your body still lay on the table, and the image of them remained fixed in your mind. This wasn’t just another anatomical study—it was something far more personal. And now it was clear that he knew. He knew you had noticed his touches, his excuses... and now everything was out in the open.

“Will you let me use your body?” Albedo whispered against your ear, his voice low and enveloping, as if the very air had stopped to listen to his proposal. "Will you give it to me at my mercy? I promise to take care of you, I always do."

There was a strange truth in his words, a certainty you had never questioned before. Albedo had always protected you, in subtle but constant ways. In every experiment, in every lesson, he had always ensured you were safe. He had given you his knowledge, his time, and now... he was asking for something more.

“Yes,” you finally whispered, barely recognizing your own voice. The word came out softer than you had expected, but once you said it, you knew it was what you wanted. Not just from a need to please him, not just from the desire to help him in his research, but for something deeper, something that had been growing inside you without you realizing it.

Albedo remained silent for a moment, as if letting the decision settle between the two of you. Then, you felt the atmosphere change, the intensity in his gaze, in his gestures, taking on a new dimension. His hand, still resting on your neck, slid down, caressing the base of your nape with a care that felt almost reverent. There was no rush in his movements, only infinite patience, as if he were savoring every second of your consent.

"Good," he said softly, his tone lower, almost like an intimate whisper that only you could hear. "I knew I could count on you."

You were sitting naked in front of him, a blindfold covering your eyes, immersed in the dimness of the research room. The atmosphere was charged with a mix of excitement and tension, and although you couldn’t see, your other senses became sharper. You could hear the sound of his pen scratching against the paper, the soft scrape of ink flowing over the canvas. Each stroke seemed to vibrate in the air, as if telling a story that only he could understand.

Intrigue enveloped you, but the anticipation intensified as you felt his footsteps approach you. His presence was palpable, a contrast to the darkness surrounding you.

The way his hands enveloped your breasts was both delicate and possessive, an electrifying combination that sent waves of heat throughout your body. You could feel the softness of his skin against yours, the warmth of his palms fitting perfectly to your curves. Each movement was a game of exploration, as if he were discovering uncharted territory.

At first, there was a kind of reverence in his touch, as if he were trying to memorize every contour, every texture. But as his hands moved with more confidence, that reverence transformed into palpable desire. His fingers sank into your skin, caressing you with an intensity that made your breathing become erratic. Each stroke was a small flash of pleasure, each caress a reminder of your vulnerability and submission.

The blindfold over your eyes heightened every sensation; the lack of sight made you more aware of his presence, of his warmth, of how his body drew closer to yours.

Several gasps escaped your lips as his fingers tugged at your nipples, a gesture as unexpected as it was pleasurable that left you trembling. “I’ve heard that a certain part of you is sensitive,” he murmured, his voice low and controlled, almost clinical, but with an intensity that hinted at a deeper desire.

It wasn’t just an observation, it was an affirmation that pierced your skin and lit a flame within you. Albedo’s touch, once meticulous and calculated, had become firmer, more intentional. And as his fingers continued to play with your nipples, pulling and kneading with that perfect combination of pressure and subtlety, heat began to course through your body.

You knew that Albedo wasn’t like the others. While the others simply passed through your life without further ado, he only cared about you. And in that moment, there was no one else in his world, no one else in his mind, only you. His concentration, his attention, was focused entirely on your body, on every reaction he managed to elicit from you with his expert caresses.

You felt the heat rise from your neck to your cheeks, and that feeling of shame, mixed with excitement, left you breathless. The blush that stained your skin was only an external reflection of the growing desire that took hold of you, one that was beginning to feel impossible to ignore. Moisture pooled between your legs, clear evidence of what his touch was causing in you.

The kisses on your neck came unexpectedly, soft at first, like a barely perceptible whisper on your skin. Albedo, with a precision that only he could have, knew exactly where to place each kiss, as if he had studied every corner of your body in advance. His warm breath slid over your skin, causing an electric current to run up your spine.

As his lips continued to trace a burning path over your neck, his hands began to slowly slide downwards, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. The way Albedo moved, with such precision and control, made every second feel like an eternity, every touch a reminder that you were completely under his influence.

When his hands finally reached your belly, they paused for a moment, as if he wanted to make you aware of what was about to happen. The air between you became thick, charged with expectation, and although you couldn't see him because of the blindfold on your eyes, you felt every movement, every breath he took.

Then, with the same confidence he had shown from the beginning, his fingers continued their descent, until they gently brushed the moisture that had gathered between your legs. The first contact was delicate, almost experimental, as if he were testing the effect he had on you. But as soon as he noticed your body's immediate response, the tension that built up in your thighs, his movements became more determined.

His fingers entered without warning, curling immediately with clear intent. There was no room for gentleness. Albedo knew what he was looking for and found it quickly, his movements precise, but with a firmness that stole your breath.

Every time his fingers flexed inside you, they hit that spot that lit an insatiable fire inside you. He didn't stop, he didn't hesitate. His pace increased mercilessly, with one goal: to take you to the edge.

Gasps escaped your throat, as his hand kept you immobilized. There was no escape. Heat grew violently in your belly, as his fingers continued to work, relentless, curling at the perfect angle to draw out every moan from you.

He knelt in front of you with crushing confidence, his hands still working relentlessly, keeping you trapped in a spiral of pleasure. The intensity of his movements made you tremble, but Albedo showed no sign of stopping. From this new position, he was in complete control, and he knew it.

“You feel so warm,” Albedo murmured in a husky voice, his breath caressing the skin of your thighs as his fingers continued to work inside you, never slowing down. The firmness of his touch and the way his words reached you made the heat in your body rise uncontrollably, enveloping you completely.

One of his hands held your legs apart with a firm, almost dominant force, making sure you couldn’t move or close up. The control he exerted over your body was absolute, and he did it effortlessly, as if it were the most natural thing for him. His grip tightened every time your legs trembled, resisting the urge to close up at the intensity of his caresses.

As his fingers sank again and again inside you, his other hand held your thigh firmly, preventing any attempt to push you away, as if you were his most fascinating experiment. There was no escape, and deep down, you didn’t want to escape.

“You sure taste delicious,” Albedo murmured, his lips brushing the skin of your belly with a heat that made you arch involuntarily. Every kiss he planted on your skin felt like a promise, an anticipation that burned you from within. His tongue barely touched your skin, and the tingle spread like liquid fire through your body.

“Let me taste you, precious?” he asked, his voice thick with desire, a dark, hungry glint in his eyes as his lips came dangerously close to the place you wanted him most.

The lump in your throat barely let you speak, but your lips formed the words almost instinctively. “Yes… do it.” The hesitation you felt before vanished completely, replaced by the all-consuming heat. Your body no longer belonged to you, and you knew it.

Shamelessly, you spread your legs wider, offering yourself without any reservation, making it clear that you were completely at his mercy. The reaction was immediate: a spark of satisfaction crossed his eyes at the sight of your total submission.

He knew exactly what you wanted, he had seen it in the way your legs spread wider, offering themselves without any shame, and he was more than willing to give it to you. There was no rush in his movements; Albedo enjoyed prolonging the moment, savoring the anticipation that grew between you. His smile was just a trace of the satisfaction he felt at having you like this, at his mercy, vulnerable and exposed before him.

Without taking his gaze off of you, he leaned forward, letting his breath brush your skin, sending shivers throughout your body. The first touch of his mouth was slow, almost torturous, as if he wanted to make you beg for more, but deep down you knew you didn’t have to ask for it. Albedo had already decided he would give it to you, he was just enjoying the control he had over your every reaction.

When he finally let his lips reach you, there was no more gentleness. It was with a mix of intensity and hunger, as if he was determined to explore every corner of your body until you couldn't hold back your cries of pleasure.

His lips moved with precision, exploring every corner of you as if he were mapping out a map, as if every shudder and moan he elicited was a confirmation of his success. There was no softness in his touch, only a hungry intensity that left you trembling, at the mercy of his calculated movements and absolute dominance over your body.

Albedo alternated between caresses and kisses, his tongue following a relentless rhythm that drew uncontrollable gasps from your lips. Your entire body arched beneath him, seeking him out, while his hands kept your hips fixed, making sure you couldn't escape the growing pressure building inside you.

It was like he knew exactly how far to push you, like he was playing with your limits just to watch you succumb, giving you everything you wanted without giving you control over when or how you would receive it. And in that moment, amidst the heat that washed over you, you realized that he had been waiting for this, to see you like this—given over, lost in the pleasure he himself gave you, without reservations or barriers.

Unable to contain yourself, you buried your hands in his hair, holding on tight as your hips instinctively moved against his mouth. Pleasure built up with every flick of his tongue, every firm caress of his lips, and you could no longer maintain your composure. Your fingers tangled in his golden locks, tugging lightly, searching for something to hold on to as he continued to devour you mercilessly. Feeling your touch, Albedo let out a soft growl against you, the vibration sending a shiver through your entire body. His hands, strong and sure, held your legs open, making sure you couldn't escape or resist the pleasure he offered you.

"Delicious… oh fuck, so delicious," Albedo murmured against your skin, his deep, raspy voice sending waves of heat straight to your core. Every word that escaped his lips seemed to intensify the fire already consuming you, as if the sound of his pleasure only fueled your own.

With each word he spoke, the heat inside you grew, becoming almost unbearable. Albedo didn't stop; on the contrary, he reveled in your body's response, as if your pleasure was his greatest triumph. His hands moved with a confidence that made you feel even more exposed, each caress meticulously calculated, each movement designed to push you beyond your limits.

His lips and tongue explored mercilessly, as his words of praise became a mantra that echoed in your mind. "You're perfect," he whispered between kisses, his warm breath sending sparks across your skin. The combination of his voice with the touch of his mouth was intoxicating, like a drug that kept you lost in a sea of ​​pleasure, drowning you in sensations you didn't know could exist.

You were completely drunk with pleasure, every touch and every word from Albedo immersing you further into a state of euphoria. Every caress was like a bolt of electricity running through your body, making all your senses explode. The outside world faded away, and it was just you and him in that room, trapped in a bubble of intense sensations.

Gasps escaped your lips without you being able to control them, and every time his tongue slid over your skin, a shiver ran down your spine. "I can't… oh, Albedo, I can't take it anymore," you murmured, feeling yourself approaching a climax that threatened to overwhelm you. But he only smiled with a mischievous confidence, as if he knew he was far from allowing you rest.

“That’s just the beginning,” he replied in a deep tone, his hands gripping you with a possessive force. The way he moved, with the certainty that he had you under his control, only fueled the fire burning within you. Every time it seemed like you might break free, he held you back, taking your desire to new heights, relishing every moment of your surrender.

The intensity was increasing, every brush of his lips a spark that lit the fire inside you. His devotion to you felt palpable, as if every caress, every kiss, was designed to make you feel more than you had ever felt before. The line between pleasure and pain blurred; the outside world faded away as you gave yourself over completely to the experience.

“You like it, precious?” Albedo whispered, his voice a soft murmur between your moans, and you could only nod, unable to articulate a coherent response. All you could do was feel, let each wave of pleasure drag you further away from reality. His fingers moved masterfully, exploring every part of you, unleashing a torrent of sensations that kept you on the edge of climax, without him letting you fall.

“More… I need more,” you managed to whisper between gasps, feeling the tension in your body reach unbearable levels. He smiled, an expression of triumph that only fueled your desire. Albedo knew exactly what he was doing; he knew every corner of your body and how to take you to the limits of your pleasure.

With one last flick of his tongue, he brought you to the edge of madness, and before you could stop yourself, a cry of pleasure escaped your lips, releasing the pressure that had been building up inside you. The explosion of sensations left you trembling, lost in a sea of ​​euphoria, as you let yourself be carried away by the current of your own desire, knowing that he had brought you to this point.

But Albedo wasn't done with you, and you knew it. Even though your body was shaking, exhausted from the climax you had just experienced, he showed no signs of stopping. His eyes locked on yours, through the blindfold that still covered your vision, as if he could see past your fatigue, as if he knew you could still give him more.

"I've just begun," he murmured, his voice firm and full of determination, as his hands slid down your body again, this time with more force, with an intensity that made you feel like you were being molded by him, at his whim. His fingers invaded you again, moving with a more relentless rhythm, not allowing you a break, while his lips rested on yours, taking what he wanted without asking for it.

With each passing second you felt more overwhelmed, trapped between exhaustion and the desire to continue pleasing him. Your body, hypersensitive, responded to every touch, to every pressure of his hands. The pleasure built up again, faster this time, turning you back into a puppet under his control.

"I'm going to take you to the edge, precious," he promised, his words a low whisper against your ear, just before he sank his fingers into your pussy again.

[losing-it-lately]

doing Steve's makeup

wc: 1k

steve harrington x reader fluff

Steve Harrington feels like he’s died and gone to heaven. He didn’t even think he deserved heaven after everything he did in high school and all the girls’ hearts he strung along and all the people he hurt. But now, with his head in your hands and his heart in your palms, he thinks that maybe he did really turn his life around; his mind is mostly empty, just one last question bouncing around the crevices of his brain: “how is he even here?”

If you ask anyone but Steve, the answer would be simple. Ask Eddie, and he would just explain that it’s common knowledge that metal music is a progressive scene, one where man and makeup collide. That, and that Steve melts like butter in the palm of your hand, choosing to do anything to get close to you, even rejecting his “boy-next-door” look for some black eyeliner. Ask Nancy, and she would tell you she’s been waiting for someone kind to come back to Steve and that Steve has been waiting for you to come to him. Ask Robin, and she will wind up about a messy and descriptive but warm anecdote that all starts with you bringing them to Corroded Coffin’s new gig.

The Hideout is never packed, unless it’s a Friday. The combination of loud music, non-functioning lights and Hawkin’s lack of bars and clubs resulted in an absolute haven for youth, and on top of that, Corroded Coffin had been moved from their regular Tuesday shift to the late Friday night one. Usually, the odd scent of the bar mixed with the unnecessary amount of people was enough to turn you away from Friday nights at the Hideout, but Eddie was playing; what kind of hype man would you be if you didn’t drag Robin and Steve with you?

Despite the overfilled bar, someone had still managed to catch Robin’s eye in the corner of the bar.

“Oh my god. She’s here! She’s here and I look like shit!” In classic Buckley fashion, Robin began what should have been a calm night by noticing Nancy Wheeler in the corner of the Hideout with her classic notepad and her permed bangs; a journalist in the making writing for an article in the making, a little column piece on Eddie’s “up and coming band”.

“Rob, you never look like shit,” you reassure as you begin to reach for your purse. Robin’s a smart girl, but she forgets how other people see her and can spiral. Sometimes she just needs something to ground her- “I can do your makeup if it makes you feel better?”

Robin’s lips begin to turn back up, her eyes preen with appreciation and she rasps out a kind “yes please!”

She lowers herself on a barstool. The bar was mostly dark, excusing some random working lamps above varying booths, but it was still enough for Steve to gaze at you, whilst you finished working your magic. Cleaning and then using a soft eyeliner to blend her eyes and then a mascara to draw attention to them, Robin laughs as your collection of tools softly tickles her face.

Steve’s wide eyes repeatedly glance over your face, concentration forcing you to forget about his presence. He has never wanted anything more than how he wants to wear that makeup.

Using the dark brown liner and the random mauve-y, chocolatey shade of old lipstick in your purse, you finished up adorning Robin’s face. The perfect time for Steve to interject. “i want makeup too,” he squeaks out.

Both yours and Robin's eyes zero in on him, a knowing smirk gracing Robin's face before she leaps from her chair and practically runs to Nancy.

“For the concert, I want to look metal,” he adds as a small blush begins to grow from his ears.

“Ok,” you respond with a smile. He starts shifting in his chair, trying to figure out an angle where he can be comfortably near you and you can easily start fixing up his face. As you stand in front of him and manoeuvre your hands to hold him, a gentle feeling starts to spread in his torso. You’re so close, and from this angle, you are so beautiful. His eyes gaze up at you and his hands circle around your legs, firmly grasping the backs of your thighs. His hands are soft and strong, and his touch is light and warm.

You hold his jaw with the palm of your hand; if you press enough, you can feel his heartbeat quicken under your fingers. You had never thought that Steve Harrington would be interested in makeup or metal music, and you were right; he wasn’t interested in makeup or metal music- he was interested in you.

Taking the spare black eyeliner from your bag, you begin to draw on his eyes, occasionally angling his head in a new direction. Steve feels like every time you come near him, his life goes in a new direction. You colour and smudge the eyeliner, ignoring his big brown eyes and the way that they monitor your every move. You feel like you could live in his gaze, and truth be told, he would let you.

Your fingers begin to inch up from his neck and chin to his lips, ghosting over them as both of your breathing dwindles. You can feel the air he breathes out on your finger tips, in fact, without noticing, you begin to feel it on your face as he brings you closer. His hands push you into him as his lined eyes drop down to your lips.

Steve’s eyes begin to close and he can feel your lips getting even closer, and then he hears you gasp loudly in shock. His eyes startle open and his hands are suddenly cold and wet. Somebody's beer is washed down your back, your hair and blouse drenched from behind.

Steve lips frown in a soft pout as it hits him that the moment is gone. Everything turns into white noise as he understands that you nearly kissed him: the apologies from the drunk girl who spilled it, Eddie’s music, the bartender's offer of napkins. It all fades until he watches you slip off to the bathroom, trying to fix your problem.

[reverieblondie]

The Dark Prince: Vignette 2, Spell Making

Summary: Shadowheart asks Gale for assist for a spell for the Queen, but while in the study with Waldemar's magister she only leaves with more questions she needs answered.

A/N: Thank you for Sweet Anon for all their research and help! this is my other favorite pair that I got the idea for while reading @darkurgetrash story Lead me through the Dark, (amazing story btw!) Hope you enjoy this short aside from the Dark prince Rolan story! Chapter 4 in the works! also we get some sassy Tara fun! So i hope you laugh!

Masterlist

Gale's eyes had practically lit up the moment Shadowheart passed along Tav's request for magical aid in preserving milk being brought to the Queen's chambers. By the time the Gale, Tara, and Shadowheart reached what was presumably the shared study Gale had mentioned during breakfast, the lady-in-waiting had long since given up on trying to parse out the specifics of what the wizard and tressym were saying to each other.

As the two excitedly flitted about the room, continuing to eagerly bounce ideas between themselves, Shadowheart had perched herself across the room at an empty desk and decided to take stock of her surroundings—perhaps Lae'zel truly was rubbing off on her.

The shelves were of dizzying heights stuffed with countless tomes, grimoires, flasks, crystals, and other miscellaneous items she could only guess at the purpose of. It was a wizard's space if she'd ever seen one—although she had admittedly been surprised by the conspicuous absence of any windows or natural light, especially when she saw how many candles and lamps it was taking to illuminate the space enough for Gale's human eyes.

Tara flew about the space with purpose and familiarity, plucking various books and containers from the shelves before depositing them on one of the large work tables at the center of the room. The surfaces soon became covered in spellbooks, containers of salt, various tools...

"Tara? Do you know if we have any amethyst dust prepared?"

Ah, and now amethyst dust.

"A material component for one of the spells we might use." Gale explained nonchalantly when he glimpsed the cleric's quizzical look.

"A spell you might use?" the lady-in-waiting pressed.

"I've a few potential spell combinations in mind, though I will not deny there will possibly be a bit of trial and error on my end." the magister continued, already distracted once again by gathering the various odds and ends on his desk, "In the past, I could have easily cast Daltim's Proof Against Fire to permanently imbue a vessel with an immunity to heat. Historically it was used on cloaks and such to help protect the wearer, but I would have loved the chance to see if it could have been applied in such a way to prevent the spoilage of perishable foods."

Shadowheart raised a brow at that, "So why can't you?"

Both wizard and tressym froze. The sudden quiet and stillness of the pair sat tense and heavy in place of the constant chatter and movement it replaced.

"An unfortunate... incident." Gale answered stiffly after a moment before turning back to his gathering, hesitation clear in his voice, "I've had to... relearn much of what was once second nature to me... Particularly in regard to the power and complexity of the spells I can attempt."

Even with his back still to her, Shadowheart didn't miss how the man tensed upon hearing her approach, nor did she miss the tinge of anxiety the magister tried to hide when he turned to meet her searching gaze.

“Have you… lost your memories?" the cleric asked, her tone somewhat softer than expected.

Gale felt his face suddenly flash with heat as his mind floundered beneath the half-elf's piercing green eyes, "N- No. Have you?"

The second he blurted it out, the wizard could practically feel Tara's urge to smack the side of his mouth. He watched as the cleric's expression hardened again before she turned away.

"Nothing that would impact my spells." Shadowheart answered pointedly, returning some distance between them by moving to aimlessly look over the glass retort and the several flasks sitting atop a smaller worktable a few paces away, "How does a wizard even lose that ability anyway? Is your King aware?" 

"Yes, the King knows all about my rather pathetic tale. Tara made sure he was well informed when we petitioned to join his court." Gale replied with relief as, despite the bite in the Selûnite's words, she had still elected to give him an answer rather than leave him to stew uncomfortably in silence, "It is thanks to the aid he rendered me that I am even still alive to relearn what I lost. He is a good man and someone I'm proud to call a fellow wizard."

"Not particularly something I'd say of a man who snubs his wife till it's time to parade her about in public." the cleric said flatly, sarcasm leaving an edge to her words, "Or is it customary in Waldemar to take off the moment the wedding ceremony ends and leave the bride in the dust?"

"He did what?!" Gale sputtered in shock, whipping around to face her and nearly dropping several of the items he'd been gathering into his arms.

"Selûne's light! Hand over some of those things before you make a mess!" Shadowheart exclaimed, rushing over to help relieve the magister of several objects he was now awkwardly trying to maintain his precarious hold on.

Gale gratefully allowed the lady-in-waiting to remove a large portion of the items from his arms—though the wizard suspects she wouldn't have let him refuse even if he were to have protested.  He only had a moment to admire how effortlessly the half-elf was able to balance such a heavy load before Tara fluttered to his side again and dropped a bundle of incense sticks onto his desk.

"Forgetting something, Mr. Dekarios?" the tressym prompted with a teasing trill.

"More material components for the spells?" Shadowheart asked, tilting her head towards the incense with a raised brow. If she recognized the tressym's attempt to change the topic, she didn't acknowledge it and simply let the subject return to their task.

"Merely a precaution to keep the Queen's chambers from stinking of cinders and burnt magic should any of the spellcasting go awry." Tara explained, then wrinkled her nose, "Especially seeing as this particular case involves... milk..."

A fleeting, startled laugh escaped Shadowheart as the tressym made a show of gagging on the word. The pleasant sound startled a small laugh out of the wizard as well.

"The stuff is foul enough for my stomach as it is." Tara continued, batting the incense bundle with a paw, "If we are to be practicing spells with the vial liquid, I’m sure I don't want to smell it."

"Yes, yes, thank you, Tara." Gale sighed, affectionately rolling his eyes at his friend as they began to file out of the room, "Now come along. We could still use the extra... paws.”

"Mr. Dekarios, I am not above embarrassing you in front of this fine lady."

Said fine lady had to suppress another chuckle. It was taking more effort than Shadowheart wanted to admit in order to rein in her amusement at the back and forth between tressym and magister. Gale seemed intent to fill the walk to Tav's room with idle conversation and, while Tara delicately carried the incense bundle with her teeth limited in her ability to speak, the tressym was no less expressive when reacting to the wizard's comments.

While the cleric would occasionally be pulled into the discussion, Shadowheart used the time to think about what she had been able to learn about these members of the Dark King's court. Her mind circled around how the magister had confessed to struggle with his wizardry. That he struggled with magic wasn't what struck the lady-in-wait as odd—Selûne only knows how many times the cleric had seen Tav struggle to teach herself how to command the divine magic said to be woven into her very soul. No, what perplexed Shadowheart the most was the way he behaved when she had asked why he now struggled with something that had once allegedly come to him so naturally; it had almost reminded her of a scared animal.

What exactly did he go through?

She didn't have time to think on it further as the three of them neared the hall to the rooms of the King and Queen, only to hear the sound of someone banging on a door followed by the sound of a familiar voice.

"I demand entry at once!"

The three rounded the corner to find the King of Waldemar dragging a hand down his face as his golden eyes glared at the door of the Queen's room like the wood itself had insulted him.

"Rolan?" Gale called out in concern and bewilderment to the unhappy tiefling.

"You're in on this as well?" the King asked, sounding almost as exasperated as he was frustrated before his voice hardened, "What is going on?”

Well... So much for the Queen's first day going smoothly...

[clefaiiiry]

From the Airwaves to your Viscera

i wasn't kidding about finding a way to get lux into every fic ya know

not sure if this should be mature or explicit but hwei does have cannibalistic fantasies so ya know

now i can stop tormenting you all with incessant fic posting! for now :)

Read on AO3

Read on Tumblr - Under Read More

-~*~-

There’s a crick in Hwei’s neck, as there often is.

Before him, his canvas stares back, blank as it had been hours ago. His inspiration is a rusty old tap; when it flowed it was a raging tide, the only problem was unscrewing the damn thing.

Hwei spins his chair away from his easel and lets out a long, gravelly whine as he rubs his face. How long has it been dark for? He hadn’t really noticed. Hwei forces himself to his feet to switch on a lamp and stretches his fingers upward to the ceiling.

When he turns, his canvas is still empty. Even when he tries really hard to force paint to magically appear, it stays empty.

He’s exhausted, but sleep won’t come so he might as well paint. But if he can’t even paint, then what is he good for-

He needs a drink. He doesn’t have any alcohol so he’ll settle for something warm. Maybe it would do him some good to pour the boiling water straight onto his wretched hands-

His kitchen nook beckons and his heavy feet drag across the splotchy floor. It certainly needs a good scrub, but he’d have to shove everything off to the side for that.

While the kettle, he paces around his apartment, and makes a vague effort to fold away some clothes, but only makes it through two shirts before he decides the laundry chair is good enough. He fumbles to make his bed, a mattress on the floor with a duvet and a pillow without a case, but that plan too rapidly falls apart as he instead flops onto it facedown with a huff.

Hwei catches his gaze in his mirror, just a little desk one he uses when he can be bothered to do his makeup, and finds he doesn’t recognise himself. His skin prickles in apprehension of his unfinished piece. He has all the tools he could possibly need, all the technical know-how, so why do his hands not work? Why can his mind conjure nothing of merit? 

Soon enough his sulking is interrupted by the whistling kettle and he pours himself some tea, sipping much too early and burning his tongue. Rain is pattering against the window when he returns to his chair, mug left too close to the edge of the desk to be safe.

Hwei switches on the radio. He’d gotten it from Lux, an old thing probably due for the bin rather than his windowsill. It sounds about ready to blow every time he turns it on and cooperates only when it feels like it, but he likes it all the same. Hwei had only upgraded to a smartphone once his old brick had finally packed in and he couldn’t find a new battery for it.

Static crackles as he switches through frequencies, until finally a voice comes through,

“-much appreciated. We’re just now approaching- two-thirty in the morning, and those of us with sense may seek to retire for the evening.” Static rumbles with the man’s chuckle. “But sense is vastly overvalued in my humble opinion.”

The voice is deep, almost melodic, its warmth burrowing its way deep into Hwei’s bones. This would do. He leans back, pulls his feet up onto his chair, and braces his mug in both hands.

The host continues, “I do hope you are all satisfied with the playlist this evening, but if you aren’t then I’m afraid your other options are lacking. I don’t believe anyone else in the area runs this late anymore, so you’re stuck with me, poor thing.”

Hwei hums, lips twitching in a little smile as he goes for another attempt at his tea. It’s still not quite cool enough, but he doesn’t scald his lips this time. He leans forward to listen,

“Now, I’d like to let these next three play in their entirety. Now, if you’re a returning listener you’ll know I prefer instrumental pieces, but I can be persuaded to tolerate vocals.”

The host’s chuckle draws one from Hwei, like sharing the room with him.

The host goes into particulars regarding the upcoming songs before he lets them play. First is a gradual build of a quiet piano and strings that eventually crescendos in a resounding tidal wave, the next carries the intensity with strings and light synth, before the final song returns to a gentle lull with soft male vocals.

Together the songs feel like a journey, an adventure to the highest peak of a forgotten mountain. Like he’d trudged through sleet and snow to reach the very top, then slowly worked his way back down to earth.

A climb to the divine… and a fall back to mortality.

Hwei drops his mug on the desk with a loud thunk. If it had spilt, he didn’t notice, there were more important matters to focus upon. His hands move of their own accord, colours vibrant on the canvas. Jagged cliffs pierce the sky, a tattered hand breaking through to claw at the horizon, a single beam of heavenly guidance reaching back-

At least, that’s what they could be, what he intends for them to be. Art is rarely so straightforward.

He steps back and takes it in, tilts his head, is amazed to find he doesn’t hate it after staring at it for more than ten seconds. It’s still rough, needs a touch up on the uglier lines, but it’s progress, more than he’s had in weeks. 

Something rumbles at his ears and he realises the radio has died into static. The show must be over. Hwei stares at it for a moment longer before he takes note of the frequency on a little scrap of paper, then finally switches it off.

-~*~-

The moment he sees it again, Hwei hates his canvas.

In the light of morning he picks apart every stroke and smudge of paint he’d subjected upon that poor thing and finds a potent nausea bubbling in his stomach. The image is too bleak, too morbid, torn flesh shattering upon sharp blades of stone.

He considers shattering his fingers, placing them in the window and slamming it down until they’re broken and just as useless as they feel.

Suppressing the thought, he removes it from the easel and leans it against the wall, facing away. If he had to look at it any longer he was going to vomit. No, that was a bit dramatic, but he would certainly fantasise about tossing it out of the window. But what if it hit someone on the way down? He’d never forgive himself.

Once again, Hwei entertains the idea of cleaning his apartment and makes it as far as taking out the rubbish before he realises how late it is. He fumbles to scrounge up a full outfit from his floor, grabs his bag, and almost forgets to lock the door on the way out.

Not like there would be anything worth stealing.

-~*~-

The Crownguards come from the sort of old money Hwei could only ever dream of. While Hwei had got Lux a new plant pot for her succulent, her older brother had casually bought her, among other things, a new car. The way she said the make made it sound important, but he didn’t really know enough about that sort of thing to judge.

“You know,” Lux says as she turns the little pot over in her hands, “I prefer this.” It’s a little ceramic cream one shaped like a sheep with big shiny eyes and pink cheeks.

“You don’t have to say that,” Hwei says. She pouts.

“I’m serious! Larry looks so sad in his current pot, he needs a spruce up! This is perfect!”

She places it in the centre of the table and stares intently, as if another plant might sprout up if she wills for it hard enough. She’s deep in thought when she suddenly jerks and clasps her hands together.

“Oh! I got you something too!”

“Now hold on,” Hwei says, “it’s your birthday. You’ve got this backwards.”

Lux rolls her eyes. “Well, my birthday present to me is getting a treat for my friend! Ta-dah!”

The wrapping paper is almost too nice to tear, done up with a little ribbon and bow. Hwei mourns it before he begins to carefully peel from the taped edges. She’s bouncing in her seat by the time he finally folds it back.

Within the paper is a little wooden box, reminiscent of the sort one would expect to find a ballerina dancing inside. A golden crest adorns the lid, one that makes his stomach drop.

“Lux, I can’t accept this, it’s too much-”

“Don’t be silly! I insist!”

People are starting to stare so he accepts defeat and cradles the box in his arms like a wounded animal. He feels like crying.

“I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it! Hopefully this helps with the ol’ art block!”

A cold, heavy rock lodges itself into his throat. She’s staring at him with that huge, toothy grin and bright eyes, like she sees something he doesn’t.

Like she doesn’t see what he sees when he looks in the mirror.

A part of him wants to throw them back at her, as if it could ever be that simple! A darker part is tempted to throw it into the street just to make a point. But he doesn’t, because he knows she doesn’t mean it like that, that she’s just trying to be supportive and helpful.

The cold spreads downward into his lungs and he stares into his cup. Besides, why couldn’t it be that simple? He has sparks of inspiration all the time, why can’t he just create without second guessing himself? Without creating something hideous?

“Oh,” Lux says, breaking him from his stupor, “so I met up with Quinn the other day and-”

He’s grateful for the change of subject, especially since he isn’t expected to say much beyond the odd, ‘oh really?’ or ‘that’s nuts.’ She does try to prompt more of a contribution at first, but quickly realises it’s one of those days so lets him listen in peace.

Then she starts to fidget, her gaze lingering through the window. Lux purses her lips and taps an arrhythmic pattern into her cup with her nails. She’s had them done recently. They look nice, better than Hwei’s. His are still chewed and chipped, due a fresh coat of polish.

“What’s wrong?” Hwei asks and she nearly jumps out of her seat.

“Well, I- So urh, my aunt is running an art show between Christmas and New Year?”

“Oh. That’s cool.”

“Yeah!”

The silence that lingers between them drags on for much longer than he’d prefer. Lux finally sighs and sits up straight. She’s taller than him, but only because of how appalling his posture is, puffing up her chest to earn that extra inch or two.

“I think you should enter.”

Yep, about what he expected. Hwei shrugs. “I’m not sure…” he lies. He knows damn well what is stance is regarding such things-

“I like your stuff! And I’m sure other people would too, if you gave it a chance. It’s really great!”

He knows his work holds objective quality, on a technical level at least, but that stands for naught when it’s about as shallow as a child’s paddling pool. Not like he can help it; he can’t best the part of him which dreads what he’ll find if he digs any deeper.

Hwei finds his feet are suddenly deeply fascinating as he struggles to meet her intense stare. She deflates.

“Look, I don’t want to pressure you or whatever, I just- I really want more people to see your work. To really see the stuff you can do!”

“I-” He’s about to argue when he sees her face again and curse his humanity. Hwei rubs the bridge of his nose. “Let me see if I can finish something, and I’ll think about it.”

“You’re the best!”

Lux’s grin should be comforting, but it only twists the cold knife in his stomach even deeper.

-~*~-

When the radio crackles to life the following evening, Hwei can finally put a name to the voice.

Khada Jhin.

The music is pleasant enough to fill the silence and Hwei very rarely finds himself disapproving of the song selection. There are duds, of course, albums Jhin will sing the praises of while Hwei frowns through the set, but they just make him appreciate the good ones all the more. If anything, the alternative perspective is refreshing.

Jhin isn’t live every night, only Monday through to Thursday from one o’clock till five, but Hwei diligently listens to most of his shows. He doesn’t even do it consciously after a while, simply finds himself huddled by his desk with the soothing static. His sleep schedule is royally, completely screwed, but it’s not like he’d sleep even if he weren’t listening, and the routine is… nice.

Who was he kidding, the reason he kept tuning in was to listen to Jhin’s voice. That warm, comforting cadence has thoroughly imprinted itself into his soul and he’s shamefully addicted to the sound of it.

Hwei wonders if this is how a cosmonaut feels while they’re up in space, observing life below from afar. Out of reach but so very real. He also ponders on how long he’ll stay adrift before he runs out of air.

Jhin doesn’t talk that much, probably a thirty-seventy split on talking and music if Hwei had to put a number on it, but he listens to every word. Jhin speaks like an old friend one hadn’t seen for years, regaling tales of his life with all the theatrics of a playwright, and Hwei wants- needs to discover every piece of who this man is. And he does, piece by piece.

Jhin used to work as a composer, Jhin has a cat named Yuumi who he loves to death, Jhin is at least forty years old, Jhin prefers red wine over white, Jhin’s favourite flowers are lotus blossoms-

Hwei too could appreciate the beauty of lotus blossoms. He wasn’t particularly knowledgeable about flowers as a rule, but the lotus typically represented purity or rebirth, sometimes divinity depending on who you asked.

His mind wanders, stuck on the thought of how hard it would be to weed flowers blooming from one’s own skin. He feels itchy afterward, unclean.

It’s been a month since he discovered Jhin’s show. Tonight he’s playing some tracks by an artist Hwei had never heard of, but had recently gone mainstream after joining a boy group called Heartsteel. He had heard of them, but only because Lux was totally obsessed with their debut single.

“I did meet him before he lost his voice, back before he was forced into purely instrumental work,” Jhin says, almost melancholic, “a shame, really, his vocal talent was quite special. At least he’s finding success in other places.”

Hwei spares a glance to his canvas, staring back as blank as it had been hours ago. He bundles his blanket closer around his shoulders.

“Now,” Jhin’s voice guides him back like a candle in a storm, “as we are into our final hour, and because station management are getting quite particular about engagement- Urgh, we shall be opening requests again this evening. However, if any of you ask for some top forty schlock again, those privileges shall be revoked, management be damned.”

As he reads out the number, Hwei glances to where his phone is perched on the edge of his desk. He had considered ringing in at least a dozen times. What would he even ask for? He wasn’t particular, the type to say, ‘oh, I’ll listen to anything.’ It was a small roadblock, really, for an opportunity to talk to the man whose voice had kept him company for so many nights.

Hwei covers his face with a groan, his heels thumping onto the floor as he kicks his legs out.

Just pick something! Anything!

But what if he picked something Jhin didn’t like? 

Then I’ll just have to run off and start a new life in the forest-

Alright, now he really is being dramatic.

Hwei looks at his phone again, reaches out and strains his fingers across the desk until he can fumble it into his hand. He knows the number, even without Jhin repeating it. It’s so easy! Just dial it in and-

Hwei slams it back on the desk, face down, and hugs his knees up against his chest.

Another listener requests a song named The Turning of Our Bones. It’s a slow build of guitar with a gravelly vocalist, visceral in a way that tempts brush strokes from his idle hands.

A chest being torn open, ribs cracked and blood spilled. Hands carve their way into the cavity and clutch the heart within. The blood is purple, the heart is gold-

It’s only when the song ends that Hwei is struck by how morbid his creation is. Morbid, but oddly… beautiful.

He places it against the wall with the others.

-~*~-

Another few weeks pass before Hwei dials the number again. The dim screen illuminates his even darker room, thumb hovering over the call button, then he locks it and rubs his face. Jhin’s already had a few callers this evening who wanted to chat as well, so he’s probably sick of it anyway, Hwei reasons.

He spins on his chair and entertains the idea of adding to this piece, but he’s already sick of this one. It’s placed against the wall like the rest. He replaces it with a blank canvas.

The neighbours across the street have their Christmas decorations up already, the tacky LEDs making him squint every time he turns to the window. They’re not so bad, they’re a suitable excuse not to switch his own lights on.

He’s struck by how morbid it would be for someone to choke on them, be hung by them-

“I hate Christmas,” Jhin says with a sigh, “I know, I know, ‘how could I possibly?’ Yes, call me Ebenezer Scrooge. If you ask me, everything is far too loud and bright this time of year. Or perhaps I’m showing my age.” He laughs and Hwei feels the tension bleed from his shoulders.

But then he finds himself wondering, does Jhin have anyone to spend Christmas with? He’s never mentioned a partner or any family, other than Yuumi. Maybe his distaste is more personal than he lets on.

Or maybe Hwei is just projecting.

Lux would probably be going home for the holidays and, even though she’s always extended the offer for him to come with, he can’t think of anything more uncomfortable than surrounding himself with someone else’s family. He barely even knew how to act around his own.

He looks at his easel again, still blank, then to his phone, still on the desk.

Jhin continues, “it’s partially why we haven’t queued up any seasonal songs. I get sick of all of them after the first week of November. Perhaps that’s why I find myself in a rut at the moment.” Jhin gives a wistful sigh. “Nothing I put to paper passes my standards these days. My fellow creatives can relate, I’m sure.”

Did Jhin spend hours staring at his sheet music too? Wondering how to create something beautiful, something meaningful? He always seems so natural, the admission is a chip in the mask. It strikes Hwei as impossibly human.

A reminder Jhin is not the sun keeping him warm in the vastness of space but a fellow cosmonaut left adrift.

Hwei sits up and, before he can reconsider, he takes his phone and dials the number. His fingers tremble around the device as it rings, pressing it harder to his ear.

Then there’s a click.

“Hello?” he says.

“Good evening. May I take your name?”

“I- Hwei.”

“And how are you this evening, Hwei?”

His composure is rapidly depleting. “Oh, I’m…” Hwei gives a breathy little laugh, “surviving.”

Jhin chuckles and suddenly Hwei’s throat feels very dry. “A sentiment I’m sure many of us share. Now, what can I play for you, my dear?”

“I- I’d actually like to ask for your opinion on something, if I may?”

The beat of silence lasts a little too long before Jhin says, “Is that so?”

“Yes. I- I just… How do you decide if a piece is… good enough?”

His voice is so irritating, perhaps he should do everyone and favour and cut his tongue out-

Jhin hums, a low sound that seeps through his skin. “That is truly an impossible question to answer,” he says, but he doesn’t sound disappointed or, god forbid, bored. He maintains the casual tone as he continues, “what I might find valuable in a piece will certainly be different than what you do. Now, tell me, Hwei, what do you truly love about the art that speaks to you?”

“When… When I can feel how the artist has poured their soul into their work. So I suppose… empathy.” His chair creaks as he spins on it to look at his canvas. “How else can we find meaning, without empathy?”

Jhin is quiet for a moment, just long enough that Hwei nearly slams the phone down, but then he hums. “What an interesting perspective. How fascinating. Though if we limit ourselves purely to the artist’s intent, doesn’t that also limit the piece itself? A parent may have good intentions for their child, but they may also be that which suffocates them, no?”

“Y-Yes, that’s true. I’ve lost count of how many times a piece hasn’t turned out the way I planned.”

“That I can certainly relate to.”

Jhin laughs and Hwei does too. He feels a little dizzy.

“Now, as much as I would love to continue, we’ve not much time left.” Before the shame can take hold, Jhin continues, “What can I play for you this evening, Hwei?”

Hwei blinks, stares ahead blankly. The lights across the street glow green. “I… didn’t think about that part, I’m sorry to waste your time.”

Jhin tuts through his teeth. “Now, now, time enjoyed is never wasted.”

And oh, how his heart flutters. Words die in his throat before he can embarrass himself and he’s grateful that Jhin continues without pause,

“What if I pick something for you, Hwei?”

“I would like that.”

“I hope I don’t disappoint. Take care now, my dear.”

“Y-Yeah. Thank you.”

In the moments following, the dial tone is deafening. It takes him far too long to put his phone down. My dear, it feels much too tender. Jhin uses pet names for listeners all the time but for Hwei, it just felt-

Through art, connection-

As the song starts, Hwei slowly stands and turns to his easel. He opens the box of paints from Lux and takes a long, deep breath. His brush dances with the music, a quiet build of strings and flutes. In Cold Light is the title of the song, and the way the notes flow leaves him adrift in the cosmos.

Just him and his canvas, Jhin’s voice resonating in his skull.

The colours flood together, blue and gold and flecks of purple. Each brush stroke feels intimate, purposeful. He’s missed this, to simply be as he creates.

Soft petals bloom from his brush, a blanket of stars, two little figures adrift in the abyss between, reaching out to each other, outward to a blooming lotus above. Reaching for divinity, as one-

Or perhaps a new beginning? Rebirth, a cycle beginning anew-

Hwei paints through the rest of Jhin’s show, even as the music changes and the night grows older. Only when Jhin signs off and the station goes quiet is the brush finally set down.

He takes a step back and wipes his sleeve across his forehead, damp paint smudging across his skin. The canvas that stares back doesn’t disgust him, doesn’t horrify or torment.

It warms, it comforts, it inspires-

And in the quiet of his apartment, slowly growing orange in the sunrise, he wonders if Jhin would like it too.

-~*~-

“It’s beautiful.”

Hwei shuffles awkwardly as Lux marvels at his work. 

Whether or not his piece was beautiful wasn’t the point, is what he wants to say. He knows the objective quality is sufficient but what does it say? What does it mean to her eyes that it couldn’t mean to anyone else?

“You… like it?”

“I love it! It’s like a narrative, right?” She points but keeps her hands a respectable distance from the canvas. “These little blobs are being rejected by the flower and falling out into the black. Well, okay, that’s what I think is happening, but I could be totally wrong.”

Hwei only shrugs. The surface level analysis isn’t necessarily incorrect it’s just-

He needs something else.

“Seriously, though, it’s really amazing!”

“Thank you. Do… you think your aunt would find it satisfactory?”

She whirls on him, eyes huge and grin even brighter. “You’re submitting?!”

“Do you think it’s good enough?”

Lux opens her arms, an invitation one he takes. He likes her hugs, they’re always warm and slightly too tight. Hwei squeezes back just as hard.

Wonders how hard he’d have to squeeze to crack her bones. The thought is an ice cold blade straight into his skull and he swallows the tide of nausea that follows.

“Alright, mister,” Lux says as she finally pulls away, “Just because you’re casually making masterpieces doesn’t mean I’m going to forgive this!” She gestures wildly around the room and he blinks. 

“What?”

“Your place is a mess! C’mon, we’re gonna clean up, right now! I don’t care if you had plans-”

-~*~-

Would stepping out into traffic be more tolerable than the knowledge that people would see, and by this point had already seen, his art? Probably, but Hwei hadn’t seen a big enough truck on his way over so that plan was a bust.

Lux is waiting for him when he finally arrives at the gallery, grinning ear to ear, and Hwei is made painfully aware of how underdressed he is.

It’s his own fault, really, Lux had said it would be formal dress, but he didn’t own anything that could even be considered close to formal. Got rid of most of it when he left home. Formal for Hwei usually meant brushing his hair and tossing on a jacket. He tugs at his collar and tries very hard to stand up straight, ignoring how his spine cracks and pops with the effort.

“How are you feeling?” Lux asks as she holds the door for him.

Terrified, queasy, disgusting-

“Tired,” he settles on, nodding his thanks as he scurries through.

Lux snorts. “You’re always tired.”

Well, she’s not wrong.

The walls are pure white, floors a perfectly polished hardwood, and both so spotless that Hwei keeps looking behind him to ensure he hasn’t left any blemishes behind. When he isn’t obsessively inspecting his own trail, he finds it hard to pick just one piece to admire.

How can he possibly when each of them is such a pure representation of the creator’s soul?

He’s happy to have Lux there, if anything for the different perspective. She lingers for longer at pieces he only gives a minute of time, enamoured. They only voice their opinions occasionally for a particularly striking work, but it’s nice to have her by his side as they stroll through the exhibits.

Occasionally, there’s the sudden urge to plunge a blade through the canvases, to topple over the sculptures, but he stifles them, covering his mouth and swallowing the bile that threatens his throat.

They’ve made it about halfway through the exhibition when an elbow suddenly jabs into his side and Lux waves a hand. “Hwei, look, look, look!” She whispers, dragging him across the hall to-

Ah, that’s his.

It’s different under the artificial light of the gallery. Hwei isn’t fond of how it reflects on his shades of purple, but it does bring out the gold- it’s not bad, just different. It feels a little surreal, seeing his work somewhere other than his own apartment. There’s a layer of disconnect that feels… weird in a way he can’t place. Lux doesn’t say anything, simply lets him be in the moment, but it’s impossible to miss her blinding smile just in his periphery.

Shoes click against the hard floor behind them and they both turn to the approaching man. He’s quite a bit taller than Lux, and even she isn’t short by any means, with shoulders so wide that Hwei wonders how he hasn’t knocked over any sculptures yet.

Okay, that was a little mean-

The man rights his posture once he reaches them. “Lux.”

“Garen!”

“Inside voice, please!” The man, Garen, jabs a finger toward her and looks around frantically. “And no running! If Uncle Eldred catches you, he will have a fit-”

“Oh, pish-posh,” Lux says with a wave of her hand, “Uncle Eldred will have a fit if the centrepiece is half an inch to the left.”

Garen stiffens and clears his throat. He finally pays Hwei a glance. “Ah, are you- you must be Mr Lukai. Lux- Luxanna has told me a lot about you.”

The emphasis on his title strikes him as a little odd, but he tries his best to ignore it. “Hwei is fine, thank you. Garen is it?”

“Urh, yes. I’m Luxanna’s brother.”

He takes Garen’s offered hand and tries not to think about how clammy the larger palm feels around his. Hwei is sure his smile looks as awkward as it feels. 

The silence that follows is so unbearable that Hwei is sure plucking each of his fingernails one by one would be less painful.

“Garen,” Lux says, mercifully breaking it, “this is actually Hwei’s piece! What do you think?”

Garen’s mouth opens and closes a few times, reminiscent of a fish in a filthy aquarium. Finally, he says, “It’s certainly- abstract.”

“It's actually impressionist,” Lux says, beaming a grin to Hwei, “right?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I guess so.”

“Ah. It’s… well,” Garen fumbles, rubbing at his chin, “it’s very… urh…”

His jaw clenches as Lux’s grip on his arm tightens like a tourniquet. “It’s very…?” she prompts, her smile bordering on manic.

Even though he’s standing there in his family’s gallery wearing a suit that probably cost more than Hwei’s monthly rent, he can’t help but feel a little bad. All this stuff is very clearly not Garen’s forte, eyes darting about as he finally forces out a,

“It’s um, colourful?”

Lux blinks once, twice, then she turns to Hwei. “Could you excuse us?” she says with one last smile before she drags her brother away.

Once they’re just out of earshot, she bombards him with a tirade, every word shrinking him back further as he attempts to form apologies.

Hwei watches for a moment longer before he sighs and steps back-

And crashes straight into the man behind him.

“Oh, I’m sorry-”

“No, it’s my fault, I thought you’d heard me.”

Hwei scrambles to stand back, ensuring the man is unscathed. He brushes himself off as his eyes crease with a smile. The man has a medical mask over the lower half of his face, not an uncommon sight with flu season at its peak. His right arm is kept under his jacket, his left holding a metal cane. Part of him wonders how long he’d be able to walk without it and Hwei scolds himself again.

“Are you alright?”

“Quite fine, I assure you.”

His voice sinks into his bones like falling into a hot bath at the end of a long day. A voice that’s been so intimately familiar over the past two months of his life.

Hwei realises he’s staring and swallows another apology. “Have we, um, met?”

The man tilts his head. “I don’t believe so. I feel as though I’d remember your face if we had.”

“No, I mean- are you Jhin?”

Recognition flashes behind those eyes. “What’s your name?”

“Hwei.”

“A pleasure. I see you’ve escaped your rut,” the man- Jhin says, gesturing with his cane, “And my, I’m glad that you did.”

“Do you like it?” Hwei cringes. Could he be any more needy?

Jhin takes a few steps past Hwei, never taking his eyes away from the canvas. He does put a little weight onto the cane as he walks, so it seems to not just be an aesthetic choice. He taps it on the ground, four times in all, the sounds reverberating through the hall. “Like is a little simplistic, but I suppose so, yes.”

From the corner of his eye, he spots a blonde head and a frantically waving arm. Hwei glances over and Lux is grinning back, gesturing toward him and shooting him a pair of thumbs up. All he can manage in return is an awkward little wave.

“Though I don’t love it,” Jhin says plainly, “There’s potential here, but something is missing.”

Hwei bristles. “And what would that be?”

“Even I’m unsure,” Jhin says, still not paying him a glance, “Tell me, how did you feel when you made this?”

Hwei shrugs, because he isn’t sure what else to do. He twists his hands into the fabric of his jacket and tilts his head so more of his hair covers his face. “Oh, you know.”

“No. I don’t.” The cane taps against the floor again, once, twice, three times, four times. “Explain your thought process.”

His head is throbbing, pounding. Pressure builds behind his eyes as Hwei wracks his brain for an acceptable answer. Is there anything he could say that wouldn’t be utterly pathetic? I projected my own insecurity onto a person I’ve never met. I thought of the two of us ascending to divinity, reborn in a form that could comprehend us as we are. 

“I felt… Inadequate,” Hwei says, an admission that leaves something dark coiling in his gut, “I’d been trying to create something, anything that wouldn’t disgust me for months. I- I figured if anyone would understand, it would be you.”

He can’t bring himself to look at Jhin, so he just stares at the two little figures. There’s no discernable features, he only sees them as humans since that was his intent when he painted them, just two blobs on a sea of black.

“I see. How fascinating.”

The voice jolts him from his thoughts and when he looks up, Jhin is gazing back.

“I do wish to learn more of how that mind of yours works, Hwei, if you don’t mind.”

Hwei smiles. “I don’t.”

Perhaps he is dreaming, or perhaps only adrift. 

-~*~-

Having a second contact in his phone makes the whole thing feel very official. They aren’t friends, it doesn’t feel right to call their relationship that given they’ve technically just met, but they’re connected. Somehow that feels… intimate.

Hwei still listens to his show, but the dynamic is different. There’s the knowledge that there’s a part of Jhin that’s his, that none of his other listeners will ever see. A selfish part of him that his parents and teachers wish they’d stripped from him, the part of him that wants and yearns.

For companionship, for understanding, for warmth, for viscera-

So Hwei, selfishly, texts Jhin quite a bit, though he vastly prefers when they get to call. Jhin tells him more about his compositions, his ever fitful muse, what sort of tomfoolery Yuumi has gotten up to. Hwei in turn offers what he thinks could be interesting; the progress of his own work, his schooling, any sort of gossip from Lux he thinks Jhin might find amusing.

It is not lost on him that neither of them broach the topic of family.

On New Year’s Eve, Jhin has no show planned for later so Hwei takes the initiative to call him first.

“How is my little starling this evening?” Jhin says through the receiver.

It’s probably a blessing that they haven’t met in person again, since it gives Hwei some time to desensitise to all the pet names he’s been showered in. “How did you know I’d be at home?”

“Hwei, don’t make me laugh. You don’t go out.”

He’s right, and it should probably be concerning how well Jhin knows him already. Hwei sighs. “What about you? Don’t you have any plans?”

“My plans are to be in bed by eleven.”

Hwei laughs. “Those ambitions are certainly admirable.”

There’s a little shuffle as Jhin presumably settles onto his sofa. Or maybe it’s an armchair? Hwei can just picture Jhin having a cosy little nook by a grand fireplace. 

“What about tomorrow?” he asks. Hwei frowns.

“What about tomorrow?”

“Have you any plans?”

Hwei pretends to think, so as not to seem too desperate. “No, nothing really.”

“Then perhaps you’d like to join me for a walk. Nothing too strenuous, I assure you.”

“You- Yeah. That… That sounds nice.”

“Do try to sound a little more enthused.”

“I’d like to!” Hwei quickly clarifies, “I just wasn’t really expecting it.”

Jhin chuckles. “I have to get you out of your cave somehow, darling.”

Hwei rolls his eyes at the teasing, suppressing the heat in his cheeks at that blasted endearment. “I would love to go for a walk with you.”

“Excellent. I’ll send you the time and place. See you tomorrow, my dear.”

After they hang up, Hwei smothers his face into his pillow and kicks his feet like he’s twelve again. It’s not a date, he reminds himself, just a walk with his not quite friend.

Just a walk-

-~*~-

Hwei’s only been waiting in the park for a minute before uncertainty rears its ugly head. Is he overdressed? Underdressed? It’s just a walk, after all, it’s not anything more serious. Just a walk!

A stroll, a saunter, a-

Hwei has to find the nearest bench to sit down before the blood rushing to his head makes him keel over.

He takes a long steady breath. It’s fine. Is his hair okay? He’d brushed it and pinned it back this morning but does it look like he’s trying too hard? Maybe he should take the pin out- No, then it would look too messy, like he hadn’t even bothered. What about his face? He’d put too much makeup on trying to hide his dark eyes and sallow skin. He probably looks like a clown. What if-

“You look rather out of sorts, poor thing.”

Hwei jumps to his feet with far too much haste and sways for a moment. Jhin reaches out but Hwei, foolishly, waves him off, staggering until he can steady himself on the back of the bench.

“I’m okay! I just- I’m a little under the weather.”

Jhin frowns. “If you felt poorly, we could have rescheduled.”

“No!” He blurts out, then just as quickly reigns himself back, “I’ll be fine, really! The fresh air will do me some good.”

A sceptical brow is raised. “If you insist, but do let me know if you need to rest.”

Jhin isn’t dressed overly formal by any means, but he’s effortlessly stylish in a way Hwei can’t help but envy. He also isn’t wearing a face mask today, Hwei realises, and tries not to focus too much on that. Though given how perfect it is, that’s definitely a tall order. 

But it isn’t perfect, not really. Jhin has laugh lines, he has a few odd grey hairs, crows feet. Yet another chip in the armour, yet another weight dragging him back to earth with the rest of humanity.

It would all rot the same as Hwei.

They set off not long after. The park is quiet, they only encounter a few odd people walking their dogs or joggers. Otherwise, they’d be undisturbed if not for the cool breeze and chirping birds.

They talk about all manner of things, art and music and literature. Their conversation flows as naturally as ever, from one subject to the next like a steady forest stream. The pretence of shyness is quickly abandoned, Hwei no longer reigning himself back to normalcy as they chatter away.

On occasion, though, he catches Jhin whispering to himself, counting his steps. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Hwei makes a point to only broach conversation in the breaks between, otherwise he’s met by a momentary look of confusion. Jhin is quick to push it away, but it bothers him all the same, as does how Jhin is leaning heavier on his cane than he had last time. He needs to stop every so often, though does so under the guise of gesturing to something or to check on Hwei’s ‘illness,’ but Hwei can see how his expression shifts, how he clenches his jaw.

“Can we sit for a while?” Hwei asks as they approach another bench, “I’m a little tired,” he lies.

His suspicions are confirmed when Jhin accepts without even a playful jab.

As they rest, Jhin tilts his head back just so and furrows his brows, breaths coming in quiet little pants. When he catches Hwei staring, he sits up properly and smiles, all semblance of vulnerability discarded like a costume.

“Ah, I wasn’t expecting it to be quite so cold,” he says casually. Hwei doesn’t believe him, but nods anyway.

“Not to worry. We could get a coffee or something instead if you prefer?”

“No, this is nice.” Jhin shifts his weight a little, taps with his cane, one, two, three, four. Hwei wants to ask about that, but decides now is not the time.

He’s not sure when there will be a good time.

“Does that help you focus?”

Jhin blinks, takes a moment to compose himself, then clears his throat and holds the handle in both hands. “In a sense, yes.”

“That’s good. That- you have a way of calming yourself, I mean.”

Jhin is still staring at him, jaw set. Something flashes across his eyes and he finally relieves Hwei from his intense gaze. “Yes, I suppose.”

“So,” Hwei says, desperate for a reprieve, “how do you know the Crownguards?”

“Hm? Ah, I unfortunately know Eldred through prior business. Thoroughly insufferable man, but it pays to have connections.” Jhin’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “And yourself?”

“I’m friends with Lux- Luxanna, sorry. She recommended I submit a piece.”

Jhin hums. “Then I have young Miss Crownguard to thank for your company.”

That leaves his breath stuttering and his lips slightly agape. Hwei takes a moment to still his pounding heart. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

Jhin tilts his head. “Then let us enjoy the peace.”

He does, and there they stay in their corner of the world. Just for a little longer.

-~*~-

It’s Jhin’s birthday at the start of February. Now Jhin hadn’t exactly told him that, Hwei just remembers him mentioning it during one of his shows and had made note just in case.

Because that was a normal thing to do.

Though it does leave him with a conundrum; what on earth could he get Jhin as a present?

“Well, have you asked him?” Lux says as they stroll down the street, window shopping for ideas. She nestles her chin further into her jacket, breaths rising in little clouds.

Hwei turns to her. “I can’t just ask him. I’ll look like I’m trying too hard.”

“Urgh, fine. Does he have anything on his wish list? Mentioned any retro vintage album he’s been looking for or…?”

“No, he wants for nothing.”

“Great! So get him something he needs!”

“He already has everything he could ever need and the money to get the few things he doesn’t.”

Lux tugs off a glove with her teeth to send a quick text to someone before she replies. “Okay… so we need something that only you could give him…”

Oh, don’t-

She snaps her fingers. “You should paint him something!”

Hwei looks at her like a deer in headlights. “No, absolutely not.”

“Why not? I’m sure he’d love it! He loved your piece at the exhibition, right?”

“Well, no. He said he liked it.”

Lux waves a hand. “Same difference.”

No, Hwei thinks, there is a very real distinct difference.

“What would I even paint?”

“Well, why not just paint how he makes you feel?”

Lux probably expects sweetness and rainbows and a dozen other cheesy things from romcoms. As if his feelings about Jhin would ever be so straightforward.

The idea is nice, but there’s that constant coil of doubt. It’s all well and good pouring his heart onto the page, but what if Jhin hates it?

Or, worse, if he doesn’t love it?

-~*~-

When Hwei looks at himself in the bathroom mirror, he finds he doesn’t really recognise himself. He knows the person he sees is him in a physical sense, but it still doesn’t feel like his body.

His body is… practical. It carries him dutifully to wherever he needs to go and only breaks down when he doesn’t sleep for three days or tries to subsist purely on caffeine. He’s never really considered himself ugly, or beautiful for that matter. He’s always just existed, in a body that doesn’t quite feel like his.

He showers, the water too far hot, dead skin flaking away when he scrubs. It leaves him tender and raw, blotchy and red all over. His hair is getting too long, maybe he should cut it himself again, the option becoming more and more attractive the longer he grumbles around his knots.

Then he looks down and is struck by the most obvious reminder that he isn’t a man. Not really.

It’s never really bothered him that much before. They’re just part of his body, same as the rest of it. He trails a hand downward, cups his breast and wonders if he should be disgusted.

He is a man, in theory and mostly in practice. Lux knows him as a man, but did Garen see a man too? Or did that confuse him as much as the art on the walls? What of the average person on the street? Not that their opinions held much weight against his friend’s.

But what of Jhin?

“Shame is the crutch of creation,” Jhin had said once during their late night phone calls, “if you waste your time worrying about what someone else might think, you’ll never make anything.”

Couldn’t his own body be an act of creation? Melding it into a shape that suited his needs? Couldn’t it be made into something beautiful?

What did beauty matter if the underbelly was rotten?

His jumper is only an afterthought as he emerges from the bathroom, hands aching, skin prickling. The radio crackles as Jhin’s voice surrounds him, his head pounding.

He claws at his chest, wishing his fingers could pry the skin from muscle, muscle from bones, spill his blood and guts onto his canvas. Desecrate the body that the divine had blessed him with, because how could a holy being possibly understand a wretched creature like him?

Maybe he could free his soul and find it a new vessel, one that was more whole, more appealing.

Or maybe, he thinks as he takes up his brush, he could paint one.

-~*~-

“It’s… different,” Lux says slowly, fingers tapping at her chin. She’s not had the chance to take off her coat, her nose and cheeks still slightly red from the teeth of winter.

Hwei picks at a loose thread on his jumper, watching her through his hair. “Different in a good way?”

“I’m… I’m not sure.”

Even he isn’t sure how he feels about it. The canvas is black, a humanoid shape taking centre stage. It claws its back open, bloody wings erupting from the wounds as it weeps golden tears.

An act of desecration to achieve freedom from the self.

Maybe a bit on the nose, but-

Lux looks at his canvas, then back to him. “Are you alright?”

Hwei falters. He doesn’t like her expression. “What do you mean?”

Lux’s frown only deepens and she takes a step back, away from the canvas, away from him. “I’m really sorry, I don’t understand what would drive you to make this.”

Hwei lets out a deep, long sigh. “There’s something wrong with me, isn’t there?”

“No, no!” Lux says, “Of course not!”

She’s lying. Hwei sighs and shoves his hands in his pockets. He looks at his piece again. “What do you see?” he asks softly, hoping his voice is steady.

Lux looks at his canvas again, brows furrowing. She rubs at her chin and stares at it, even though her lips quiver and her shoulder sag. They’re both quiet for a long moment before she finally turns to him.

“I see someone hurting,” she says.

“Do you think I’m hurting?”

“Yes, and I want to understand how to help.”

“Understand?” His voice doesn’t sound like his own. Would it be easier to laugh or cry? They both bubble in his chest and threaten to breach his defences as Hwei swipes his dirty sleeves over his face. “I’ve laid it all before you, I don’t get what else there is to understand.”

“Explain it to me,” she says, though the effect is dampened by a lack of her usual enthusiasm, “is painting creepy stuff like this an outlet?”

Hwei blinks. “Creepy?” he repeats, the word bitter on his tongue.

Lux is still staring at him, so sickeningly perfect and pretty and free from blemishes. It must be nice, he thinks, to have a body already in the right shape instead of having to carve it yourself.

“Do I unsettle you, Lux?” he asks slowly.

Lux stiffens. “When you ask questions like that, yeah.”

Hwei laughs, but the sound is strained. “You know, art is most effective when it can invoke an emotional response.”

He doesn’t miss how her eyes dart to the front door.

“You’re terrified,” he says simply.

“Of course I am when you act like this and paint freaky stuff like that! Don’t try to scare me, it’s not funny!”

It’s like a thread has snapped. Hwei closes the space between them and lunges for her, grabs her arms and digs his fingers in until he feels bone.

“Is that what you truly think of me?” he breathes.

“Hwei, let go-”

“Did you always think of me as a freak? Or are only now being enlightened?”

“Get off me!”

“I don’t understand!”

“I said get off me!”

Lux shoves his against chest, hard. So hard that he lands on the ground in a graceless heap. She scrambles up backward toward the door, heaving desperately.

Hwei reaches out. “Lux. I’m so sorry, I-”

“I think you need to- to calm down,” Lux says, sniffling. She’s shaking and Hwei feels sick. “I-I’ll call you later, okay?”

She doesn’t wait for a reply, slipping her shoes back on and slamming the door hard enough to shake the walls. The sound rings in his ears, pounds in his skull as he gradually finds himself on his feet again. 

Hwei stares at the door, his head filled with cotton wool and lead. He rubs his face, the dry paint on his sleeves scratching against his skin. He sways, vertigo assaulting his senses. He wants to vomit, claw his eyes out, peel off his skin.

What is wrong with him? What isn’t?

Then he catches a glimpse of his easel. Hwei tosses it over with a heavy crash, no doubt further infuriating his downstairs neighbours. He gasps and wheezes as he stares at it. Maybe he should burn it? In this enclosed space it was extremely dangerous, but maybe then he’d burn too.

He’d deserve it, to burn alive-

Hwei stumbles back until he trips and lands on his mattress. He can’t breathe. He curls over on himself and clutches his chest, his mouth, drool escapes his lips as he pants and gasps. Tears scorch his eyes and scald his cheeks. His chest burns, his throat threatens to close in on itself.

His hand moves of its own accord, straining for his desk and closing his shaking fingers around his phone. He calls before he can even realise what he’s doing and crushes the phone against his ear.

It rings, and rings, and rings-

Then Hwei throws it away. It clatters across the floor, disappearing to some unknown corner. He curls in on himself even further.

His phone starts ringing. He crams his hands over his ears until it stops.

There he stays, until he goes numb.

-~*~-

A rhythmic tapping at his door jolts Hwei awake. He wasn’t even aware he’d drifted off, but he can’t bring himself to extract himself from the cocoon of blanket he’s found himself in.

He waits, for what he isn’t sure.

After a pause, there’s another series of knocks on his door, then,

“Hwei? I know you’re in there.”

Jhin’s voice should have been a comfort, but right now? In the state he’s in? Hwei hugs his legs impossibly closer, his other hand pressing over the ear that isn’t crammed against the pillow.

Even so, he still hears him, “I’m coming in. Even if you’re indecent.”

The door groans as it swings open, clicking shut shortly after. Jhin’s shoes and cane click against the floor with every step until they come to a stop beside his mattress.

“Hwei. Look at me.”

That voice which led him through many sleepless nights now forces him out from his duvet barrier, just enough to poke his head out and peer upward. Jhin’s stare is intense, cold and hard, but perhaps it’s the hopeful idealist within that sees something else.

Hwei sniffs and wipes his face. “Why-”

“You rang me,” Jhin says, “I was in the middle of something but by the time I could reply you wouldn’t answer any of my calls or texts.”

Hwei blinks up at him, then cold shame surges in him again. “I’m sorry.”

Jhin only hums, tapping his usual one, two, three, four with his cane before he places it against the wall. Somehow, the rhythm seems to steady Hwei’s own thundering heart as well.

Jhin crouches in front of him. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Do you think I’m dense?”

The speed at which Hwei sits up leaves him swaying. “No! Of course not.”

Jhin huffs through his nose. “Then don’t lie to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He can’t show Jhin. Can’t stand the thought of someone else pulling back his layers and being disgusted at what they see beneath. Can’t he just be low maintenance? Make everyone else’s lives easier? They already have their own problems, they don’t need his on top of everything-

Hwei glances up again.

“I… I made something awful.”

Jhin appears near serene at the admission. “Show me.”

That putrid bile in his empty stomach lurches again. “I can’t-”

A hand seizes his jaw hard as iron, the eyes that gaze down upon him just as cold. Jhin could squash him under his shoe like an insect if he really wanted to, but his grip is only barely on the side of painful.

He leans closer. “Show me.”

Hwei nods as far as he can and, once he’s released, he wobbles up to his feet. Wading through tar would have been easier than his trudging steps to the overturned easel. It takes some fumbling, but he sits it upright again, stalling for the canvas as it’s finally propped back into place.

His shoulders sag inward as Jhin’s shoes click on the floor behind him. Heat radiates from him, the sun in Hwei’s dark, endless expanse.

Of all the sounds he expected, a chuckle was certainly not one of them.

When Hwei works up the nerve to look, Jhin is standing with his arms stretched outward. “Yes,” he sighs, “this is the sort of thing I craved from you. A truer glimpse into your soul, not the sweet nothings you hide behind.”

There’s something about his voice, the way his words flow, it feels-

Wrong.

Hwei bristles. “What are you talking about?”

Then Jhin turns to him again, his eyes brimming with- something. His grin is just a tad too wide, the hand that finds a perch on Hwei’s shoulder holding just a little too tight. “You stifle your potential to make yourself palatable. I’ve been there, grovelling in mediocrity just to feign pleasantry.”

The fingers on his shoulder trail upward, digging into his collarbone hard enough to make him flinch. Hwei wriggles free. “Is mediocrity really so bad?”

A scowl creases his face. “Why would you want to subject yourself to a lifetime of never being good enough, when you’re capable of so much more? What are you afraid of?”

It’s so hard to maintain eye contact, especially when they seem to pierce straight past every wall of defence. To the shadows he tries so hard to huddle away, to keep all packed up tight and safe. The very concept that someone could not only see it, but look upon it and not cower is-

Exhilarating.

“I’m… afraid of the part of myself that stays in the dark.”

Jhin only shrugs. “It’s there, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not. Why not nurture it into something more?”

Hwei isn’t really sure what to say. The proposition seems so self-centred and conceited, so unlike him. No, he won’t- can’t feed the part of himself that dreams of tearing his own skin, of shattering Lux’s pretty bones, of slicing apart Jhin’s handsome face.

He would never- could never-

“What do you desire?”

The question is expected, somewhat, but it causes Hwei to stumble all the same. He looks out of his window, but he can’t see the stars tonight. It’s started to rain, fat drops running down the panes. For a split second, they seem red until he blinks. Hwei takes a shaky breath and wraps his arms around himself, a puny, self-pitying mockery of a hug. Maybe if he digs his nails in hard enough he could tear the ligaments free-

“Things I can’t act upon,” he finally says.

“And if I allowed you to act upon them here, and told you that it wouldn’t leave this room, would you still deny yourself?”

Hwei takes a step back. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Jhin follows. “Oh, I hope you do.”

Hwei hits the wall and his breath stutters. Jhin slips a hand under his chin and tilts him upward, their lips a breath away.

“Pain is such an intimate thing, isn’t it?”

I want your blood to soak into my floor so it will never scrub out. I want to shatter your bones so you can never leave me. I want to eat your heart so it will always be mine.

Hwei lunges for his throat and shoves them backwards, collapsing into a heap on the ground. There’s a dull thunk as Jhin’s head hits the floor, but Hwei doesn’t have it in him to care. Hwei’s fractured, chipped nails dig into Jhin’s throat and a hand comes up to take his wrist. Jhin doesn’t try to move them, or even resist, just simply holds.

“I- ah, I promise this will be much more entertaining if I’m conscious, my dear.”

“Maybe I don’t want you conscious.” Hwei tightens his hold and revels in the wheeze it dredges up from Jhin’s lungs. “Or breathing.”

Jhin is still smiling, even as he gasps uselessly. Hwei hates it, loves it. “You wouldn’t- ah, kill me like this, would you? It’s far too- simple.”

“Oh, but it’s so very intimate, don’t you think?”

If he squeezes a little tighter, maybe that would be it. Then he really could do whatever he wanted.

Even so, his grip eases and as Jhin heaves the air back into his lungs he trails his hands downward, nails scraping along the firm muscle beneath. He feels the minute quivers below his fingers, the heat of his skin, wonders how it would feel to peel it all back and marvel at the flesh.

Eyes follow his every move and Hwei wonders how easy it would be to gouge them with his fingers.

How does his blood taste-

Hwei doesn’t stop to reconsider, to doubt. He sinks his teeth into the junction between shoulder and throat. He breaks the skin, sighs at the copper on his tongue. Jhin hisses above him, a hand sliding into Hwei’s hair and tightening enough to draw tears.

It takes a particularly hard yank to force Hwei off, red staining his lips. He blinks a few times, dazed. Then realisation, as stark as a bucket of ice water.

“I’m so-”

But Jhin cuts him off with another harsh pull, forcing his back to arch so beautifully. He whines, a hand instinctively reaching to close around Jhin’s.

“I’m sick of you apologising for breathing,” he says, his tone neutral in a way that makes Hwei shudder.

“Sorry.”

“Now you’re just being facetious.”

He wheezes out a laugh. “You’d be prettier if you stopped breathing.”

Jhin only hums, mirth dancing in his eyes. “Keep going.”

Their position tips, Hwei ends up in Jhin’s lap, one hand on Jhin’s shoulder to keep him steady. Hwei ghosts his thumb over his previous mark, smearing the blood and admiring how Jhin shivers at the sensation. His other hand sneaks up to the back of Jhin’s neck and pulls him down.

The initial kiss is soft, like school sweethearts uncertain and petrified. Hwei isn’t sure who breaks the calm first, but then it’s all teeth and sharp bites and blood- He’s not even sure who’s blood he can taste-

He dearly hopes it’s a mix of both.

Jhin doesn’t pull away so much as he hauls Hwei back once he finally needs to breathe and leaves him to gasp like a fish above water.

Once he recovers though, Hwei tugs at the hem of Jhin’s shirt. “Take this off.”

Jhin tuts through his teeth, but compiles all the same, though not without making it an agonising trial of patience. Each button might as well be a mountain to best or beast to slay.

When the fabric finally falls to the floor, Hwei momentarily forgets how vital it is to breathe.

“Have I ever told you how charming you are when at a loss for words?”

Hwei shoots him a scowl and considers slapping him, but the contact would only be temporary, it wouldn’t be enough.

Logically, Hwei knows Jhin is not God, but that doesn’t make it any less sacrilege to look upon him like this, perfect in a way that leaves Hwei so desperate to claw and bite and scratch. He wants to tear Jhin’s ribcage open, devour what is his and his alone to always keep Jhin with him.

The only blemishes that mar his skin, save for Hwei’s previous efforts, are two scars beneath his pecs. Part of him wants to reopen them, drink in the blood that spills, but another lucid part screams-

He’s like me, he’s like me, he’s-

Then Jhin’s larger hands slide under his sweater and peel back his shield. Hwei freezes and squeezes his eyes shut, anticipation clawing up his throat like bile. There’s a sigh and Hwei feels the gaping maw of the abyss open beneath him.

“Let me in,” Jhin says, as if uttering a secret.

And the rest of the universe might as well not exist.

Hwei lets out a long, quivering breath, chest impossibly tight as he lets Jhin peel back his defences like the petals of a flower. He expects to miss the safety, but instead only the warmth. Warmth which is quickly replaced by Jhin’s hands.

Hwei so desperately craves for them to pry deeper, to carve out a place inside him. Perhaps he could offer his own heart, but what good would that wretched broken thing be to anyone?

He catches Jhin’s wrist and draws it upward, his fingers coming to rest at his neck, thumb brushing his lips.

“Destroy me,” he whispers, “and build me anew.”

For the briefest of moments, it is Jhin’s turn to lose his breath. Then he leans closer, and murmurs as a prayer, “Nothing I could create would ever compare to you as you are.”

-~*~-

When Hwei wakes, everything aches.

He groans and tries to curl inward only to bump into a warm weight at his side. It takes some convincing for his eyes to finally peel open and the memories of the previous night come flooding back.

Jhin looks so different when he’s asleep, his brow at ease and his lips slightly parted. He’s snoring, though only softly, hair rumpled and sticking out in odd directions. Hwei wants to reach out and brush it back down, but touching him might just break the tranquillity of the moment.

Though that’s when he realises they’re both still very naked.

With as much grace as he can muster, Hwei shimmies from under the duvet and down to the floor, fumbling about for his sweater and underwear. It’s almost suffocating to have them back on again, the fabric rubs against his healing bruises and cuts, but they’re stabilising, they tether him back to earth.

Still, it itches. This one never usually does, he’d hate to get rid of it. Lux had got it for him and he’d kept it till it was nearly threadbare. He twists his hands into the fabric and holds them there, staring into nothing.

He wonders where his phone is, if Lux would even want to hear from him after the night prior. She had said she would call him, hadn’t she?

A ruffle of fabric behind him returns him to the waking world and he glances back to see Jhin sitting up, blinking the remnants of sleep away and rubbing his face. It’s a spare moment of graceless fumbling that Hwei wishes he could bottle and capture on a canvas.

It’s gone just as swiftly as Jhin pushes his hair back from his face and raises his gaze.

“We really must get you a proper bed,” he grunts.

Hwei only shrugs. “I don’t mind it.”

Jhin pouts, honestly pouts. “Well, I mind very much, thank you.”

It makes Hwei chuckle. “Sorry it doesn’t meet your standards.”

“It’s a little novel for one night, but I understand fully why your posture is in the state it is.”

It takes a smidge more effort than Jhin would likely admit, but he does manage to rise to his feet with all the grace he desires. Hwei goes to grab his cane but Jhin waves him off.

“I can manage without,” he says, then adds a slightly softer, “though your concern is not unwelcome.”

Hwei huffs. “It’s the least I can do.”

It’s only then Hwei realises he has nothing to offer for breakfast other than instant coffee. He fully expects Jhin to turn his nose up, but he accepts the offer.

While the kettle boils, Hwei can’t help but stare. It’s not his fault, he reasons, as Jhin is adverse to putting his clothes back on it seems. He’s lounging back in Hwei’s desk chair, admiring his easel in the golden morning light, fingers tapping his usual rhythm on the desk.

One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four-

Hwei wishes he’d had the forethought to close his blinds, not to protect Jhin’s modesty or some similar ridiculous notion, but to hide away what should only be a sight for him.

He shakes his head as the thought crosses his mind and he returns to searching for a clean mug.

The morning drags with little urgency, as if the outside world has ground to a halt just for them. Hwei perches on the end of his mattress. Jhin is probably right about getting himself a proper bed, but he just keeps putting it off…

“Is it despair or catharsis?”

Jhin’s voice rouses him once again and Hwei has to take a moment to understand what the question means. Ah, his canvas.

“Can’t it be both?” he says.

Jhin’s lips pause at the rim of the mug, then he lowers it back down to glance at Hwei. “Do elaborate.”

Hwei peers down into his own mug, feels a twinge of displeasure when he spies a hair floating and picks it out. Gives him a moment to compile his thoughts into a coherent sentence,

“Despair because the life it knew is gone forever, there’s no going back to what it was before. Catharsis because it’s finally free to spread its wings and become what it was always meant to be.”

Jhin hums, his gaze drifting back to the canvas. The moment drags, but it isn’t painful nor even unpleasant. Hwei finds he quite likes watching Jhin think.

Finally, he places his mug onto the desk and says,

“I’d like to see some of your other pieces, if you don’t mind.”

Hwei blinks. “They’re not very impressive.”

“Show me.”

It’s not a demand, but a request. For once, Jhin’s smile is pure and Hwei thinks if he does not tear his gaze away he might cry.

“I have a few…”

[curekibouka-writing]

A Conversation (Twst fanfic)

**SPOILERS for Book 7**

Summary: A light that has once touched you would never fade, the magic never vanishes. It seeps into moments of your life, and dwells in the best parts of your heart. 

Word count: 1628

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: This is my third fic for the event “Anthems of Old” from @briarvalleyarchives​. This piece is inspired by the song "A Coversation" from Mary Poppins Returns.

First fic - They Live in You

Second fic - Love is a Song

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We haven’t spoken in so long, father,” Silver sets down the cardboard boxes he was carrying with magic and doesn’t bother lighting up the lamps in their empty cottage. 

There is no one here to answer him, even though his mind could vividly remember the image of his father being there, hanging from the ceiling, hair dangling, lips grinning, welcoming him home. 

He thought he was taking it quite well for a while. He never cried like that after that one time, and he could attend school and go about his life without any big issues. But now that he’s home, all the little pieces Lilia had left scattered in his life come together in a beautifully cruel mirage. 

This is wrong. He knows in his mind this is wrong. This was their home. This is his home. He knows that and still he abandons the boxes by the doorway and follows the phantom of his father to the table, sits, and pretends it could talk back. 

“Good to see things the way they were,” he starts, a stiff smile pulling at his hardened face. He can see outside the window the tree stump in their front yard on which his father used to leave his woodchopping tool also magical blade carelessly. He can see it has a dent there, now clearly visible because it’s empty. 

“Come now, why the frown, my dear?” Silver’s eyes shoot back to the chair across from him, where the imaginary Lilia would laugh in response. 

And that was the first magic Silver had known in his life, the greatest magic his father had ever shown him. Whenever his father would laugh and hug him, it would feel like ocean waves cradling him, clouds enfolding his body, moonlight showering over him. It would feel like a great fire with all its mighty strength just gently grazing the skin on his cheek to make him cozy and warm. It would feel like everything was fine. 

The imaginary Lilia was halfway across the table, his hands outstretched, almost touching Silver. But as Silver’s fist strikes powerlessly against the table, the mirage vanishes, the magic vanishes. 

This is wrong. All this lamenting, all this moping, this isn’t how his father had told him to carry on. And Silver wants to believe that his father had raised him to be strong, strong enough that he could stand up again even if he has lost his whole world, because that was the kind of strength his father had. 

Though that silhouette he always chased after is gone, that hand offered to help him get to his feet is no longer there, he can still hear that stern voice echoing, “Stand up, Silver. Stand up.” 

Silver gives a glance to the cardboard boxes he left by the doorway. He brought these back from his father’s room in Diasomnia, he promised himself that he would keep these trinkets and knickknacks, he promised himself that he would tidy them up properly. Yet he remains motionless in his seat. 

It’s no use. No matter how hard he tries to grab hold, what’s left of his father only continues to slip through his fingers. “Where did you go? Why did you go?” No matter how many times he repeats these questions at the air, no answer would come. 

He is tired. Lying down on the table, he lets his eyes close. Maybe he should sleep, he feels so tired…

“Silver?” the horned visitor calls out from the doorway, stopping at the boxes at his feet curiously. No reply came, so he calls again, “Silver.”

Silver’s eyes open sharply at the voice and he bolts up from his seat, standing straight, “Malleus-sama! What brings you here?” 

And now Malleus feels bad, his presence makes it difficult for Silver to loosen up, even though he knows the boy needed that more than anything at the moment. 

“To check on you,” Malleus says with the mildest tone he can manage, which is quite difficult for him, “Are you alright, Silver? It’s not like you to just leave those boxes at the door.” 

“My apologies. I was…” Silver pauses. He doesn’t quite know what he was even doing, “I was… uh…” 

“Be at ease,” Malleus walks to the table and taps his finger on Silver’s seat, himself settling in the one next to it, “No need to fret.”

Silver lowers his head in gratitude, but he can’t find the words to reply. He sits quietly with his hands folded. 

Malleus frowns at the subtle hints of distress in Silver’s voice and expression, “Is it painful?” he tries to probe, “For you to be back here?” 

“No, of course not,” Silver says hastily, “This is my home.” But then he lowers his head again, “It only… feels silent.” 

Malleus does not reply. He understands the sentiment but he doesn’t say it. He too had been in the palace’s music room, playing his father’s cello, and even though the beautiful timbre reverberated smoothly off painted stone walls, he had found it silent. 

But not for this cottage. His mind can still vividly remember the image of Lilia sitting in front of the fireplace, singing gently a nostalgic lullaby to put a human baby to sleep. He can still hear Lilia’s voice echoing in these wooden walls the way it did in his heart when Lilia had sung the same melody to him as a child. He can be sure Lilia was here, is here, still here. 

So Malleus tries to do it how Lilia would. He tries to remember what Lilia sounded like when he spoke softly. He tries to follow how Lilia would crouch down to meet the children’s eyes. He tries to tell Silver what he thinks Lilia would — what he thinks Lilia should’ve said, “Silver, do you remember one of his lullabies that you loved as a child?”

Silver raises his head as he tries to think, “The ‘love is a song’ one? How nostalgic.” He manages a small smile at the memory. 

“Yes. ‘Love is a song that never ends’ is how it goes,” Malleus confirms, and continues, “For me, I feel like I can understand what his song means, when I look at you.” 

“Me? But how? It’s father’s song…”

“Yes, it’s Lilia’s song for you. You are the one who remembers it, he wanted you to be the one to remember it. You were who he chose to love, and so you are the proof that he had loved.” Malleus shifts his gesture. That was the answer he filled in for Lilia, now he takes in a brief breath, and narrates his own, “When I look at you, Silver, I feel like I can see him too.” 

“How can that be true, Malleus-sama?” Silver shakes his head, “I look nothing like father.” 

Malleus blinks, and the image he saw of Lilia by the fireplace is swiftly replaced by the image of Lilia standing beside Silver, hugging the human by the shoulders with strength and gentleness, and then he’d stroke Silver’s cheeks, or rest his hand on Silver’s head, and he’d grin like the happiest fae in the world. 

“It’s truer than you can imagine,” Malleus smiles, forcing his eyes to return from the image of Lilia back to Silver, “He lives in you, after all.” 

“That is not true,” Silver looks away this time, “We only had a decade and a few more years. There was not enough of him that I have taken after. I wish I could live more like him and proudly say that I—”

“You are his son, Silver,” Malleus interrupts. There were many things that Lilia didn’t want to leave behind for Silver, many things that he didn’t want Silver to take after, but that’s beside the point right now. “You are his one and only son. And if you ever have doubts about that, look at your reflection next time you think of him, then you would surely remember how your smile was always meant for him.” 

A light that has once touched you would never fade, the magic never vanishes. It seeps into moments of your life, and dwells in the best parts of your heart. Lilia did fumble and falter, and his ways were not the best to say the least, but his song and light and love and magic had still been delivered properly. Lilia’s song will always echo in this cottage, and will never end, for it is a part of what constitutes Silver, a part of what raised Silver to be who he is now.

“I see…” Silver puts a hand to his chest, “There is so much that father had left behind for me.” There is so much of Lilia that he already has. It’s just that he has never looked hard enough in the mirror, never looked hard enough at himself to see it. 

“Thank you, Malleus-sama,” Silver bows his head, and when he raises his eyes again he thought he could see Lilia flying beside Malleus, practically glowing with pride, “Thank you for giving me such kind words, words that father might have given me.” 

Malleus pauses. Did it sound like that? Did he sound like Lilia? He lets out a breath he didn’t remember holding in. He feels Lilia’s hands on his tensed shoulders, and he muses quietly, “I see. I see Lilia has left behind much for me as well.” 

Silver continues, “Would you like to stay for dinner tonight, Malleus-sama? We could invite Sebek as well. I’m sure father would be delighted, if he were here.” 

And it was as if they could both hear Lilia’s voice coming from above their heads, hanging from the ceiling, hair dangling, lips grinning, “A wonderful idea, my dear!” 

[essekthelysssideblog]

Veth & Caleb (post-canon, Shadowgast)

“You have been very quiet, my friend.”

“Quiet? Me?” Veth hears her own voice, shrill and squeaky. “No, no, I’ve been a perfectly normal amount of quiet. Why would you think anything else?”

Caleb gives her a look, which Veth holds, daring him to disagree. He offers her a small smile. “Right,” he says simply. Veth feels her shoulders relax slightly.

“Well,” Caleb continues carefully, “I suppose I thought you might be upset. That I didn’t tell you… of my intentions. To go back to Aeor.”

From her porch, Veth can still hear the rest of the Nein’s voices drifting through the open window of the Brenatto’s new residence. They are gathered around Jester, now, watching her flip through her sketchbook and describe the many dramatic encounters she and Fjord and Kingsley have had at sea. She can hear Luc’s voice among them, an eager and vocal audience to any and all stories of adventure.

“It’s very dangerous,” she says, because Caleb is waiting for her to say something. “But you can handle yourself. You’re incredibly powerful. I don’t doubt you.”

“I know,” Caleb says. He hesitates, then sits beside her. His weight shifts the swinging bench that Yasha and Fjord had helped build into the deck. “You don’t doubt me.”

Through the open window, a softer voice reaches Veth’s ears: the softened vowels of a Dynasty accent. Veth purses her lips, wondering if she really wants to ask the question on her mind. Self-control has never been her strong suit, though.

“Why him?” She hears herself ask. “You could have asked any of us, and we’d have come.”

She knows it’s not the full truth, even as she says it. If Caleb had asked her to return to the icy ruins of Aeor with him, of course she would have wanted to help him. But she knows what her ultimate answer would have been.

He knows it, too. “I do not think that is so, anymore,” he says, and even though his voice is gentle and understanding, it still manages to sting. “Our friends have their own pursuits, now, and I would not have them sacrifice that in the name of our curiosity.” She wants to argue, because Caleb has a self-sacrificial streak a mile wide, and her instinct is still to curb it wherever possible. Instead, the only sound is the voices from inside and the clinking of the button bracelet on her wrist as she fidgets.

“But, ah, that is not an answer to your question, really,” Caleb says after a few seconds. “I guess the simple truth is that I wanted to be with him.”

It’s something she already knew, but something about it settles uncomfortably in her chest, like a shoe that doesn’t quite fit right. “Alright, sure,” she says casually. “A little… do wizards do booty calls?”

Caleb chuckles softly. “Ja. But, ah, not him, I don’t think. It was not exactly like that, anyway.”

“Yeah?” Veth raises her eyebrows. “What was it like, then?”

There is a pause, while Caleb thinks. His fingers fiddle with the end of his scarf, a familiar habit. “Essek is… brilliant,” he says, his voice low and fervent. “The way his mind works, and the way he looks at magic…” he trails off, his fingers clenching more tightly in his scarf. “Being with him, it is… something that I haven’t felt since… well… since my old friends. Bright and vibrant and so, so alive. Powerful. The thrill of it–” He turns to her, and his eyes are bright, backlit with a soft glow from the lamps inside the house. He smiles. “You know.”

She does. She doesn’t feel the pull of magic quite like Caleb, she doesn’t think. It’s a useful tool, and she enjoys the puzzle of it, the undeniable proof of her skill and ability to affect the world. But Caleb looks at magic and sees beauty, loves it with an almost childlike purity. She remembers working with him and Essek on their spell, the one that fixed her body. She remembers how ecstatic he was, after the fact, bursting with energy that she so rarely sees from him, even now.

“Sure,” she says, sensing he has more to say.

“Ja,” Caleb says. “And you know, that made me very nervous. My old friends… our passion led us astray. I saw Essek, who is brilliant like them, ambitious like them, and dangerous like them…” He frowns.

Veth bumps him from the side. “You’re not really selling me on this right now, you know, Lebby.”

“That’s the thing,” Caleb says, sounding faraway. “Magic is not the only thing Essek and I both understand. We have both done… things that we now deeply regret. Things that can never– or... Or should never be undone.” He turns to her, and his fingers are restless, drifting to his forearms before he seems to catch himself, lacing his fingers together. “We both understand that shame. And I know you will say that I do not need to carry that weight anymore. And I love you for that, and I think, after all this time, I can– I can believe you and understand why you say it. And I am trying to move forward. But it will never go away, not fully, and I would not want it to, and… and having someone around, someone who intimately understands that feeling, that weight… we have helped each other a lot.”

It’s a lot to take in. Her every instinct is to defend Caleb, especially from himself, and there is a very real part of her that balks at his words, that demands nothing less than the greatest happiness for Caleb, that won’t rest until he demands the same for himself.

But Caleb looks at her, waiting for a response, and he looks more nervous than he’s been so far, like he’s expecting her to argue. And Veth… she has had time to think. She’s thought a lot about Nott the Brave, and Veth of the Mighty Nein, and wondered who Veth Brenatto is going to be, now, if she will be able to leave those other pieces of her behind. She’s had Yeza to listen to her, to hold her and assure her that she doesn’t have to, to promise to help her carry the weight of it instead.

So instead of arguing, she turns her body to face Caleb head on. “He takes care of you?” she asks, and her voice is gentle but stern.

Caleb seems to relax slightly as he nods. “Always, yes. I… it is helpful, even just to have him near. To remember that I care for him in spite of his shame and his sins. That I think that he is trying to be a good man, and that is enough. It is easier to be kind to him than to myself, sometimes, but he reminds me to do both. And it is comforting, also, to share this weight with someone who understands– I could not bear to pull some innocent into bearing that burden. I feel guilty enough to have placed any of that burden on you all, my friends.”

“You shouldn’t,” Veth says sharply, because this she can argue with. “You’re not a burden, you’re a person. A person we love.”

Caleb smiles wryly. “I know,” he says. “But do you see? Why him, as you put it? It is not just that I care for him, though… I do. It is about what we do for each other that we are uniquely equipped for.”

And he looks comfortable, and the uncertain feeling in her stomach at the thought of Caleb and Essek alone together is starting to settle, and Veth decides this conversation has been far too serious for far too long. “Okay, I get it, the sex is great,” she huffs, giving Caleb a shit-eating grin when he startles and flushes. “You don’t have to be indecent about it.”

“Well,” Caleb’s hand rubs at the back of his neck. “I cannot say you are wrong.” At Veth’s cackle, he shakes his head, looking bashful, but pleased. “I really should not say anything more. He is very private.”

“You’re happy, though?” Veth asks, because as much as she wants to press, this has always been the most important thing to her. “He makes you happy?”

And that soft, quiet smile stays. “Ja. Very much so. Or as close to it as I can be.” He looks up to her. “He is… sweet.” At Veth’s disbelieving noise, he chuckles. “Yes, it surprised me, too. Though perhaps it should not have.”

There is still a nervousness about Caleb as he speaks, even through his pleasure. How strange, to hear him talking about something as normal as a new relationship. In some ways, it’s everything Veth has ever wanted for Caleb.

Veth hums, considering. “Well, I’ll keep an eye out. Give him a good shovel talk.”

And Caleb grins. “Go easy on him, if you can. I think he is terrified of you.”

“As he should be!”

An arm wraps around her shoulder in a half hug as Caleb laughs, squeezing her next to him. The knot that has twisted in her stomach since Caleb and Essek arrived together loosens. “Just remember he is your friend too, Veth Brenatto,” he says, sounding amused.

Veth leans into the warmth. “Sure, sure,” she allows. “But you were my friend first.”

She feels Caleb’s cheek against the top of her head. “Thank you,” he says, his voice solemn.

Veth squeezes him back. “You wanna go back in? I’m sure your boyfriend already misses you.”

“Undoubtedly.” With a deep breath, Caleb stands, outstretching a hand for her to take. “Let’s return to our friends, then.”

[lynnedwardswrites]

Chapter 1 - The Crypt

I S A B E L L A

When I close my eyes, I see stars.

The number varies. Most people have somewhere between twelve- and thirteen-hundred clusters, spread in dense little nodes through their organs and muscles and bones. My sekelett has twelve-hundred and forty (they made me chart them once, in school), and I know all their names. That brightish one is aeortal primitive. This tiny one is sinesventrical extensis. I know all their allies and dependencies. I know which ones vary from person to person and which ones are almost always the same.

I know how to twist the inky cobalt energy each star is soaked with into spiky little knots and clasps, how to weave new stars that change the old ones. How to change my face, my build, my voice. How to change my own mind.

I know how to change the stars with other vitalities, too, ones tainted with acidic yellow, rusty orange, icy cyan. Forbidden colors, spun from forbidden tools. Colors that have warped and polluted my sekelett until it’s hardly recognizable as human before. Tools that are nestled against my side at the moment, hidden away in pockets creased with use.

None of the nodes are anything but their natural, unencumbered blue right now, though. No complex webs of magical interference, tainted or otherwise. No shivering, extradimensional pockets of suppressed originals, no moonlike pools of vitality powering invested boons. When I close my eyes, I just see stars, and I can almost forget that I am not myself, and I have not been for years.

****

“Not that either!” Holman shouts to no one in particular. “I give up!”

My eyes fly open. Even in the dim lantern light, I can tell he’s red in the face now. Holman is a bearded fifty-something man who still looks his age; trim as military people often are, but softening around the edges. He snatches up one of the two lamps and stomps away from the massive stone doors, leaving the mechanical closure—an inset wheel of concentric, glyphed rings—in disarray.

Relief fuels my sigh as I leave my idle body-scanning behind and emerge from the shadowy alcove I’ve been nestled into. The oil in the lamps has dropped so low that the wicks coiling around the bottom of each basin are no longer submerged. Which is to say, my partner and I have been burning precious time—watching Holman fumble around with the last door protecting the ancient crypt that’s buried under his newly titled land—for more than an hour.

[continues]

[gryffindors-weasley]

Hues of Pink

Bill Weasley x Reader

Summary: On rainy day at home, Bill paints your nails.

Requested by @am-i-space : “Hey I recently had this thought and I would love to actually read this I think it would be adorable: Bill sitting behind you and and painting your nails, and like little neck kisses and stupid giggles from both of you and him resting his head on yours when he´s concentrating.”

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: mentions of scars, fluff, kissing

A/N: Thank you for such a sweet and fluffy request, I hope you enjoy it!!

(gif found on pinterest, credits to the maker)

The rain was steady outside, no intentions of passing any time soon as it pelted relentlessly against the chilled windowpanes. Fortunately, there were no pressing plans waiting for either of you, and the inclement weather had only further decided that it would be a lax day around your home. You weren’t complaining though, work had been rather taxing on the both of you as of late and this gave way to some much needed time to spend together. You would never complain about that, because days like this seemed to be few and far between.

“What are you doing, love?” Bill asks, appearing in the doorway with a yawn. He leant against the doorframe as he watched you curiously over his mug and you smile brightly from your spot at the coffee table.

“Painting my nails,” you state simply, setting down your nail file amongst the assortment of other tools.

You hadn’t had spare minute to do such a hobby in a while and with your newfound down time, you thought it’d be the perfect opportunity to treat yourself. That, and it had always been a way to alleviate your stress when your mind was feeling rather busy. Though you will admit it does not work wonders in the department of aroma therapy. That much is very certain.

He hums and nods, stepping into the room fully to be with you. He was still dressed in his pajamas much like you were, and his hair had yet to meet a comb that day as it dusted over his shoulders in tangled red locks. You always playfully suggested a trim if he’d insisted on letting his hairbrush collect dust on your nightstand, but your attempts were always declined with an immediate frown. Not to mention the ginger strands you always found in your brush.

Moments later he had joined you on the living room floor, basking in the warmth of his drink that was steaming just under his nose freckled nose.

“Good morning,” you murmur, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. He turned his head in that moment to capture your lips in a sweet kiss, tasting of his usual lemon tea and an abundant amount of sugar. “Or should I say good afternoon?”

He scrunches his nose in a quiet protest, pulling away from you with a fond shake of his head and a soft smile. “Must you always tease me?”

You pretend to ponder the question briefly, tapping your finger on your cheek as he raises a brow at you. “I believe the answer is undoubtedly a yes, my love.”

He scoffs into his mug.

“Well, I believe I should stop calling you sunshine in favor of something more accurate then, like trouble.”

“Actually, Bill, I quite like that one,” You say with a laugh, more so when he narrows his tired eyes at you with a disapproving frown. Though no matter how much you may have teased him in good fun, you’d always be the embodiment of sunshine, lighting up his life in every way imaginable.

You tenderly ran your thumb over the pink scars that run across his cheek, his frown fading and the crease between his brows smoothing once more at your touch. “I’m only kidding,” you assure, but he knows that smile anywhere. “But you know I can’t resist!”

He huffs and hides his smile behind his mug as he takes a sip, setting the tattered old ceramic down on a mismatched coaster before focusing his attention back on you. It was something he always found himself to be doing, to him it was rather hard not to. And the way your tongue had poked out just past very kissable lips was only further proving his point; anything thing you did, no matter how simple or grand, always proved his point. He feels maybe he shouldn’t have joined in with his brothers in teasing Ron for the way he’s always gazing at Hermione, because he’s quite sure he has his little brother beat at this point.

He supposes one never truly understands the full scope of love and it’s effects until one is lucky enough have it. Well, he always knew love when it came to his family, he’s never experienced a moment in his life where he found himself without it. But this, this was far different from that. You came into his life and turned it upside down for the better, quite literally too when you had knocked his textbooks to floor outside of potions in your clumsy haze all those years ago. He’s sure he’s never seen someone be quite so flustered over him in all his life. Charlie was quick to take note and embarrass him in front of you once he knew his brother had caught feelings, and he quickly became flustered over you. Regardless, he was and still is profoundly in love with you, that’ll never change.

You loved him for who he is, not what he may or may not have. The scars stretching across his fair skin were of no importance either, for he’d always been beautiful to you. He was Bill Weasley, wonderfully awkward and exceptionally intelligent with a heart of gold. That’s what you loved.

His fingers tapped against his cheek as his chin rests in his palm, watching as you paint on the blush colored nail varnish with a practiced ease. You have a habit of making everything look easy, he’s noticed. For lack of better, less ironic wording, he always felt you seemed to possess a different kind of magic. One that makes the world go round, his world, one that makes everything all the more enamoring. Any spell or enchantment couldn’t hold a candle to you in his eyes.

“Can I do it?” He suddenly inquires, tucking his hair behind his ear even though it rebelliously fell right back into place. He’s decided he’s got to do something other than stare at you all day, though he is perfectly content to do so.

When you turn your head, he’s looking at you curiously, and a smile is quick to tug at your lips. He mirrors your expression with a lopsided grin, a pale scarlet dusting his cheeks.

You nod and he scoots in behind you, peering over your shoulder at the spread of polishes laid out on the small table. Before he started, you switch on another lamp with a flick of your finger so he could see a bit better. He snagged the bottle of baby pink polish you’d been working from, uncapping it and gingerly taking your hand in his own. When you opened your mouth to point him in the right direction he hushed you with a quiet hum and you laugh softly, leaning back against his chest as you let him take creative control.

He settled his chin on your shoulder, his head rested against yours as he got to work with unwavering determination. No matter the task, Bill Weasley will always find a way to make it seem as though it was of the utmost importance. Whether it be washing the dishes or being called off to work, that stoic look of concentration never failed to make an appearance. Yes, his hands had been a bit shaky and perhaps it was from the extra scoop of sugar he puts in his tea, perhaps it wasn’t, but so far he hadn’t done half bad.

With your free hand, you snag his mug of tea and take a sip, smiling to yourself at how obscenely sweet it was. If one thing was obvious, it was that he had the biggest sweet tooth out of anyone you’d ever known. He made a discontented protest when you moved once more and nearly messed up his progress, though it was one that was easily satisfied with a kiss.

For a while after that things were quiet, save for the consistent patter of the raindrops trickling down outside and his steady breathing in your ear. A cinnamon flavored candle had been gracing the room with its delightful fragrance, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t remind him of home. It made everything all the more cozy. The day was nothing short of peaceful and everything you’d dreamed it would be; not even Bill’s lighthearted grumbling over your constant fidgeting could take away from the moment. He was the cause after all, he couldn’t expect you to stay still with the chaste and absentminded kisses he’d been pressing upon your neck. It was only fair.

“I used to paint my mother’s nails, you know,” he murmurs then, still focused on the task at hand. You hum softly in response to urge him to continue on. “Whenever she’d gotten a cold or even just felt under the weather, I’d paint her nails to lift her spirits. It was this ruby red color she always adored. Granted I was fifteen and it looked absolutely horrendous and— love don’t move!”

You giggle out a soft apology and turn your head to kiss his cheek, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Sorry.”

He pursed his lips with a hint of a smile and sighed softly, diligently continuing on with his work. “Now Ronnie gets to do it.”

The thought alone made you smile because the one and only time you’d let Ron Weasley do your nails, and even Fred for that matter, you’d ended up with more polish on your skin than your nails. It had even wound up on them, you recall. They had insisted you were moving far too much and that may have been a little true, but you’ll never let them live down their terrible nail painting abilities.

Bill’s hair had been tickling your skin and you fought the shiver it elicited, but you couldn’t seem to help it in that moment. The tiny brush clutched in his hand had smudged the soft pink pigment onto your skin, and he huffed out a laugh against your neck. He stuck the brush back in its rightful bottle with acceptance that he couldn’t get any more work done before his lips found your neck once more, your laughter relentless when he kissed the sensitive skin. He knew this fact very well, and used it to his full advantage as retaliation. His arm encircled your waist momentarily as he squeezed you close in a half hug, his own laughter mingling with yours in the little living room.

You manage free yourself from his embrace, cautious not to further smudge your freshly painted manicure. He was quick to get on his feet, though, grabbing your wrist and twirling you to face him as he tugged you close.

“Careful! You just might ruin all your hard work, love,” you scold with a beaming smile, but he seems to be far more concerned with you presently.

Your laughter fades considerably in that moment as he envelopes you in his arms once more, and with careful movements you wrap your own around his neck. You’d never quite gotten used to the way he looks at you and you probably never will; it was as if the very world revolved around you. It made the familiar crimson burn and blossom across your cheeks, his smile widening a fraction as you avert your gaze.

“You’ve got to stop doing that, you know,” you say, biting the inside of your cheek while you try and focus on absolutely anything but the way your blush is creeping down your neck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he chuckles, but he was very much aware of the meaning behind your words.

You cast a pointed stare in his direction, daring to look at him fully. A stubborn chunk of ginger hair had fallen from where it was tucked behind his ear, brushing over his cheek. A sigh leaves your lips and he finds himself resting his forehead on yours, nudging you softly with his nose. You were starting to feel like a moment more perfect than this couldn’t exist. The pungent scent of nail polish was something you could very much do without, but it was only a minor inconvenience. For you were in the arms of the love of your life and not a single thing could surpass that.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his eyes falling closed as a much softer smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “Very much.”

A quiet laugh escapes you, not one of mocking, but one of utter joy that had been too overflowing within you not to do so. His chuckle puffs against your lips, his arms tightening their hold. “I love you, Bill Weasley,” you breathe earnestly in the closeness, nearly stealing a kiss before you let yourself finish your declaration. “Very much.”

Both your cheeks were stained in varying hues of pink as your lips melded in the most loving of kisses, and there was no greater feeling.

—

Tags: @theweasleysredhair @loony-loopy-lupinn @lupinsclassroom @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq

[raeynbowboi]

Building an Embodiment of the Fairytale Princess (2.0)

This is nothing new. I’ve done this build before, which I’ll link right [here]. The post did really well, and people seemed to love the concept. However, since then, Mythic Odysseys of Theros and Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything have both come out, bringing with them not only new subclasses, but new features, spells, mechanics, and elements that I couldn’t take into consideration the first time around. So, I decided that rather than just adding a tag on post like I did before, I’d just remake the build with the new features being taken into consideration. Like before, the focus of the build is to create an embodiment of the generic fairytale princess and not any one particular character. So without further ado, let’s get into it.

Like before, we’ll be choosing Variant Human for our race of choice. We’ll channel Sleeping Beauty to be gifted by the fey with blessings of Beauty, Grace, and Song for +1 CHA, +1 DEX, and Performance proficiency. We also get a bonus feat, and thanks to Tasha’s, we can now take Fey Blessed for +1 CHA. However, if she doesn’t cast with Charisma, then substitute those CHA bonuses with Wisdom instead.

The generic fairytale princess is a maid of purest heart, so we’re Lawful Good. But for your more rebellious princesses, Neutral Good or Chaotic Good are also valid.

Background is obviously Noble for proficiency with History and Persuasion.

CLASSES & SUBCLASSES

BARD

This one seems pretty obvious. Bards love to sing and dance, like your stereotypical princess. Because Charisma is their top stat, and they have expertise, it can make them great negotiators, and allow them to excel in dialogue interactions.

GLAMOUR

This college is very fitting for a fairytale princess, as it is focused on making oneself as beautiful and charming as the Fairest of Them All.

LORE 

Lore bards share information, whether they tell stories, recite plays, share philosophy, or spread juicy gossip, the Lore Bard gets more magical secrets, and added expertise to make your princess an even bigger Mary Sue. In actual medieval history, princesses often learned to play instruments and sing, recite prayers or poems, or tell stories to visiting guests, and it was considered a part of her education and duty to do so.

CLERIC

While not every princess is a devout religious girl, their stories tend to be set in the medieval period when a good princess would have been expected to be chaste and pious. So on that front, worshiping a good deity would be befitting of such a character.

LIFE

The fairytale princess raises up those they care about, and nothing is more supportive and helpful than keeping your friends on their feet. The Life Cleric turns your princess into a kind soul who weeps for her friends and patches them up after the battle, turning your princess into a useful ally against the wicked witches and dangerous dragons.

LIGHT

Not all Fairytale Princesses are passive or support players. Those who lean toward Light are the princesses who stand as the Big Good of their story and battle the forces of Darkness with the power of the Light. Of the three Cleric options that fit the archetype, this is the best option for being a powerhouse in combat.

PEACE

Don’t get me wrong, I still hate this domain for wearing the skin of the Love Domain we were supposed to get, and you can absolutely still play it that way. How this domain went from Love to Togetherness to Pacifism is beyond me, but it’s a fairly strong subclass. The classic princess archetype is supposed to be gentle and kind, fitting for one who worships a god of mercy and forgiveness. It’s a value often toted as the strongest characterization of the early Disney princesses.

DRUID

My first time building the fairytale princess, I ignored Druid as an option because the wildshaping didn’t really make sense for a fairytale princess, but a lot of the Bardic Magical Secrets were used to steal Druid spells. However, thanks to the optional rules from Tasha’s, Druids can now use their Wildshape to summon fey that take on the shapes of animals instead of turning into the animals themselves, which makes Druid far more viable, as summoning animals is very in-character for a fairytale princess.

DREAMS 

The Circle of Dreams has heavy Fey associations with references to the Summer Court ruled by Titania. It also is strongly focused on healing, and has a very Fairy Tale flavor to it. It’s an especially great option if you want to invoke Sleeping Beauty, as you can cloak your party while you sleep and send messages to people through your dreams.

SHEPHERD

The fairytale princess is strongly associated with animal buddies, and nothing makes better use of that than the Shepherd Druid, which focuses on amassing an army of critters. What’s more, the Unicorn Totem is very fitting, not only because Unicorns only approach maidens with pure hearts, but Shepherds of the Unicorn Totem get empowered healing.

SORCERER

The sorcerer is born with a spark of something special in them, and a lot of fantasy royalty have magical powers that other people in their world lack.

DIVINE SOUL

The princess doesn’t literally have to be the descendant of the gods, as the original name for the subclass was more about being favored by the gods. Still, if you want to lean into the idea of the princess as the Big Good against the Big Bad, then having her be born with the spark of the gods inside her makes for a neat characterization.

WILD MAGIC 

With the new Sorcerer Shards as I’ve come to call them, we were introduced to the Feywild Shard, which was heavily geared toward Wild Magic Sorcerers, which seems to be WoTC’s way of saying that Wild Magic Sorcerers are the fey-linked sorcerous origin, so I’m including it because of our fey connection. 

WARLOCK

This is the only class where there’s exactly one good option, but it’s one that works surprisingly well.

ARCHFEY 

As a Warlock with a Pact of the Chain, your fairytale princess can choose to Find Familiar any cute little animal companion, or a Sprite to be your Fairy Godmother. Or rather, you can sign a pact with your Fairy Godmother, and use your Chain Pact to summon one of her emissaries to help you. The Archfey patron themselves can act as your Fairygodther, granting you and your party boons and aid where they need it.

WARLOCK INVOCATIONS

Agonizing Blast Armor of Shadows Beast Speech Eldritch Mind Eldritch Sight Gift of the Ever-Living Ones Shroud of Shadow Voice of the Chain Master

CHARISMA vs WISDOM

The big split in how you build your princess falls down the line between these two camps. The wise princess works better as a Druid/Cleric, while a charming princess is more of a Bardlock. For me personally, as much as the Cleruid fits the fairytale princess, the stereotype of the princess is usually that she is gullible, naïve, and overly trusting. Insight is a wisdom check, and something the classic princess archetype is usually bad at. Granted, Animal Handling is also Wisdom, but the Bard’s expertise can overrule a low Wisdom score. Think of it like a clash between Princess Zelda from the Legend of Zelda vs Princess Peach from Mario. Princess Zelda is wise and is much more focused on leadership and protecting her kingdom. Peach is more about the pretty dresses and having servants help her. They’re two very different camps on the princess archetype. Ultimately, which one you choose will depend on the type of princess you wish to invoke. The Classic Damsel or the Wise Matriarch.

SIDEKICKS

A new feature added in Tasha’s, sidekicks are secondary characters that can help the party and are basically simplified character builds with fewer bells and whistles. There are three main camps:

Expert. Experts are clever and knowledgeable, be they minstrels, librarians, pickpockets, merchants, or assassins. They can pick proficiency with DEX, INT, or CHA saving throws, and can be proficient or an expert with any five skills of your choice, and humanoids also gain proficiency with light armor, simple weapons, and two tools of your choice.

Spellcaster. Trained in the secrets of the Arcane, be they a priest, a fortuneteller, or a magical creature. They can choose proficiency with INT, WIS, or CHA checks, and can be proficient in Arcana, History, Insight, Investigation, Medicine, Performance, Persuasion, or Religion. They choose a roll to determine their spell list: Mage (Wizard), Healer (Cleric, Druid) or Prodigy (Bard, Warlock). The sidekick has access to the spell list of the classes their role aligns with, as well as casting with that stat.

Warrior. trained fighters, be they a soldier, a city guard, a trained animal, or a hired sword. They can pick proficiency with STR, DEX, or CON saving throws, and their skill options are Acrobatics, Animal Handling, Athletics, Intimidation, Nature, Perception, and Survival. Warriors can pick a fighting style: either Offensive to add +2 to attack and damage rolls, or Defender to impose disadvantage on hitting creatures other than them while within 5 feet of the princess.

Generic Princess Sidekicks

Humanoid Guard Warrior (bodyguard) Humanoid Commoner Expert (handmaiden, governess, etc.) Humanoid Magewright Spellcaster (court mage, or advisor) Any Beast-type Warrior (animal companion)

Fairytale Inspired Sidekicks

Seven Dwarves - Dwarf Warrior Fairy Godmother - Sprite or Pixie Spellcaster Prince Charming - Humanoid Noble Warrior Wicked Witch - Barovian Witch Spellcaster Beast - Gnoll, Jackalwere, Orc, or Troglodyte Warrior Puss in Boots - Awakened Cat or Tabaxi Warrior The Frog Prince - Awakened Frog or Grung Warrior Three Little Pigs - Awakened Pig Expert, Spellcaster, & Warrior Big Bad Wolf - Wolf Warrior or Awakened Wolf Expert Robin Hood - Redbrand Ruffian or Bandit Expert Djinn of the Lamp - Dust, Ice, or Magma Mephit Spellcaster Pinocchio - Giant Stone Statue Warrior White Rabbit - Awakened Rabbit Expert Cheshire Cat - Awakened Cat Expert or Spellcaster

There is no actual limit to the number of sidekicks your character can have, so in theory, your fairytale princess could have an entire posse of talking animals hanging out and helping her.

Skills, Spells, and Features

As a Variant Human, we got Performance proficiency alongside our Fey Touched feat, and as a Noble, we have proficiency with Persuasion and History. For everything else, we’re just looking to be a standard Fairytale Princess. So we should look to be proficient with: Animal Handling, Arcana, Religion, Nature, or Medicine.

BASIC FAIRIES

Dancing Lights Faerie Fire Healing Spirits Spirit Guardians Summon Fey Conjure Woodland Beings Conjure Fey

BASIC PRINCESS THINGS

Animal Friendship Command Heroism Speak With Animals Animal Messenger Calm Emotions Find Steed Warding Bond Zone of Truth Conjure Animals Mord’s Magnificent Mansion

SNOW WHITE

Armor of Agathys Mirror Image Beacon of Hope Aura of Purity Heroes’ Feast

CINDERELLA

Fabricate Creation True Polymorph Wish

SLEEPING BEAUTY

Sleep Phantasmal Killer Dream Wall of Thorns Dream of the Blue Veil

THE LITTLE MERMAID

Charm Person Shatter Suggestion Tidal Wave Compulsion Control Water Dominate Person Maelstrom Control Weather Tsunami Storm of Vengeance

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

Charm Monster Unseen Servant Tiny Servant Animate Objects Awaken Hold Monster Summon Fiend

Last time I built the fairytale princess, I gave her exactly 1 build. 18 levels of glamour bard and 2 levels of Archfey Warlock. But recently I’ve begun to instead put more stock in leaving builds open, showing instead the options that a player has to choose from. So, for this update, I’m not pushing for a specific build. I’ve laid out the appropriate spells, and the types of princesses that a player can strive to emulate with their spell lists. Consider this more of a guide to help you decide how you want to play your fairytale princess.

[jhoudiey]

You like to play God, don't you?

Wrote this fic a while back, #ChickenChallenge starts trending on magicam again, and Yoru ends up trying to distract herself with her friends. Ends up watching Jade as he builds a terrarium, and ends with dumb and dumber fluff. 1825 words.

hey you’re that chicken girl from NRC right?

Yoru stared at her phone. Idia had finally updated it so that she was able to use it freely, her hands no longer an issue on the touch screen. She normally didn’t pay attention to notifications, but had texted him earlier that night hoping to hang out, instead her magicam had exploded, messages popping in so quickly she could hardly keep track

show me ur feet

where else do you have feathers?

check it out, I’ve got weird feet too!

Whoa! Is that from a magic accident!? Crazy!!

omg ur disgustingggggg!!!!

you fucking freak!

ahahahaha no way your real. You’re like a chicken!!!!

can you send me a pic of your chicken feet? They’re so freaky I wanna show my friend!

you ever jerked a guy off with those? Do you want to?

She stared at the picture of the penis in her inbox with disgust, is this how normal people communicated? Why were all these people she didn’t know suddenly messaging her anyway? It was already past midnight, didn’t they have anything better to do? She exited her messages and found there had been a series of throwback posts from NRC Halloween, #ChickenChallenge was trending again. She sighed and closed the application, having lived through that once had been enough, she had no desire to repeat the experience online.

Idia still hadn’t texted her back, but her mood was soured. Focusing on her alchemy work wasn’t enough to distract her from the constant buzzing coming from her phone.

“Fuck this” she grumbled, throwing her phone onto her bed before launching herself out the window. She didn’t need to wait for a text back from Idia, she’d just show up, the same as always.

As luck would have it, however, Idia was busy. He wasn’t gaming as was usual for him at this time of night, but was in the middle of a video chat with Vita, making it much more awkward to sit in the corner of his room quietly. She didn’t want to know what they talked about when it was just the two of them. She wandered back out of the dorm, hesitating in the Hall of Mirrors. It was late, she should just go home...but… he might still be awake too.

She knocked on the door tucked down the halls of Octavinelle dorm, silently cursing herself for going down there in the first place.

“Come in”

Jade welcomed her into his and Floyd’s shared room, a small smile painted on his lips. He was in his pajamas, though clearly invested in building a terrarium, plants and stones laid out carefully on his desk in front of him. She spied Floyd, his pajama shirt discarded on the floor beside his bed, fast asleep curled around one of his pillows facing away from them. He’d likely turned away from the lamp light Jade had kept on as he worked.

“Ahh, I guess it is too late, I’ll go” Yoru mumbled looking between them, she’d never gotten along comfortably with Jade.

“You can stay. I don’t mind, Yoru-san,” He held his hand out to offer Floyd's desk chair to her “Would you care to join me? Clearly something is the matter or you wouldn’t have come by so late. I do know how much you loathe to be here.”

She hesitated.

If she stayed, she’d have to deal with his casual cruelty and observant eye, if she left she may have to deal with another dozen messages about how she was a disgusting bird freak who really should be embarrassed to look like that, not that she needed the reminder. She sighed and crawled onto the chair, her legs tucked in against her body, arms clutched around them as she watched Jade work. He was meticulous.

Like everything he did, every movement was measured, everything planned well in advance to come together just as he imagined it.

“Is this what you normally spend your weekends doing?” She asked, her eyes following his graceful hands as he arranged some moss.

“Hmm, it is something I am quite fond of, yes.”

“Why? Wouldn’t it be better to keep a garden or something? What’s the point of this?”

He laughed quietly.

“This is what humans call ‘a hobby’ I believe. The point is to enjoy it, Yoru-san.”

She rested her chin on her knees, her eyes drifting across his desk to the discarded pieces of clothing on the floor near Floyd's bed. She felt Jade watching her and turned her gaze back to him.

“But why do you enjoy it? What’s so good about building a tiny garden in a jar?”

“You mean what’s so entertaining about creating and controlling an entire ecosystem one can hold in their hands? I wonder…”

She snorted.

“Ahhh, so it’s just something else you can manipulate. Makes sense.” She grinned at him, his hands expertly arranging rocks along the bottom of the jar.

“How cruel, Yoru-san, to suggest my innocent hobby is anything but… I can’t deny the implications though.”

“Hah, so you admit it then. No wonder you like it...” She chuckled, her eyes wandering once again to Floyds sleeping form, his back slowly rising and falling with his breaths.

“Admit it? No, I simply enjoy when certain things go as planned” He smirked at her. He’d caught her wandering eyes twice now, though she was trying to hide it. She hadn’t come here to see him, after all. She faced him again, not wanting to meet his eyes instead focusing on his hands.

“Do you ever add bones?”

“Oya? What is it you’re trying to imply, Yoru-san?”

“...They’d be good for the soil. I can bring you some, if you need.”

“I suppose that would raise fewer questions than gathering them myself...Thank you.”

“Mmmm” She nodded with her head still on her knees, content to watch him in silence. He was building a whole planet before her, a God playing with nature to whatever suited his whim. A rock here, moss there… no wait… over there instead. It was fascinating and tedious at the same time. His hands weaved patterns from nothing, a garden blossoming from his fingertips. She felt her attention slipping and closed her eyes, the soft tinkling of his tools being drowned out by the slow tide of Floyd's slumbering breath. She tilted her head towards him, her own breathing slowing to match his like the sea lazily lapping at the shore.

“Why don’t you lie down with him, Yoru-san? I don’t mind” Jades voice cut through her dreamy haze, jolting her upright.

“What? No. Huh?” She stuttered, horrified that Jade had somehow known the comfort she felt in that moment. “I’ve gotta go, I must have fallen asleep. Bye Jade” She hurried to leave, bumping into Floyd's desk in her haste. The precariously stacked books toppled over and fell to the floor, making an awful racket in the near silent bedroom.

“Oh shit, sorry!’ She whispered in a panic, hoping she hadn’t woken Floyd. She scooped to pick the books up, her wings threatening to topple the chair she had been sitting in just moments ago. Jade laughed as he watched her struggle.

“Fufufu, Yoru-san. You seem quite flustered, did something I say upset you? Perhaps my suggestion to sleep with Floyd-”

“No!” She yammered quickly. Too quickly. “No, I’m just tired. I have to go!” She pushed the books back onto the desk haphazardly and turned to leave, hoping that Jade hadn’t caught sight of her face, red as it was sure to be. How could he have known what she was thinking?

“Hmmpppfff” Floyd whined, wrapping his arms around her waist, his face buried in feathers. “You’re too loud, Fugu-chan, be more quiet”

Jade smirked at the pair of them as Yoru struggled to free herself from his grasp. Floyd whined into her back, dragging her into his bed so he could go back to sleep.

“Yoru-san, it’s better if you don’t fight him, he can be quite insistent when he wants something” She knew he was right. To get free she’d have to peel him off of her, and with how tightly he held her it would be hard, Floyd really was too damn strong. She sighed and stopped resisting, feeling her feet leave the floor as he flipped her over him to settle her between his body and the wall.

He murmured wordlessly as he shifted around her wings, careful not to pull out any feathers accidentally. He settled between them, his head resting slightly above hers, his face nestled in her hair, body pressed tightly against hers. She was glad Jade couldn’t see her anymore, she could feel him watching them still, but with their faces turned away from him he wouldn’t be able to read her expression. She felt like her heart was going to beat out of her chest, she was sure Floyd must have felt it too, though if he did he made no mention of it. This wasn’t what she’d had in mind when she had come over, all she had wanted was to chat a bit, to forget about the people on magicam trying to ruin her night. She had to admit though… This was nice too. Ever since spring break they’d been more comfortable with each other physically, Floyd often clinging to her whenever he slept over, but so far that hadn’t left the confines of her bedroom. No one ever saw how often she clung back, she’d made sure to disengage from his grasp before he woke whenever she found herself too near him. It was much too embarrassing to be found like this, her face burning again knowing that Jade was probably enjoying himself immensely, proven right yet again.

The lamp clicked off, Jade finally retiring, Yoru felt herself finally relaxing. Her body jolted as tension left her, and she laid her arms across Floyd's, drawing lazy circles on the backs of his hands with her fingers. He sighed into her hair and pressed himself against her a little tighter at her touch, fast asleep once more. Yoru closed her eyes knowing it wasn’t safe to fall asleep where she lay, she had to get up and go home or she’d never hear the end of it. 5 more minutes then you have to go home she told herself, but it really was very comfortable, laying with Floyd like this.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

“Euuuggggghhhh Jaaaaade, turn your alarm offffff” Floyd complained loudly. He was close...too close. Yoru’s eyes snapped open with a start, she’d fallen asleep in his arms.

“Ahhh, I must have forgotten to turn it off. My apologies, you two fufufu”

“Mmmmm~ good morning, Fugu-chan” Floyd murmured as he tightened himself around her once more. She felt him smile as he nuzzled his face into the nape of her neck, her face blazed red once more.

[stygiantarot]

Unusual Divination Methods

A long ass list of methods of divination, just in case you’re curious ~~~~~~

Divination is the method of discerning answers beyond a direct interaction. It can be used for foreseeing future outcomes or problems, but that isn’t inherent. It can also be used to commune with entities like deities or spirits, or even for delving deeper into the self (like shadow work).

There are many forms of divination. So many. There are even many forms of what would be considered “unusual” beyond the more commonly practices like cartomancy, runes, or stichomancy. Today I shall be focusing on ones I’m familiar with so I can better elaborate and answer questions.

The methods I will be exploring today:


Aleuromancy: divination using flour (or a flour substitute!)


Catoptromancy: a form of scrying using a mirror (my method uses a cast iron pan actually!)


Osteomancy: divination using bones

~~~~~~

Aleuromancy

A form of divination using flour that’s mentioned in some Mesopotamian cunefiorms, as well as being practiced in Greece and Rome. There are a couple ways this can be done. Firstly is when you pour out the dry flour and look at the way it falls into a bowl or on a plate or surface. Much like tea leaf reading (tasseography), you seek out shapes in the flour and interpret based on that. Another variation is doing the same but after you’ve mixed the flour with the liquids you’re baking with and kneaded it/mixed it and then taken it away to be baked. You examine the remaining streaks of wet dough on your surfaces for shapes and patterns.

The third method is to actually put slips of paper into the items you’re baking to be taken at random and broken open to answers questions after they’re cooked (akin to fortune cookies). This can be a tricky process depending on what sort of paper or ink you’ve used (speaking from experience :-X). The historical Greek version of this used excerpts of famous philosophy and mixed the balls of doughs nine times (a significant number in Ancient Greece)

It can take a lot of patience to try and find shapes and patterns in flour and admittedly it’s much easier with tea leaves. No wonder that became the standard. Don’t get disheartened if it isn’t something you have success with. You might have more fun and results experimenting with the baking slips of paper into dough methods. Great for ritual cookies!

The kind of divining using this method is very simple, more “omen-like” than detailed q&as like in Tarot or runes. Expect to see simple images that may give insight to something coming your way (a boat or bird showing a trip) or warn of a specific type of trouble that may be on the horizon (a money sign showing finances) rather than getting a formulated question clearly answered. However, you can dabble in that methodology when using the slips of paper instead. That way is more akin to stichomancy where you get a general idea or snapshot of the emotion or proverb-like metaphor to your question.

The type of flour can be tailored to help “fine tune” the reading as well- much like a certain flavor or tea or a certain deck of cards. Keep in mind that all types of grains/flours have a baseline association with prosperity and material gain/finances so this method of divination is especially good for those type of questions!



Flour Correspondences:


Acorn: An uncommon one in stores of course, but has deep wildcrafting results if you have the time and patience to grind some yourself. Associated with protection, health, money, healing, potency, fertility, luck, wealth, wisdom, and personal power.


Almond: creativity, luck, wisdom, spiritual understanding, nostalgia

Buckwheat: Money, protection, dreams and sleep


Flaxseed: health, finances, prosperity, beauty, psychic powers

Oat: family, home, hearth, money

Potato: protection, banishing, soothing/healing


Rice: prosperity, career/job, travel, romantic relationships/sex

Wheat: general prosperity, rebirth/renewal, solar energy

~~~~~~

Catoptromancy

From the Greek word katoptron, meaning mirror, this is a form of scrying that specifically uses a mirror rather than flame, water, or crystal ball. However, my version is a bit of a kitchen witch twist on it. We’ll get to that in a moment!

 The Wikipedia article on it refers to a Greek temple that used this method but it was also practiced in many other countries in history. There’s references to the “true seeing” of Hathor/Het-Hert/ḥwt-ḥr mirrors as well, despite them being mainly for practical purposes. The divination is practiced most commonly by placing a mirror near water, outside in moonlight, or near a candle flame. Then the reader looks into the mirror and interprets the images seen. They can be direct appearance-based (how you look) or seeing other images. The mirror can be a standard one, a painted one, or one made of a more opaque substance like obsidian or metal.

I will say personally, I practice catoptromancy in an “inner eye” scrying way rather than a pattern/tasseography way. That means that I am the conduit and the mirror/surface is to help me get into a trance state and what I “see” will be from my mind’s eye or may likely be added to what little I see on the surface through intuition and that sixth sense. But either method is absolutely fine.

I also don’t use a mirror. I use a well loved, well seasoned cast iron skillet for my catoptromancy, with a lighted candle usually. The glossy surface is mostly black iron but is just mirrored enough from being soaked in fat over the past decades of seasoning that it performs quite well for scrying. And the sentimental value helps it’s power. You may want to select an object in a similar fashion. You can choose an important mirror (the size doesn’t matter) or pick something that is mirror-like. The reflective ability is all that matters.

Get settled down in a comfortable spot without too much light. Get your one light source ready; a candle, the moon, a small table lamp or booklight even. You’ll want to be grounded, centered, and calm and then let yourself “zone out” in order to get into the mindset for scrying. Then examine your own reflection for certain aspects that stand out or look past yourself (or angle the mirror to not be looking right at you) to see other shapes or patterns that you expand upon with your trance state. Keeping a journal for this method is especially important. There’s an emotional and internal reflection aspect that can be helpful to refer back to and examine how things went in your life after certain sessions. It can also pair well with dream magic. What you were seeking might manifest after the trance mirror session in your dreams. This method of divination is especially good for shadow work as well.

~~~~~~

Osteomancy

Bones, bones bones! Throwing the bones! Examining the bones! Reading the bones! This is a divination method that obviously uses bones in order to determine associations and messages. It was prevalent in so many cultures throughout ancient and more recent history that it’s hard to pin down a single source. However, there are definitely methods that have particular cultural ties and those should be respected when it comes to closed ones. 

Much like runes or staves, the most common method counts upon both the appearance of the bones themselves as well as their placement in a “casting” (when you gently toss them onto a flat surface). Casting sets also frequently include items that aren’t just bones like small stones, coins, shells, pieces of jewelry, etc.

You can carve, mark, paint or stain the bones in ways that have personal associations to you to help in reading them. You can obtain these bones in any ethical way you are comfortable with. I don’t believe they have to be remains you have processed yourself; though that can add a different spiritual component. You should be considerate in collecting your set though. There is no set number of objects to have (even a single piece can answer yes/no questions) but I don’t recommend starting out of the gate with a pile. You should get comfortable with each piece and determine its associations before moving on to a new one.

Unlike Tarot, they don’t come with set meanings. Though there are sometimes obvious ones: a coin for finances, a seedpod or nut for fertility/prosperity, a sharp tooth for protection, etc. Think about what creature the bone is from, what part of the body, what shape it has when helping determine your personal associations. Treat it like a correspondence for herbs or crystals and that way you can have a more organic “sliding scale” type meaning for when you cast rather than a rigidly detailed one like with Tarot. For example: a meaning like “luck” or “prosperity” is better than “success in work”. It’s also common to have objects touch and then their meanings are joined. In the previous example you could get promotion/raise at work from having a work piece crossing with a prosperity or luck piece.

It is also up to you on what level of ritualized dedication and/or care you would like to give your set. Many people like to do a special dedication ritual to almost “welcome” the item to its new job as a divination tool (my own is what I call “Massaging the Bones”). You can also regularly cleanse and “feed” the casting set (energy that is- not literal food, though you could give it energy from something you’ve cooked in a non-literal way!). I do recommend a special bag or box to keep everything in as well as a soft thicker cloth to cast on. Just so the items don’t get damaged. Be careful in your casting. Practice a lot to know your strength level to throw while still keeping the objects safe. There may be a couple pieces (like baculums or thinner bird bones) that you need to wrap in a square of cloth before storing with the rest of your set for extra protection. This is especially true if you plan to take your set anywhere where it’ll be traveling in a bag or purse.

You can have a ritual circle of string or another material (embroidery hoop!) you lay out to help organize your cast if you like too. This is usually treated one of two ways. Like the face of a clock and items “closer” to certain times are more immediate and further away items around the imaginary numerals are more in the future. Or it’s concentric and the closer to the center of the circle are more important/relevant and then less relevant or immediate as you get closer to the edge. Those that fall outside the circle aren’t relevant to the reading.

This is a divination method you need an large amount of patience for as it is basically creating a tool yourself from scratch, even if you buy the supplies from elsewhere. The framework is laid by you. And just like someone designing a Tarot deck from scratch; be gentle with yourself and allow yourself the room to practice, change, grow, have fallow periods, return, get bored, become fanatic, etc. It’s a process sort of divination that grows like a living thing. This makes it a bittersweet one- rewarding and frustrating but mostly immensely satisfying.

~~~~~~

Divination is something that can be tailored to your desires, needs, and supplies. It can be made personal. You can create a whole new type if you like! Use what inspires you, what works for you. Use the marks on toast, the recommendations of Netflix, steam in a bathroom mirror after a shower. The world is your oyster!

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Mermay - Dilliam - Getting To Know You

William and Damien want to get to know each other, but these things take time. There are more important matters that need to be addressed first.

Read the first part here!

Word Count: 2,159

--

Sure enough, early the next day William hobbled down the steps to the shore. He kept his balance with one hand, and gripped a flask with the other. Unlike the previous day, he wore more layers to keep warm. It made the chilly morning more bearable as the pair sat on the picnic bench. Even so, Damien's high energy and energetic gesturing as he told William the story of when he first met his extended merfamily was infectious. William kept the hot flask in both hands as he sat forward to take in everything and encourage Damien with more questions.

At one point, Damien seemed to snap out of the moment and throw William a concerned look.

"I'm sorry… this, this isn't too much, is it? I don't get to talk about my experiences too much -" He was cut off when he felt a warm hand on his.

"Keep talking. I want to hear everything." William's smile was so wide, it could be seen either side of his bushy moustache. He gave Damien's another reassuring squeeze before lifting his hand away; and Damien had to rapidly suppress the instinct to snatch the hand back. It was such a simple thing, yet Damien felt comfortable enough to keep going.

As it turned out, it was very easy to talk to William. He knew nothing about the world of the ocean, except a small selection of fish names… and even that wasn't right:

("Oh yeah! An orca! That's the one with a horn, right?"

"No. It's the large whale that is black with white markings."

"... Then what am I thinking of?"

"Either a unicornfish or a narwhal, I'd imagine.")

However, as William would later argue, it was because he was normally assigned to tasks on land and was better acquainted with recognising animals, something that Damien was not too confident on:

("But what about that big cat with the hair? You know, the one that has the hair all around its head like this!"

"... Damien, that's what I've been telling you about. Male lions have manes, see?"

"... I knew that.")

Back and forth the conversation went, and Damien could feel a pang of disappointment when Mark came down to accompany them when he returned from rehearsals. Then, to make matters worse, William got a call from Celine regarding something that needed to be reassembled ASAP, so he had to scramble back up.

"Hey… Damien?" Mark broke the silence that had descended on the rocky coast. "I know you were told William was staying for a day or two, but if he gets the all-clear to take off the boot at his appointment tomorrow he has offered to stay longer to help us with odd jobs around the house. Would you be okay with that?"

"Why are you asking me? I don't live here." Damien made quite a considerable effort to give a calm response, and he could only hope that Mark couldn't see through the flimsy act. "It doesn't really affect me what happens up there."

"Well… I wasn’t sure if you were going to continue on your travels soon. If you need to keep on track of your itinerary, don't let our possible change of plan mess with that." Mark's response had Damien cursing his sister. Did both Celine and her partner know about his plight? But Damien knew Mark. If that was the case, there would be obvious teasing. Maybe it was genuine concern on the actor's part. 

"It's alright. I'm not under any time restriction, remember?" One key difference between humans and merfolk was how humans were obsessed with time and schedules, whereas merfolk were more flexible and carefree. "I don't mind staying a little longer. It's nice to be with family again. I'd be a fool to hurry off too fast and miss out on this." Mark's face lit up as he turned to pick up a bag Damien hadn't noticed originally. It was passed to him without any hesitation.

"Speaking of being with family - here. I had this commissioned for you. Consider it a 'new home' gift from both myself and Celine." The merman gingerly opened the present, surprised when he pulled out a small stacked stone ornament on a waterproof pedestal, complete with aqua blue natural sea glass for decoration. "I know you enjoy travelling the seas. Just know that we want this to be your home as much as it is ours when you are in the area. I might only be your brother-in-law to be, but you are still family, and this can be your home if you want it to be. There’s nothing too hard for us to do to make this your home. Just say the word - I have a credit card." Mark reached forward to ruffle Damien's hair, earning himself a dramatically offended hiss in response.

When Mark left, Damien took the decoration in his hands. It was beautiful, and he was enamoured by it… But it made something in his stomach twist. A home… such a concept was different between a merfolk and a human. If they wanted this to be his 'home', were they going to make some sort of enclosure and expect him to ‘settle down’? Celine wouldn't, he knew she never would. Even so, there was the worry if she felt sorry that he would never have a 'home' in the way a human can.

He put the gift into the chest to keep it safe and slipped into the water. He needed time to think about this.

--

"You sure you want to help out? I was kidding about working you to the bone." Celine accompanied William back to the car after his appointment the next day. The crutch and boot were gleefully returned as he was given the all-clear. Now all that was needed was to simply not break it again any time soon.

"Of course! You expect Mark to move things around for you? Or are you planning on killing your fiancé by letting him try his hand at wiring a new light in one of the empty rooms?" He threw Celine an accusatory glare when she laughed at the suggestion. Thankfully, the conversation returned to the matter at hand as they spent the drive to the hardware store deciding what needed to be done in the seafront cottage. 

"Can I ask you a favour?" Celine had stopped in the middle of the 'outdoor' section during their shopping expedition. William screeched the shopping cart to a halt so he could reverse and see what caught her attention. "I want to make the rock pool a place Damien feels comfortable to call home. The positioning of the rocks means it's sheltered from the tides, but I don't know how safe it will be from winter storms. I don't suppose there's anything you can do about that?" William's eyes went from Celine to see what inspired her to request such a job. It was a rock waterfall, an ornament for a garden. The colour of the rocks matched the ones by the sea.

"I'm not sure, only because I've not seen much of it. It'd depend on if the 'pool' is shallow or not. I could try and add some extra support to those rocks that frame the water, maybe check what supports are normally put along beaches to protect coastal towns?" Celine nodded as William spoke, fetching several LED lamps and dropping them into the cart.

"We should ask Damien when we return. I didn't want to bring it up too soon after we moved in because I know he's not one for staying in one place for too long. I suppose it's the mer instincts at play." When she noticed William's confusion, Celine continued, "When we grow up, we normally want to settle down in a house of our own, right? Merfolk might have nesting grounds or communities of their own, but they tend to travel since they can cover large distances in a short amount of time. It's why Damien would often disappear for months at a time." She sighed as she shoved her hands into her pockets. "I wanted a house by the sea so Damien would have a place he could call home too and feel he can stay longer. I can't protect him if he's forever travelling."

"Protect him?"

"You've heard the stories, right? Where people have exotic 'pets' that are categorised as 'mythical'? Having a merman as beautiful as Damien is one thing, but one with fluency in English and an awareness of human behaviours would be a valuable asset to American collectors… Or worse." Even if her hands were hidden, William knew her fists were tightly clenched in anger at the thought of something bad happening. "I don't want anyone to hurt him. Even if he travels the seas and has plenty of connections, he's still my little brother."

"Hey," William braved putting a hand on Celine's shoulder, "It's okay. He'll be okay. We can go back and see how he feels about rubber duck decorations." He pulled back to lift the item in question. They were tiny LED lights on a string, but each light was encased in a small model that resembled a toy rubber duck. "If we got a few of these and draped them around the rocks, it'd really look like home. And look! They're half-price. It's meant to be, Celine." Though still worried for her brother, the distraction worked as Celine finally cracked a smile and lightly shoved William. "What? Oh! You're right. That's far too ambitious. Just the one will do." That was that as it was innocently dropped in, followed by an actual rubber duck toy.

"Trust me. I might not be an outside landscaper-person, but I know we'll be able to make the rock pool the most spiffing place this side of the seven seas!"

-

To William's credit, he had only gathered a handful of impulse purchases that he paid for himself, including a pair of small hanging mirror shaped like a crescent moon and a star as a belated housewarming present ("Mark is the star 'cause he an actor, and you're the moon 'cause of your magic stuff."). Everything else was relevant to the required home improvement jobs that William would be working on over the next few weeks. Once they had brought everything inside, it was then the turn of Mark to bring William out of the house and make the drive to William's family home. William could grab his tools and show his elderly parents that his leg had fully healed. His mother insisted they take a loaf of homemade bread and some cupcakes with them once she had smothered William in hugs and kisses and made him promise to come by while he was in the area.

Meanwhile, the twins sat on one of the large rocks, gazing out over the sea. Damien rested his head on Celine's shoulder as she told him about how her job was going and some of the ideas for the home renovation now that William was staying and ready to work. Damien held her phone, idly scrolling through the photos as she explained what was going on, until he realised the next few photos were of the area they were in.

"- some sort of way to make this place a little safer in the storms. Do you think you could have a think and see what can be done?"

"I'll think about it." Damien returned the phone to Celine as he sat up straight. "Whatever happens will happen, I suppose."

"But this is your home. Whatever happens here is your choice first and foremost."

"Yeah, sure."

"Damien. I'm serious." She reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, only for him to pull away. The fins on his collarbones flared briefly in agitation.

"This is your home, Celine. You don't need to pretend that I have a say in any of this, or that you'd even listen to what I'd want anyway. I don't need your pity because I can't go buy a house like you can."

"That's not what this about-"

"Isn't it? Don't think I never heard those conversations you had with Mom and Dad about wishing I could 'settle down'. I'd bet you even want to build me some sort of little enclosure to make up for that fact."

"Damien, stop that!" But it was too late. He had slipped into the water. Confused and frustrated, but wanting to avoid further argument, Celine stormed back up to the house.

Mark and William had decided to cut into the bread when the back door opened. Their argument on what would best accompany their snacks was abruptly cut off as Celine marched past them and down the corridor, before a door slammed shut. A silent nod was swapped between the men. Something happened between the twins. Food could wait. They needed to get to the bottom of this. ---

(I normally don’t stick these notes on the bottom, but I’m planning on spreading out this story over the month. It’s currently 20 pages on g.oogle docs total, so there definitely will be more. However, I will be putting the next part up tomorrow since 1. I’m not mean to leave it on a cliffhanger for several days and 2. It was waaay too long to put everything as one chapter)

[frodos-bizarre-adventure]

@gingerreggg think i oughta make an ao3 of this?

Heads Up- Part 13 (Joseph x Bust! Caesar)

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

"Morning, Jojo," Caesar said gently, planting a kiss on Joseph's forehead.

Joseph, still not opening his eyes, hummed faintly and gave a smile, hugging the base of Caesar's torso warmly.

"Hey...this is a nicer way to wake me up," he said with a laugh.

From the first days when Caesar sat on his bedside tabe screaming at him like some sort of glorified alarm clock, their morning routines had become far more gentle and affectionate as, bit by bit, Joseph's perception of Caesar changed.

It had been a rollercoaster of emotions since the bust first came screaming and bouncing his way into his life. From initial fear, to confusion, to fascination, to guilt, to understanding, to friendship to gentle affection.

They'd come a long way in just a few weeks being together.

Joseph stood up for breakfast, but before he left he gently lifted Caesar from his bed and gently laid him onto the floor where he was able to hop over to the kitchen. As much as Joseph wanted ro grant Caesar some independence, the fact remained that he was, after all, a living disembodied head with only the smallest piece of a torso, and no matter how much he tried there were some things he simply couldn't do.

It was a bit like having a roommate with special needs, and Joseph didn't mind giving him some assistance whenever he needed it-- though he was happy to let Caesar be when he was sure about things he could do on his own.

And Caesar was surprisingly adaptable, having lived with his unusual form for over a month now. His hopping on his neck was quite slow and clumsy as always, if now a lot more balanced, but the skill of his mouth manipulation had been astounding. Not only at painting and writing, but also in holding and using tools, operating the little lifts Joseph made to help him get up and down tables, or stacking the wooden blocks Suzi brought him into fun shapes and structures.

And, with persistent gnawing, licking and nose pressing, Caesar had learned how to, in his own awkward, bizarre way, figured out how to operate the remote of the TV, and spent quite a lot of his time bingeing soap operas, much to Joseph and Suzi's amusement.

"Morning, Suzi!" Joseph greeted, as he made his way to the kitchen. She'd woken up early and was stirring a cup of coffee, and she looked up and greeted the two in her usual cheery self.

"Morning Jojo!" she said with a smile. "Morning too, Caesar," she added, looking down at the hopping bust on the floor.

Her presence had been a near-constant in the past few days, though she did have a home a few blocks down the street. Joseph could tell she enjoyed staying with them, with the alternative having been mostly alone in her apartment with little to do now that she'd graduated.

Joseph could tell she was lonely. Especially since they previously hadn't spent much time together for a couple of years.

And now Caesar had brought them together.

Caesar hopped onto the platform and pulled at the rope with his teeth, lifting himself up onto the table. Suzi couldn't help but watch in awe-- it looked as if it took Caesar so much effort to move around, but he somehow just managed.

"It's honestly quite funny how you came to just accept all this," Caesar joked as he hopped onto the kitchen table. "You'd think that you'd take much longer to get used to me, a talking head of clay."

"Well, at first it was odd," Suzi replied.

Caesar laughed, remembering their first encounter. "You kept trying to grab me and touch me all over the first time we met."

"Well...you're just amazing," she told him.

"And getting to know you more? You're a really good person deep down," she added. "Sure, a little rough around the edges at times, maybe, but your determination, your personality, your warmth... you've added so much to me and Joseph's lives since you came."

Caesar smiled, a shy, flustered smile that would have had come with a blush if he hadn't been clay.

"Plus the way you get around is rather cute," she giggled. "You remind me of the lamp from those Pixar intros."

"Oh, don't you think I didn't get that," Caesar retorted playfully.

Joseph, in the meantime, had been making breakfast, mostly just coffee, canned beans, a boiled egg and some toast. Whipping up his meal the best as he could, him being in no way a talented chef, he piled the ingredients onto his plate and sat down onto the kitchen table.

Caesar looked wistfully at the plate. "If only I could enjoy that too." he said with a dry laugh.

Made of clay, Caesar never felt the need to eat, or drink, or even breathe. He wasn't quite sure what even sustained him every time he woke up in the morning.

At this point, it was easier to just say "magic".

"Alright, here you go," Joseph grinned. He dipped his finger into the sauce of the baked beans and held it out for Caesar to taste.

He stuck out his tongue and gently touched Joseph's finger with its tip.

"Hmmm...not bad," he said. He could taste and smell, despite not needing to eat or breathe, and exactly why, or how, was a question Caesar opted not to bother himself with.

Joseph smiled. Just the knowledge that Caesar was able to enjoy the little things in life brought him a sense of satisfied joy. Sure, there were some things that he was missing out on due to his nature as a living clay bust, but what mattered were the things that could make his dull existence just a bit brighter.

There were things he couldn't change, and realities he had to accept, but he knew Caesar could make do with whatever he did have.

Sometimes it was just better to submit to the winds than fight it, Joseph thought.

Submit.

That one word suddenly struck Joseph like a freight train.

--------

"Oh no," Joseph mumbled to himself in realisation.

Both Caesar and Suzi suddenly looked concerned at the abrupt change in Joseph's demeanor.

"What's the matter, Jojo?" Caesar asked.

"What date is it?" Joseph asked, tapping his hand lightly, anxiously, on the kitchen countertop.

Suzi checked her phone. "March 24, why?"

Joseph scratched his head in frustration. "My finals project! It's...it's due in two weeks!" He knew he had to pass his work, otherwise he wouldn't graduate his final year.

He'd completely forgotten, so engrossed he was with his strange new life with Caesar, and his long-due reunion with his old friend Suzi.

He'd fallen into a little fantasy and reality suddenly burst his colorful little bubble of joy.

Joseph's heart sank in realization. His finals project was Caesar.

Except he couldn't bear to think of him as such anymore. In their time together Caesar had become much more than an artistic masterpiece. He had become a person. He was alive. He was a companion, a partner, a friend.

Joseph loved him.

"I...I need to come up with something to submit to the gallery if I expect to make it to the end of the semester," Joseph said wearily, scratching his head in exasperation.

Suzi's usual cheer suddenly faded and was replaced with unease.

"Jojo..." she said, her voice heavy with concern. "Isn't...your project..."

Joseph sighed. "Yes. I know."

Caesar knew right away what Joseph had been talking about.

He felt an immense sadness at the realization that his very existence was a roadblock to Joseph achieving his dream.

"But...but how could I?" Joseph continued. "He's not just a project anymore, Suzi. He's a person."

Joseph shuddered at the thought of the fate that awaited Caesar, to be put on display in a glass case at the gallery. And what if they found out he was alive? What would they do to him?

"Perhaps you could still make a new project in the meantime?" Suzi asked.

"We don't have time," Joseph said. "It took me months to make Caesar to his perfection, what could I do in two weeks? What would they think if someone as reputed and talented as me passed a half-assed artwork as my final masterpiece?"

"I understand," Suzi sighed.

This was a dilemma that weighed heavily on Joseph's heart. On one hand, he had dreamed of being renowned for his talent and skill in creating art. To earn his stern, distant mother's approval. To gain recognition for his passion that he had.

But on the other hand, it would mean giving up Caesar. The little unexpected miracle that had come into his life one day and made it all the more brighter. The friend he never knew he needed. He felt like to do such a thing would be tantamount to abandoning a friend.

Caesar could see the grief in Joseph's eyes.

"I can't do this," Joseph mourned. "I can't do this to you."

Caesar could see the pain and conflict in Joseph's face, and he hurt inside too. He just wanted Joseph to be happy, and it crushed his figurative heart to see Joseph, the one single person he'd known all his brief life, in such a sorry state.

He wanted him to be happy. Whatever it takes.

A determined expression crept onto Caesar's face.

"I'll do it." he said defiantly.

Joseph and Suzi's eyes widened in shock.

"Caesar, no..." was all Suzi could say.

"But I must," Caesar insisted. "It's what you made me for, right, Jojo? This...this is why I exist. To display your talent and help you achieve your dream."

"This is my purpose," Caesar concluded.

"But why?" Joseph pleaded, looking into the eyes of his precious creation. "Why are you doing this? What about you?"

"I'll be fine," Caesar reassured. "I'm good at freezing up when people are around. They wouldn't even know."

Joseph looked upset at the thought of Caesar spending the rest of his existence in a gallery. He deserved a life.

"Jojo, I owe you everything," Caesar insisted. "You've made me live, even if it wasn't your intention. You've given me the best life you could in spite of what I am. The very fact you saw me as a person, who deserved existence as much as you, when I first awoke...for that I am ever grateful," he said. "And this is the best way I can pay you back for all you've done for me."

"Because..." Caesar hesitated.

He didn't seem sure how to say it.

"Because..."

He closed his eyes and gave a sigh.

"...because I love you, Jojo."

Was it strange that a creation had feelings for his creator? Or for a creator to feel the same?

For the same feeling had been welling up in Joseph's heart, and Caesar declaring his feelings first was like opening the floodgates of Joseph's emotions.

"Caesar..." he said, tears building up in his eyes as he gazed back into Caesar's eyes, past the polished, clay pupils and into the beautiful soul that resided within.

"I love you too," he said.

Caesar felt a warmth like never before in hearing Joseph's declaration. His brilliant blue eyes were so sincere, so full of affection, and Caesar was steadfast to do anything for him, as much as he possibly could, no matter what lay ahead.

Despite his lingering anxiety at his uncertain fate.

"So, what now?" Suzi asked, interrupting the tender moment. "How do we do this?"

Joseph, encouraged by Caesar's declaration, and his refusal to let Caesar make such a tremendous sacrifice, did what he did best.

He began to think of a plan.

"Caesar, how long can you freeze up like a statue?" he asked.

"I am a statue," Caesar replied.

"No, no, like a regular, non-living statue?" Joseph specified.

"I mean, I don't have muscles to ache or need to blink, so I guess a long time?" Caesar explained. "I've never tried how long."

"I won't let them make you have to do it forever," Joseph promised. "But I have an idea."

"Hmmm?" Caesar and Suzi hummed in unison, their interest piqued.

"There's a two-day ceremony where the judges grade the artworks," Joseph explained. "I just gotta get Caesar in there, get him graded, and take him home. He'll be up on display for two days, and then I can take him back. Hopefully, assuming he doesn't get selected for permanent exhibit..."

"All you have to do is try not to move. Can you do that for me?" Joseph asked him.

"I'll try my best," Caesar answered, now with a hint of uncertainty, as he slowly realized what he'd have to do.

"Come on, Caesar," Suzi added, realizing how Joseph's plan would unfold. "People will get to see you. They'll see how beautiful you are. Wouldn't you like that?"

"But I've never been around people before!" Caesar answered, suddenly not so sure about his decision but still determined to help Joseph.

"What if I moved and gave up our whole secret?"

"Well then," Joseph said, as he resumed trying to finish his breakfast.

"I suppose we ought to start practicing."

----------

(Previous Chapter)

(Next Chapter)

[laughingmango]

1558w, complete, General Audiences, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kamila & Sissel (Ghost Trick), Jowd & Sissel (Ghost Trick), Yomiel & Sissel (Ghost Trick) Characters: Sissel (Ghost Trick), Kamila (Ghost Trick), Jowd (Ghost Trick), Yomiel (Ghost Trick) Additional Tags: Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Christmas Presents, Video Game Mechanics, baby engineer at work, professional ghost at work

For @azurefishnets... last year! But what’s a backlog amirite. Now it’s seasonal again!

Kamila shook her head.

“Too bad you don’t get it, Sissel, do you? It would be fun to work on this together.”

Talking to the cat was a tried and true pastime whenever she got a technical break from the absolute concentration her projects required. In that cozy wintry afternoon, brandishing a plastic welder that would be heating up for next minute or so, Kamila looked at her cat, at the pieces of the soon-to-be noise-cancelling earrings spread out on the table, at her apple tea in her favorite mug which had gone cold thirty minutes earlier but everybody knew that it was the thought that counted and that tea was more of a state of mind anyway, and felt at peace with the world.

Sissel could not quite say the same. What didn’t he get? Couldn’t he? He walked onto the table, feigning nonchalance as only a cat (or a ghost) could do, watching her solder three blue plastic rings and fasten them to an earrings base on one side and to a short chain on the other. At the other end of the chain were the blue silicone bits Alma put in her ears at night, the ones Sissel was not allowed to play with. The look of the plastic rings matched that of the silicone plugs – not the same, but they looked good together, as if they were always meant to be part of the same item. Sissel meowed: he got that much. Kamila set down the rings for a moment and sneaked him a scratch on the back, but did not seem to care for a follow-up to her statement.

The earrings were not the only item on the table. A small crawler robot retrofitted from one of Kamila’s early competitions was waiting for the finishing touches – its flashy new red coating was taking entirely too much to dry, as resin coatings are wont to do, and a bottle of ketchup stood next to it. Sissel slipped into the ghost world to paw at the bizarre contraption, still wondering. He understood soldering, he understood knitting, he knew it was bad when acrylics dripped out of their bottles. He understood checkers and had a beginner’s grasp on chess, and knew how to play mean card tricks with a small human help, so all in all, there was no reason to cut him out of the afternoon’s entertainment. He found the knack that made the little robot start and gave it a little ghostly push, out of boredom and contrarianism.

The robot grabbed the ketchup, surveyed the table, found what looked like a dish and was about to squeeze the condiment on Kamila’s tools when she reached for the off button.

“Sissel, no!” she snorted. “Not like that!”

She never could figure out how the cat pulled these pranks, and as a prospective scientist it stung like a personal failure. Still, as a prospective scientist, she had come to the irrefutable conclusion that it was none other than the cat who did it, and it felt like their little secret, and a bit of magic that brought a strange joy to her rigorous world.

“You silly kitten, you know you are my favorite tester in the whole wide world.” She fastened the welder to its holder and gave Sissel her undivided attention. “And I know you are very, very smart.” That netted her some understated purring that may or may not have been intended as a demure agreement. “And that you understand at least half of what I’m saying. The other half is the stuff you don’t want to hear so that doesn’t count.” Busted.

“But these are the presents I am making for my mom and dad, Sissy. We don’t know who your mom and dad are, so we can’t bring them presents!”

Kamila ran a hand through his cold fur, giving her full consideration to the scenario she had only evoked in a burst of mindless musing. “...or should we bring cat treats to the park next week? Maybe they’re still there and I would not want to be rude. I am very grateful to have you, you know.”

Was that all? Sissel headbutted her wrist when he grew tired of pretending to have a heartbeat and breathe, moving away to the other end of the table and staring at her with bright unblinking eyes.

Humans did love to overcomplicate things, really.

Yet that thought, or part of it, remained appealing.

So he set out to work.

It so happened that Jowd shared many traits with the quintessential cat. This was not always a help to Sissel, who had taken to spending most of his time among humans and sometimes felt like he missed out on the finer complexities of both species. It was, however, enough for him to know, deeply and intimately, that the way the detective went on and on about his upcoming work trip overseas was a desperate caterwauling, a call for help. He was so offended by the sheer fact of being expected to hold a speech at some conference that he neglected to share any details about it, or Sissel wasn’t paying attention on the rare occasions when he did, but what was clear was that the sole thought of leaving felt like torture.

Sissel, then, played a waiting game. He would need a stage for his trick: the right moment had to present itself at the police station, among a crowd of Jowd’s colleagues.

It rained; McCaw walked into the atrium and threw the wet plastic wrapping of a snack into the nearby trashcan. Sissel closed the lid when nobody was watching, letting the plastic fall toward the ground; a well-timed loosening of the radiator’s valve blew it away from the trashcan and close to Jowd’s feet. Now – and this was crucial to Sissel’s plans – Jowd had good eyes and lightning-quick reflexes. He would see the perilous transparent slip of plastic and sidestep to avoid it, even gaining a modicum of admiration from the bystanders. It would only garner more sympathy for his plight, then, when an improbable chain of events that began in the dusty spaces above the cupboards made a bowling ball fall on the desk next to where he’d landed, triggering the drawers’ spring-loaded latches at once and throwing all three drawers at Jowd’s calf with considerable strength. The man yowled in pain as he fell over and squinted at the last movement of this drawers disaster: a sheet of wrapping paper and a ribbon somehow flew out of them only to land exactly on his shoulder.

“Doctor’s gonna order some rest for this. You are welcome,” he said through the ghost world. Jowd’s laughter almost tore down the place and so Sissel congratulated himself upon a job well done: his dad had gotten his present.

His other dad would turn out to be a more complicated affair.

Not that anyone else in all his extended families had any claim to the title of “uncomplicated”, ever, but Yomiel remained the uncontested champion in the opposite direction and so Sissel tailed him for a few days, in and out of the ghost world, waiting for inspiration to strike. Yomiel’s new life needed… a dishwasher, a subscription to at least three computer magazines, a book called “Cooking for newbs” (spelling uncertain), a substantial supply of hair gel, a cat-shaped ladle and a cat-printed tie, Sissel learned, none of which were things a ghost cat could provide, unless a ghost cat felt like stooping to ghost crimes.

Rain again. It was a dark and stormy afternoon when Yomiel grabbed an umbrella and got ready to make a run to the convenience store down the corner; Sissel duly followed him inside the umbrella itself. They coasted a pile of junk discarded next to the wall of an abandoned building – broken chairs, a desk, file cabinets, cardboard boxes littered the sidewalk. Nothing special, nothing new. If not for his ghost senses, Sissel would have never given it a second thought. But that presence was there, undoubtedly. So Sissel jumped out of the umbrella and into a fire hydrant, and from there he frantically looked for the control unit of the nearest street lamp.

Sunlight was fading, and the city would soon bask in in its warm artificial lights, but that one street lamp lit up ahead of time to shine a spotlight on the pile of cardboard boxes. Yomiel raised an eyebrow under his shades. The street lamp went out and lit up again. Yomiel shot it a pointed look and approached the boxes underneath.

As he moved one of them aside, a kitten meowed at him, red fur darkened by the relentless rain. It was lost and hungry and had the biggest, roundest paws; Yomiel teared up as he tried to hold it and felt it hold him in turn. He cradled the kitten close to his chest and greeted it with his warmest, most private smile.

The whole street lit up.

“I know it was you, Sissel,” Yomiel whispered to the empty boxes. “You could’ve just told me! Who’s givin’ ya this knack for theatrics?”

“Statistically, you.”

“As if. I’m onto you. But… thank you, my friend.”

“...you are welcome. Just don’t name it after me, will you? Try to break the streak?”

“I’m not making any promises.”

[frostmarris]

notes: hope you enjoy! this ended up being almost twice as long as the first chapter lol but i finally got to the scene thats been in my mind for over a year

Chapter Two

If Deidara was upset when he saw her without the gloves the next morning, he didn't let it show on his face. 

Sakura steps out to find him etching shapes into the snow with the toe of his boot, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket and his breath visible in the chill of the winter morning. He looks back as he hears her shut her door, glances to her hands, and turns around to face her with a grin that never falters. She's relieved that he doesn't comment on his gift (or lack thereof) but inwardly feels guilty as she knows he's probably disappointed. But she doesn't want to ruin the gloves by wearing them before they're ready, so she'll take his silent disappointment just for this morning and make sure he sees her wearing them tomorrow.

She has the weekend off, which means today is the perfect opportunity to get the gloves taken care of and run some errands. Of course, she doesn't mention to Deidara that she's not headed to work this morning, wary that he might ask to tag along.

Not that she wouldn't mind him accompanying her for a grocery trip. It's just that her first stop is somewhere… special.

Deidara walks her to the bus stop just like always, subtly hinting for her to drop some sort of baked good off at his place sometime - "Sucks that the apples don't grow in the winter. There aren't a lot of good pie fruits in season this time of year, yeah?" - and she makes a mental note to see what she can find at the farmers market. If she has no luck there, she can always go for canned cherries or just cave and make cookies again.

Sakura waves goodbye as the bus pulls in to the stop and she ends up in a seat on the other side, her window facing the street and not letting her see when Deidara’s smile turns a little sad as he heads home.

She idly checks her emails on her phone as the bus drives its route, getting off at the third stop rather than the fifth. It's a short walk down the downtown avenue, the shops and restaurants not as busy yet as they will be later in the day, until she reaches a small antique store nestled between a smoothie shop and a dog groomer. It's only just opened and Sakura heads in, waving in greeting to the old man behind the counter next to the door.

He looks up from the watch he's tinkering with, easily recognizing Sakura and waving her off.

"Ah, the pink one again," He grumbles, that ever-present grouchy look settled on his face. "Go on, go on. Head on in - and mind the lamp! Some little shit nearly knocked it over last week."

"Yes, sir, of course!" Sakura calls with a small smile as she heads to the back of the shop. "Have a good morning, Mr. Masumi."

He answers with a dismissive, "Bah!" and she carefully makes her way through the crowded, winding path of the antique shop until she reaches a door at the back left corner. Heeding the shop owner's warning, she edges past the lamp settled on the edge of an old dresser as delicately as she can, being sure not to bump the stained glass lampshade with her elbow. Once through the door, Sakura passes a second one on her right marked 'Cleaning Supplies' and walks down the short hallway to the doorway at the end. 

This one says 'Employees Only' but she pushes it open anyways, revealing a small, empty room barely bigger than a closet. Sakura steps inside and shuts the door, not removing her gloved hand from the doorknob as she silently counts to 25 in her head.

Once she hits the last number, she turns the knob, pulls it open, and steps out into a park.

The trick had taken some getting used to, as she didn't have any real magic herself besides her accursed touch and her ability to see the dead. So, she'd had many failed attempts of counting too quickly or too slowly before she finally got the hang of it. Now she was able to come and go with ease, well-practiced after a couple years.

Sakura pulls the door closed behind her and, though she can't see it through the swirling mist contained in the space of the stone archway, she can hear it click shut. She quickly steps forward and out of the way in case there are any other arrivals, looking out over the snow-covered park fondly.

Behind her is the collection of four stacked-stone arches, each facing one of the cardinal directions and connected by short stone walls, making a perfect square. The Landing, as it's called, sits in the direct center of the small, secret park, each arch standing tall and strong and older than Sakura knows. Though the tops of the arches and the corner walls are covered with snow, she can still easily see the sigil carved into the front of each keystone, placed there by whoever had crafted the gateways.

The park, formally named Bowerfield after the flowering vines that climb a majority of the trees and those waist-height stone walls (but never the arches themselves, as they're meticulously kept away from the gates so as not to damage them or meddle with the enchantment), was a lucky find on Sakura's part.

She'd been living in the city for a few months and had no idea how to find its secret magical community - or if it even had one - until she'd happened upon a friendly soul (quite literally) who'd told her about Bowerfield. He'd been a witch while living and could tell there was something supernatural about Sakura and, after a seemingly one-sided chat in the city's library, he'd directed her to the antique shop.

And now Sakura can enter the park freely and visit the… special shops situated around the outside.

The buildings formed another perfect square, encasing the park and closing it off to the rest of the city. The few alleys between some of the buildings all ended with brick walls and the shimmering field stretched overhead kept it hidden from outside eyes. It was a more useful feature in recent years due to things like drones, but had been put in place around the same time as the Landing, from what Sakura had heard.

Bowerfield itself was located somewhere in the southern half of the city, but she wasn't quite sure where. And she wasn't about to try to figure it out. So long as she had access to the secret park, she didn't care where it was hidden.

Sakura follows one of the pebble-covered dirt paths out from the Landing and through the trees to get to one of the walls of shops, double-checking the time on her phone to make sure she wasn't too early. Several of the businesses are still closed and there are few people out and about, but she can see the lights of the storefronts and the twinkling Christmas decorations through the last section of trees, welcoming and warm.

There are a variety of shops surrounding the park. Some are specialty stores - a couple witch shops, magical tool repairs, boutiques for less-standardly shaped beings, etc. - that are able to sell their goods and conduct their services openly without the need to hide, like some places outside Bowerfield. The rest are relatively normal businesses - such as restaurants, a laundromat, the salon, a clinic, and a supermarket - but provide a safe space for people who can't easily disguise their more obviously magical features.

It was the perfect place for someone with, say, an extra set of limbs or wings to go shopping for clothes and grab lunch, all without worrying about normal humans spotting them.

Sakura's destination is a small shop on the northeast corner, strings of red and white lights decorating the face of the building and a small flock of black birds perched wherever they could. A couple of the birds - ravens, judging by the size of them - let out harsh calls as she approaches and Sakura sends the familiar birds a quick smile and a wave before she heads inside.

The ring from the bell over the door is accompanied by another bird's caw, this time from a crow that flies overhead inside the shop. It heads to the back to land on the wooden counter, hopping closer to the dark-haired woman currently securing a paper-wrapped package with sturdy string. Another raven stands just next to her, perched on one of the prongs of a driftwood branch attached to the countertop.

The woman glances up and smiles brightly as she spots Sakura, raising her hand in greeting.

"Ah, Miss Sakura! What brings you in so early?" A magpie flies down from the railing of the loft on the second floor of the shop to land on her raised hand, earning itself an amused huff from the shopkeep.

"Good morning, Mrs. Uchiha," Sakura greets, heading for the back of the store and chuckling when a blue jay drifts down from the second level and lands on her shoulder, playing with her pink hair.

The woman sighs but smiles at her, shooing both new birds away.

"I keep telling you to call me Mikoto, dear," She chastises gently, running her fingers down the crow's back. "You've been coming here long enough."

At Sakura's chuckle and nod, Mikoto's smile returns and she finishes tying off the package before securing a leather strap around it. Holding her wrist out to the perched raven, it steps over onto her arm and is then transferred to the package, its talons curling around the handle attached to the strap and soon taking to the air. Carrying the package, the raven circles the empty air of the upper level before flying out an open window high on the front of the shop, disappearing with a short call.

"Now," Mikoto says, turning to fully face Sakura. "What can I help you with?"

"Just the usual," She replies as she digs through her bag to pull out a fresh box of latex gloves and Deidara’s gift. Mikoto eyes the black gloves curiously and carefully takes them as Sakura hands everything over, a red bubble of magic appearing around the items and floating above her open hand.

"Only the normal enchantment, dear?" The witch asks, writing Sakura's name on the outside of the bubble with a finger. "I can add an anti-snagging spell to the black ones to protect the embroidery!"

Sakura smiles and nods, reaching out to let the crow curiously nip at her fingers. "That'd be nice, actually. They're a gift from a friend."

She waves off Mikoto's sly smile and rocks back on her heels as the woman laughs and heads through a door behind her. When she returns, the red bubble is gone and a second crow is perched on her shoulder, eyeing Sakura curiously.

"They'll be ready in a few hours," She transfers the crow to the driftwood perch and starts to ring her up, shooing curious beaks away from the register. "I can have Itachi deliver them if you won't be in the park around then."

"Itachi…" Sakura mutters questioningly to herself, inspecting the little stand of luck charms on the counter before she glances up at Mikoto in confirmation. "That's your eldest, right?"

The witch nods, smiling happily. 

"Yes! He's visiting for a few days, so I tricked him into working." Mikoto winks before gesturing over her shoulder. "He's probably back in the aviary finding a spot to hide away in and nap. I swear, that boy's become such a night owl!"

Sakura chuckles, vaguely able to put a face to the name, before perking up and sending her an apologetic look.

"Oh, I nearly forgot. I need a rack of phials or something similar - they work really well for propagating plant cuttings." She smiles sheepishly, hoping the witch wasn't too far in the checkout process to add anything else to her bill. "Is it too late to grab it?"

"Of course not!" Mikoto answers, laughing and waving her off. "I should have something like that up with the potion making tools in the loft, left side. Go ahead and take a look, Sakura dear."

She nods in thanks and heads for the set of stairs against the right wall of the building, quickly climbing up to the second floor. The loft itself only covered about half of the space available on the upper level, most of it reaching out from the back to stand over the check-out and a few shelves below. To the left, an arm of the loft stretches out to the front of the store, connected to the opposite wall of the stairs and just wide enough for a few displays. The main section of the loft only had a few shelves and stands, however, as most of it was clear space to give the birds access to the aviary. Against the back is a single door and several, large, open window-slots, with a few perches jutting out from the wall.

There are a couple other corvids sitting on the perches and watching Sakura as she comes up the stairs, calling in greeting and ruffling their dark feathers. She smiles and quickly steps aside as she hears a caw from behind her, letting a magpie glide past as it flies from one of the three large windows at the front of the shop right through a slot and into the aviary.

Hurrying past in case there are any other arrivals or departures, she moves towards the arm of the loft to find those phials. Typically, only Mikoto or one of her employees were allowed up onto the second level, but Sakura had been visiting for long enough that she'd become fairly good at dodging birds. She usually only visited to get her gloves, both latex and the white cotton ones she used daily, fixed up with an enchantment that protected them from her touch, but it was fun to occasionally browse the shop.

Sakura searches the shelves of bottles and tools used for standard potion making before she finds a metal rack with five glass phials, smiling in approval. As she turns to head back towards the stairs, the door to the aviary opens and a young, dark-haired man steps out. She gets a brief glance into the aviary itself, more corvids flying around the large, dome-roofed room from nest boxes to perches to feeders, but quickly refocuses on the man.

His black hair is pulled back in a low ponytail with bangs framing his face and his eyes, just as dark as his hair, look tired - especially with the dark circles. He's pale, but he doesn't have much skin showing for Sakura to be able to tell if it's just his face's complexion or not, and taller than her by at least a full head. The long sleeves of his black shirt likely keep his arms protected from talons and the collar rises halfway up his neck, neat and trim and only a few stray feathers clinging to the fabric.

He blinks at her before nodding his head in greeting, a crow following him out of the aviary before he can close the entrance. It lands on his shoulder and he reaches up to rub the base of its beak, turning to pull the door shut.

"You must be Itachi," Sakura says, holding the rack of phials carefully so that it doesn't slip against the fabric of her gloves. "It's nice to me-"

"Itachi?!" Comes Mikoto's voice from below, her sudden call making a few of the birds squawk and caw. "Finally out of the back, you lazybones?!"

Itachi sighs and moves his hand to have the crow step off onto his fingers, eyeing Sakura before heading towards the stairs with her. 

"Yes, mother," He calls back, just loud enough for her to hear. "I'm here."

"About time!" Mikoto plants her fists on her hips as they come into view, regarding her son with a fond yet motherly-disapproving look. "We've been open for nearly an hour."

He simply bows his head in apology and moves to the counter to collect the other pair of crows, one on each hand and the third perched on his forearm.

Mikoto sighs but shrugs, gesturing to Sakura, who sets the rack on the counter and digs her wallet out of her bag.

"This is Miss Sakura," The witch introduces, disappointed when Itachi only nods again. "She's a long-time customer of ours."

Itachi turns to regard her again, clicking his tongue softly when two of the crows start to squabble.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Sakura," He says politely, finishing her sentiment from earlier. "Can I help you find anything?"

Sakura offers a small smile in return and shakes her head, patting the glass phials gently. "No, I'm all set. Thank you though, Itachi."

He nods again and, transferring the third crow to join the pair on his other arm, heads through the door into the backroom. Mikoto sighs once more when he's gone and sends Sakura an apologetic look.

"He's always been such a quiet boy." She shrugs and turns to grab a pen from a cup next to the register, pushing it and a sticky note pad towards her. "Before I forget, go ahead and give me your address, dear. I left my book at home, apparently. I'll pass it on to Itachi and he'll send a crow from his flock to deliver your gloves when they're ready."

Sakura nods and quickly scribbles down her address, soon helping Mikoto wrap up the glass phials once everything's paid for and tucking the package into her bag.

"Take care now, Sakura dear! It's going to snow again tonight, so watch for ice tomorrow."

She smiles and waves before heading for the front door, knowing the witch's forecast was always more accurate than the weather channel's. More black birds (and the occasional blue jay) caw and take flight as she exits the shop, but she pays them little mind and heads back towards the center of the park. Bowerfield is getting busier now that the day is fully underway and, with no other errands to run in the secret park, she's ready to head back out into the city, take a short walk over to the farmers market, grab some groceries, and head home.

Going back through one of the Landing's portals is a little tricky, but Sakura’s much more confident than she was a year ago. She simply reaches a hand into the wall of swirling mist, feels around until she finds a doorknob, thinks of the antique shop, and opens the door. The familiar muffled creak lets her know she's on track and she steps through the mist, entering the small Employees Only room at the back of the shop.

With the door pushed shut once more, she waits 25 seconds exactly and pulls it open, smiling as she finds the short hallway in front of her once again.

There's a few people idly browsing the shop when she leaves the backroom behind and a couple near the display of porcelain dolls send her odd looks when they see her step out, but Sakura simply heads to the front, offers Mr. Masumi a wave in farewell (to which he replies with a short grunt but a wave in reply as well), and steps out onto the street. The air feels different outside of Bowerfield, but Sakura's sure it has to do with the thrum of magic that fills the park, making everything feel duller by comparison for the first half hour or so that she’s back in the normal city.

She walks back the way she’d come but turns when she reaches the corner of the block, heading into the more shopping-focused area of the city's downtown. It takes her about ten minutes to reach the covered pavilion next to an old brewery, already full of the stands and stalls of the farmers market and bustling with early-morning shoppers. 

As she's only only here for a few specific things, Sakura tries to stay focused and not get distracted by the different goods, heading right for a particular product stand that she usually gets veggies from. She pulls a mesh shopping tote out of her shoulder bag and leaves the stand some minutes later with carrots, squash, and potatoes, starting her search for reasonable pie-fruit.

"So, what, I just fuckin' chomp the straw and eat it whole?"

Sakura pauses as she passes by a honey stand, glancing over curiously to see a very exasperated beekeeper and a silver-haired man who seemed to be about five seconds away from taking a literal bite from a honey stick.

"No, sir," The beekeeper says tiredly, obviously trying to resist the urge to run his hands down his face. "You just bite the end to pop it open and then suck out the honey. Please don't eat the tube."

She doesn't mean to eavesdrop, but the conversation did remind her that she was low on honey at home. Might as well grab a jar.

Sakura eyes the man as she steps to the other side of the stall, inspecting a stack of wildflower honey jars but unable to stop from listening in again as he rears back slightly and curls his upper lip.

"Do I look like a hummingbird or some shit?"

She barely suppresses her snicker and the stand owner quickly turns his attention to her, relieved to have someone else to assist. The beekeeper ignores the silver-haired man's indignant huff and stops in front of Sakura, putting on a smile as he greets her.

"Can I help you find anything, Miss? Would you like a free sample?" He gestures to the stacks of jars and bottles, pretending not to hear the other man complain that he hadn't been offered any free damn samples. "The bees we keep produce really great honey  - the orange blossom is my favorite."

Sakura chuckles and picks up one of the wildflower jars, passing it over as she retrieves her wallet.

"Just this one, please."

"Excellent choice!" The beekeeper quickly starts to ring her up and the man, who still hasn't left, gives an overly-dramatic sigh.

"Fine, keep your damn sticks. Just tell me where I can find a stand that sells rocks and shit."

The owner groans tiredly but Sakura steps in, fairly familiar with the market.

"There should be one on the other side of the pavilion," She offers, finally taking a good look at the man as he turns to her. His silver hair is slicked back and shiny, just long enough to reach the bottoms of his ears, and his eyes are an odd magenta color, scrutinizing Sakura curiously.

He looks rather out of place with his studded leather jacket and ripped jeans - especially considering how cold it is today - and she's fairly confident that he's never been to the farmer's market. 

The man nods and rubs his chin, his jaw sharp and strong, as she continues, gesturing towards the north part of the market.

"They're usually near the people that sell all the house plants and succulents. So look for a lot of green and you should find it."

He looks her over one last time before grinning and raising his hand in thanks as he turns to head the way she’d directed.

"Thanks, lady." The man says, rolling his shoulders to adjust his jacket. "At least someone up here is fuckin' helpful."

Sakura sends his back a curious look as he walks away, but shrugs it off and passes cash over to the relieved beekeeper. With the jar of honey slipped into her tote, she heads off to find her fruit, trying her best to not get distracted again. She keeps an eye out for that odd man but soon gets distracted by another produce stand, grinning at the sight of fresh pomegranates.

Vaguely remembering a recipe in one of her books for a pomegranate pie, she hurries over and starts to pick some out as she tries to recall how many she'd need.

If Deidara wants a pie, he's gonna get a pie.

: :

Sakura's just in the middle of peeling potatoes when something starts tapping at her kitchen window. She glances up, stood at the sink, to see a crow on the windowsill and softly pecking the glass with its beak. It gives a muffled caw and flaps its wings when it sees her looking back at it before hopping down to her small bistro table in the backyard, a wrapped package sitting next to it.

She smiles and slips her rubber gloves off to reveal cotton ones before hurrying to the back door and out into her yard, careful to be quiet so that Deidara doesn't happen to hear her and look outside. Even carrier pigeons aren't exactly a common sight among humans nowadays, so she isn't sure how she'd explain the crow and its delivery.

Closing the door as gently as she can, Sakura steps out onto the snow-covered yard and approaches the table, smiling in greeting at the bird and reaching out to give it a soft pat before she reaches for the package. Unclasping the leather carrying strap, she unwraps the paper partially to make sure it's her gloves before nodding to the crow, humming gently. She gives it a quick scratch under its chin before starting to step away, tucking her package under her arm.

"Wait just a moment, please," Sakura says softly, the crow tilting its head to watch her curiously. "I'll grab you a treat before you head back home."

It gives an enthusiastic caw and she chuckles, hoping her neighbors hadn't heard as she quickly returns to her kitchen. She sets her wrapped gloves on the table before retrieving a shallow bowl to fill with some lukewarm water, grabbing a handful of blueberries, and heading back out. Pleased to see the crow waiting patiently on the bistro table, Sakura moves to clear some snow off before setting the water and fruit down, smiling when it hops closer and eagerly accepts the treats.

"I thought birds are supposed to fly south for the winter, yeah?"

She fully jumps in surprise, startled by the sudden sound of Deidara's voice. Looking up, she sees him leaning out of a window on his second floor and lets out a huff as his grin grows wider.

"Sorry, Sakura," He says, stifling a laugh and crossing his arms as he rests them on the windowsill. "Did I scare you, hm?"

"You just surprised me," She looks back down to the crow, picking up one of the blueberries and offering it to the bird as she ignores Deidara’s chuckle. Relieved that she'd taken the package inside already, Sakura pets its feathers and glances up again when he continues.

"Make a friend? I heard it squawking and couldn't help taking a peek, yeah." He scrutinizes the crow with a curious frown, snorting when it gives a harsh caw and flaps its wings in his direction.

Sakura calms it with another blueberry and steps back when the bird takes off, finished with its delivery and snack. Shrugging, she picks up the bowl and dumps the water out, making a mental note that she really should put a bird feeder or a birdbath out here for future deliveries from Mikoto.

"It was probably just passing through," She answers finally, crossing her arms and leaning against the table as she looks up at Deidara. "I saw it through my kitchen window and wanted to see if it'd take any treats. Maybe I can make friends with a flock of ravens like those stories on the internet."

She deliberately misidentifies the crow but he seems eager to change the subject, propping a first under his chin.

"You got home early, hm. Short work day today?"

Sakura looks away and brushes a bit of snow off her sleeve, barely feeling the chill through her gloves. "I was just out running errands."

"Awww," Comes Deidara's voice, a slight whine to his tone. "I would have come with you if I'd known!"

She doesn't bother to hide her smirk but quickly crosses her arms again when a breeze passes through the yard, trying to suppress a shiver.

"How do you feel about pomegranates?" Sakura asks, changing the subject herself. She plans on making that pie tomorrow, but it'd probably be best to make sure he actually likes the fruit. When she looks up at Deidara, his expression looks rather conflicted and he sends her a slightly disappointed smile.

"Good shit, yeah. But it's cold out; you should head back inside, Sakura," He sighs, obviously wanting to continue the conversation but very aware of how another breeze makes her shiver. "I don't want ya getting sick just 'cause I'm a big chatterbox."

Her smile turns fond and she pushes off from the edge of the bistro table, brushing any lingering snow off of her house robe before raising a hand in farewell.

"See you later, Deidara. Stay warm."

He returns the sentiment, not budging from his spot until she's back inside, and she misses how he looks in the direction the crow had flown. Deidara frowns to himself before finally pulling back and closing his window, locking it with a soft click.

: :

Monday morning, Sakura heads out dressed in her usual white button-up, silk scarf, and long skirt combo. But, this time, she's sure to tug the black, embroidered gloves onto her hands, smiling as Mikoto's enchantment holds and they don't turn to gold. House keys in hand, she steps out to see a fresh layer of snow on the ground and Deidara shoveling his stoop clean.

He looks up to greet her but, at the sight of her hands, he cuts himself off and the brightest grin she's ever seen from him bursts onto his face. Dropping the shovel, he practically vaults over the hedge separating them and stops just short of taking one of her hands in his own, still beaming but looking a little more sheepish as he steps back.

"You're wearing the gloves!" Deidara says, foregoing greeting her as he's obviously too excited. "How do they fit, yeah? Not too tight?"

Sakura smiles gently and he backtracks as she steps down and moves for the street, slipping her keys into the bag on her shoulder.

"Morning, Deidara." They immediately fall into their morning routine as she heads for the bus stop, his smile never leaving his face. "They fit just right. Thank you again."

His grin widens and he rubs the back of his head, avoiding a pile of snow that was most likely hiding a trash can.

"Great! Awesome, yeah!" He nearly slips on a patch of ice in his excitement and Sakura quickly reaches out to catch his arm, chuckling under her breath when his face turns a little pink.

"I-I'm glad!" Deidara says, trying to brush the moment off and recover. "They look good on you."

"You've got good tastes," Sakura replies, holding a hand up to appreciate the embroidery. "The stitching is excellent."

He's got an admirable pep to his step and, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets, Deidara tilts his head slightly as he looks at her, his blue eyes sparkling.

"I can give you a referral if you wanna update your collection. Or get some of the older ones embroidered, hm."

Sakura hums thoughtfully, taking a sip from her thermos. "I might take you up on that, actually. The all-white look is a little plain…"

Deidara’s smile grows all the wider and he's quick to pull his phone out, typing silently for a few moments before he sends her a text with all the information. Sakura feels her phone buzz in her bag but decides to check the address later, instead turning her focus to discussing the benefits of touchscreen-compatible gloves versus the ruined aesthetics of the pad on the fingertips. They chat amicably as they walk, careful of ice and snow on the ground before, eventually, they're at the bus stop.

Sakura inconspicuously brings up pomegranates again while she waits for her ride, planning on bringing the finished pie by his place after she gets off work. She'd overestimated just how many she'd need for the recipe and had ended up with enough seeds for a second pie but, by the time the bus pulled up, she was confident that she'd only be eating one by herself.

Deidara wishes her a good day as she boards and Sakura waves at him through the window once she's seated, pulling out her cellphone. As the bus pulls away from the curb, she checks his text and looks up the shop, saving the location for future reference. Maybe she would get some of her plain gloves touched up with some nice embroidery or something.

The bus ride passes uneventfully and, by the time she arrives at the coroner’s office and gets her assignments for the day, she's pretty sure her shift will pass uneventfully.

That is, until her assistant unzips the black body bag and Sakura finds a vaguely familiar face on her examination table. 

Her hands, holding the clipboard and pen, low slightly as she frowns in confusion, trying to recall why this corpse seems so familiar. Jun sends her a curious look and she shrugs it off, beginning her external examination as she pushes her confusion to the back of her mind. She writes down a few notes as she speaks aloud, her Dictophone sitting nearby on one of the counters against the wall and recording her verbal report.

"Identity: Unknown. The victim appears to have suffered a gunshot wound to the forehead," She says, circling the table while her assistant drags the rolling tray of tools closer, waiting for her to give him the go-ahead to start removing the clothes. "Judging by the powder tattooing and seared skin around the entry wound, but the lack of a muzzle imprint, the shot was likely taken at close range, but not in contact with the victim's head."

She moves her head around for a better angle at the hole in the man's forehead, but doesn't reach out to move his hair away from the wound yet. The hole is circular and about half an inch wide, the edges of the skin blackened and burned with a wide zone of powder soot around the entry point. The reddish-brown stippling on the skin (pinpoint abrasions from unburnt powder grains leaving the gun) indicates that the man had been alive when he was shot.

"Complexion: pale. Hair: short and silver. Eyes…" Sakura reaches out and carefully lifts one of the corpse's partially-open eyelids with a gloved finger and pauses at the sight of magenta irises around the dilated pupils. She blinks, lips parted, and suddenly realizes why the man seems so familiar.

"Dr. Haruno..?"

Sakura glances up as Jun calls to her and straightens, clearing her thoughts.

"I'm alright - let's continue."

She takes a much better look at the corpse's face and inwardly confirms that this is definitely the man she'd bumped into at the farmers market two days ago. Vaguely recalling that the report had stated the body had been found outside the hospital this morning, she makes a mental note to read it more thoroughly after the examination.

Sakura always suspected that, one day, she'd end up performing an autopsy on the body of someone she kinda-sorta knew, but this is the first time that's happened. Rather unprepared, she's feeling a little… off her game. But also more intrigued than usual.

She can't help but wonder about the motive, about what had led to the silver-haired man being shot nearly point-blank. The body was in the very early stages of rigor mortis, which meant he hadn't been killed very long ago - most likely just before he'd been deposited on the hospital street. He was dressed in different clothes than she remembered, so he had at least made it home that evening.

"The victim is familiar to me," She says aloud for the recording, ignoring Jun's sudden, shocked expression. "A report will be made to the case investigator after the autopsy is completed."

Her assistant looks like he wants to say something but glances to the Dictophone, so Sakura steps over, pauses the recording, and turns to him.

"You have something to say, Jun?"

"Excuse me, Dr. Haruno," He answers, looking a little embarrassed at having stopped the examination. "Do you… know this man?"

He asks the question cautiously, unsure if she had some sort of emotional attachment to the victim and if he should go get Dr. Sato. But Sakura waves off his question and readies to start the audio recording again.

"I saw him in passing when I was grocery shopping the other day," She answers, shaking her head slightly when Jun relaxes. "I just recognized his face."

The external examination continues and Sakura keeps an eye out for any lingering shapes in the corners of the room. But she finds none, even after the initial review is completed, Jun finishes undressing and bagging the clothes, and they bring the body back from radiology and pin the X-rays up.

Sakura turns the lifeless head to take a second look at the exit wound, having already reported that there don't appear to be any other signs of injury on the man's body. She continues to speak aloud as she measures the larger hole at the back of his head, Jun pulling an empty cart closer as she begins to remove broken, misplaced skull fragments and tries to clear the wound as much as she can. She takes pictures both before and after and then has her assistant clean the wound while she grabs a few more photos of the body, providing evidence that there likely hadn't been a struggle.

Once the exit wound is clean, Sakura moves to take another picture, but pauses as she notices something at the nape of his neck. She rolls the body onto its side and angles the overhead light before grabbing a rectangular magnifying glass off the cart of tools.

"Did you find something, Dr. Haruno?"

She feels carefully at a spot at the back of his neck, just below his hairline and to the left of his spine, with her fingers, frowning as the round, red spot on his skin seems to belong to something hard puncturing his flesh. She glances to the X-rays but doesn't notice anything out of the ordinary.

"The victim appears to have something embedded in the back of his neck," She says aloud, detailing its location before grabbing one of the rulers on the rolling tray. With Jun holding the ruler in place just next to the red spot, Sakura takes a couple pictures and verbally logs the size.

"The foreign object measures a quarter-inch in diameter, is a perfect circle, though slightly jagged around the edges, and is red in color." She exchanges the ruler for tweezers and has her assistant hold the magnifying glass as she attempts to spread the skin around the spot with her fingers, giving her better access to get the tweezers around it. It takes a bit of finessing, but she soon gets a grip on the object and carefully pulls it out.

It's only about an inch and a half long, with one end (the outer end) flat and the other sharp and pointed. Sakura holds it up to the light and notes that the red color is due to the blood coating it and, after placing it in a shallow tray on the cart, moves back to the man's neck. With a little searching she finds a second spot on the opposite side of his spine, perfectly mirroring the location of the first. She repeats the process of describing the foreign object, measuring, and taking photographic evidence, before removing a nearly identical shard.

With both items placed in the tray and the ruler held next to them for reference, she takes another few photos before sending Jun to clean them.

"Is it glass, doctor?" He asks as he takes the tray. To which Sakura answers with a curious, "I don’t think so."

While he cleans off the shards, she examines the wounds left behind, takes another photo, then rolls the body onto its back once more.

Once everything is clean and Sakura can better identify the foreign objects, she realizes they're small crystals of some sort. The edges aren't perfectly smooth like quartz - instead, they jagged and ridged, but run evenly down the length of the crystals, as if someone had taken hundreds of incredibly thin sticks and fused them together. They are white but not completely opaque, allowing the blood to reflect through and make the flat ends look red from the outside.

She recalls how he'd been looking for a 'stand that sells rocks and shit' and can't help but wonder if it was connected.

Sakura takes several pictures from different angles before bagging the shards for evidence and making a note to try to identify them later when she was on her computer. Returning to the autopsy, she takes tissue samples for histology and blood for toxicology and typing before turning the examination inward.

The organs are measured and weighed, checked over for any abnormalities, and returned to the body. With no evidence of soft tissue trauma or even a single broken bone - 

(It's rather odd, she can't find any signs of old injuries, not even scars from childhood. For such a rough-looking guy like she remembered, it was strange that he seemed to have not retained evidence of a single even mildly serious injury in his life.)

 - anywhere besides the hole in his skull and the bullet path through his (otherwise normal) brain, the case is shaping up to be a fairly standard gunshot-wound-to-the-head homicide.

Besides the odd crystals she'd found stabbed into the nape of his neck, of course.

Sakura stitches the body back up, returns it to its bag with help from Jun, then approves it to be taken down to the morgue while she compiles her findings. All the while, she searches out of the corner of her eye for a lingering spirit, disappointed when she finds none.

It wasn't uncommon. Sometimes souls passed on by themselves without her aide or simply wandered off elsewhere. But, she can't help admitting that she is curious about this case and wishes she could speak one last time with the silver-haired man and find out what might have happened.

For now, however, she has other cases to attend to.

: :

It takes some searching, but Sakura eventually identifies the crystals as selenite.

She lingers on a web page describing its 'abilities' in aiding in sleep and deep peace for a moment before closing the tab and adding her find to the report. She'd already called the investigator in charge of the case to set up a time to talk about how she'd seen the man before and was now mostly through with her reports for her other cases and recordings for the day. He still hadn't been identified and no one had come forward with a missing person's report, but he'd technically only been dead for about twelve hours, so it might be a while before someone realizes he's missing.

It was hours later now, already past the end of her day, and Sakura debates opening back up that tab she'd just closed, wondering if the crystals were toxic. But, she's tired and it's been a long shift, so she'll save that idea for tomorrow and finish downloading her audio file and photos for the silver-haired man's case before locking up and heading home.

She leans back in her chair and balances a pencil on her upper lip as the files upload, alone in her office as Sato had already left for the evening. Her gaze crawls over to the corner of the room every so often, still hoping his spirit would appear, but she truly is completely alone. When her computer alerts her that the transfer is complete, she takes a moment to scroll through the photos and pauses as she realizes she'd missed something.

Though she had pictures of the silver-haired man with the trail of blood running down his face and his hair in a disarray, she'd apparently neglected to take a photo of him all cleaned up and his features much more identifiable.

Sakura curses under her breath, drops her pencil in a mug of pens, and slips the memory card back into her camera. Quickly emailing the audio recording to the transcriptionist, she closes down her computer, grabs jer coat and bag, and decides to get a picture before she goes home. Leaving her office, she heads down to the changing room next to the lab but forgoes changing into her scrubs. Instead, she simply swaps Deidara’s gloves for a latex pair, tucking the former in her skirt's pocket, and steps into a pair of sterile booties to cover her shoes.

She keeps her coat folded over her arm and her camera in hand as she heads to the pair of swinging doors that lead down to the mortuary. Once through the entrance, she follows the sloped incline path on her right down to the sub-level. It turns once, doubling back in the direction she'd come but still in a descent, and the stone walls, painted white, are far enough apart for her not to feel claustrophobic. There's enough grip on the shoe coverings for her to not slip on the linoleum and she passes a janitor swabbing down the flooring, raising a hand in greeting.

It's always quiet in the Northwest building, as the doctor offices and patient rooms are in the East wing, but it's late enough in the day that most employees have already gone home. Sakura isn't too bothered, as she's used to staying late, and she enters the morgue fairly quickly after swiping her ID card when she reaches the locked pair of doors at the end of the sloped hall, heading for the wall of steel fridges. There's only the single entrance into the chilly room, with the ramped corridor leading upstairs rather than an elevator to better transport bodies up to and down from the pathology department, and it's completely empty - besides whatever's in the coolers.

There's a tall rolling table near the entrance, the metal top covered by a long sterile sheet that someone had left out. The edges of the fabric reach down to the floor on three sides and Sakura clicks her tongue at the sight, wondering who'd neglected to put it up, but deposits her coat on top of the table anyways. She searches the wall of body drawers for the right label and eventually opens one of the doors, pulling the sturdy metal tray holding her mystery man out of the just-under 40 degrees Fahrenheit cooler. Making sure her latex gloves are secure, she pulls the sterile sheet covering the silver-haired corpse down to mid-chest and looks over his admittedly handsome face one last time before brushing his hair away from the hole in his forehead and raising her camera.

Sakura takes a couple photos before reaching out to lift an eyelid, needing to get a shot of his eyes.

She jerks back with a startled gasp, however, bumping the tray with her leg, as she finds those magenta irises surrounding constricted pupils.

Hand on her chest and her eyes wide, she stares at the body for a long moment, wondering if she'd just imagined that. Pupils are supposed to be dilated after death until rigor mortis makes the body's muscles begin to tighten once more. And the frigid temperature of the drawers was supposed to postpone those effects; he shouldn't have entered that stage yet.

Sakura keeps staring for a moment, noting that she'd disturbed his arm when she bumped the tray and it was now hanging limply over the edge. Taking a breath and inwardly telling herself that she'd been mistaken, she steps forward and moves to lift his arm back up onto the metal top, but pauses as she notices something on his palm. Holding his wrist, her eyebrows furrow in confusion as she inspects the odd symbol drawn on the palm of his hand, absolutely certain that it hadn't been there before.

She traces a gloved finger over the curves of the line but freezes when the dark brown mark begins to turn red. When it starts to glow, Sakura quickly shoves his arm back under the sheet, covers his face again, and moves to push the tray back into the fridge. Something was going on and she wanted no part in it.

She stops mid-push, however, at the sound of a loud thud out in the hallway and glances over her shoulder. It must just be the janitor but Sakura steps away from the corpse anyways, leaving the tray pulled completely out, and approaches the double doors of the morgue. 

The two doors, sturdy and coated in a sheet of sterile metal, have twin windows at the top third and she curiously peeks out into the hallway, her eyes going wide as she sees the janitor collapsed on the ground. The upper half of his body is just within view and the rest is out of sight around the corner of the turn in the hall and Sakura hurriedly moves to grab her ID card. She pauses as she pulls away from the door as her eye catches movement and she watches as the janitor's body is dragged out of sight, leaving a trail of blood on the linoleum.

Slapping a hand over her mouth as she gasps, Sakura quickly pulls away from the door and presses up against next to it, no longer within sight through the window. She takes a breath and just barely peeks over the edge, her stomach dropping as she spots two figures dressed in black rounding the corner.

Heart pounding, she ducks down, backs away, and searches for another exit, though she knows there aren't any.

But the soft groan from behind her makes her freeze and, reluctantly, Sakura slowly turns around.

The body of the silver-haired man is sitting upright on his tray, a perfect 90 degree angle and the sheet still covering his head. As his hand raises to slowly pull the cloth down, the symbol on his palm glowing bright red and an unwounded forehead coming into view, Sakura can hear the beep of the scanner outside the mortuary as an ID badge is swiped. She shoots a quick glance over her shoulder, filled with panic, and grabs her coat before diving under the tall table nearby.

She takes just a moment to right the edges of the sheet laid out over the table, the uncovered fourth side luckily being the one that's pressed against the wall, and lays as still and as quietly as she can. 

Listening to the sound of the doors opening, she can hear a quiet conversation abruptly stop as the intruders undoubtedly notice the moving - living? Reanimated? - corpse. All is quiet for a moment and Sakura is able to peek out from under the sterile curtain hiding her just enough to see shoes near the doors.

She can't stop how she jumps when there's a sudden gunshot but does manage to hold back her startled shout. 

Ears ringing and the floor cold under her, pink eyebrows furrow at the indignant, "What the fuck," that comes from the direction of the silver-haired man.

"You fucking shot me, asshole!" Comes his familiar voice again and she watches one pair of boots rush towards him.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Growls a new voice, followed by a grunt.

"Same question to you, jackass!" Another grunt and Sakura can hear bare feet hit the ground and the sound of two bodies struggling to grapple each other before another gunshot. This time it's muffled and, from her left, she can see knees hit the ground hard and a puddle of blood quickly drip onto the floor.

"Quit it!" His voice again, but he sounds more annoyed than a man who'd just been shot - again - should be.

(Well, maybe the annoyance was justified. But there wasn't any panic or fear in his tone.)

"That fucking hurts, you shit-for-brains! And not even the good kind!"

"Shut your damn mouth before I blow your brains out." The second man's hiss is furious and he obviously doesn't appreciate when the silver-haired should-be corpse laughs.

"Too late!"

"What's he doing here, Sakon?" Comes a new voice, Sakura's head turning to look in the direction of the third man. "Why's he- Is he naked?"

The conversation and scuffle abruptly ends as they all, Sakura included, hear the sound of someone running down the incline hall above. They're headed down for the mortuary and a low, quick whistle from 'Sakon' has the other man moving away from the open door to crouch down next to the table she's hiding under.

She freezes and muffles her breathing in the fabric of her coat, glancing from the shadow to her left to what she can see of the exit just a few feet away from her. The footsteps slow as the new arrival approaches the doors and she can hear the click of a gun being readied next to her.

"Hidan?" Comes a cautious voice, and Sakura's heart nearly drops at the familiarity of it. "What the fuck did you d‐"

"DUCK!"

The shout was preceded by a grunt and a yelp and then immediately followed by the newcomer dropping to the ground and the sound of a gun being fired just seconds later. There's a chorus of curses, grunts, and shouts and the sound of fists hitting flesh until everything falls quiet again.

"Alright," Says intruder #2, panting and still standing just next to Sakura's hiding spot. She can see another pair of boots just in front of his own and guesses that he'd grappled the newcomer into a hold and was likely threatening him with his gun.

"Let my brother g-" He cuts himself off and Sakura looks out to her left, bare feet planted behind another pair of boots and facing the men next to her. "Wait, you don't even have a weapon!"

She moves her gaze to the unblocked, still open door, trying to determine how long it would take for her to scramble out from under the table and run for the exit. As silently as she can, she removes the plastic coverings over her shoes.

"I don't fuckin' need one when I've got this!" Silver-haired man says, probably showing off… something that warranted a growl from the intruder and his apparent brother.

"What the hell are you snakes even doing here, hm?" Comes that painfully familiar voice. Sakura bites her lip and stays silent, waiting for some sort of opening as she moves her knees under herself.

"None of your business. Now shut up before I put a bullet in your chest. I know you won't heal like loudmouth over there."

She hates that she can't see much of anything, just the white fabric walls around her, but listens intently to every sound and movement. It's all she's got to give her some idea of what's going on above her, trying to figure out where all of the men stood based on what she can see of their shoes and her knowledge of the mortuary's layout. 

There's another grunt and the sound of a gun muzzle being jammed harder against a body before she sees newcomer's boots slowly turn and plant more firmly on the ground.

Though Sakura isn't able to see the silent conversation that passes between two of the men's gazes, she's acutely aware of the low humming that suddenly starts to build near the wall of fridges.

"What the fuck is that noise-?!" 'Sakon's' question is abruptly cut off by a sudden crack and boom and Sakura glances over just as a body hits the ground and the slack face of man she doesn't recognize comes just barely into view. She sees pale blue - nearly grey - hair and green-painted lips and hears a furious shout from above her, followed by a gunshot and a second body collapsing next to the first. There's the sound of grunts and muffled punches and the splatter of blood and Sakura knows this is her chance, while everyone is either distracted or incapacitated.

As the newcomer drops down and rolls to avoid a shot from the remaining brother, she tears her latex glove off with her teeth and reaches one hand out to touch the boots still stood next to her hiding spot. 

They instantly turn to solid gold and, as he takes a step to go after the man with the horribly familiar voice, the new heavy weight of his shoes takes him by surprise and he falls forward. Sakura scrambles out from under the table, clutching her coat and camera, and races out of the room, just barely catching a glimpse of a blond-haired man's back as he crouches down behind a counter across the morgue.

Her gaze meets a shocked black eye and a face identical to the one she'd seen just moments earlier but she's already out the door and around the corner before she can really think on it. Nearly tripping on the janitor's body as she races up the hallway, Sakura stuffs her camera in her bag, still on her shoulder and crossed over her body, and curls her ungloved hand into a fist. She keeps it held close to her chest but doesn't let it touch her clothing and, once she's shoving through the swinging doors and back on the upper floor, she runs for exit to the loading bay near the storage room.

The heavy doors are propped open, a disturbing sight, but she races through them anyways and enters the delivery dock just as she hears distant gunshots from behind her.

It's only once she's a full two blocks away that she stops running, panting heavily as she leans against a brick wall and tries to catch her breath. She hadn't been followed, fortunately, and she debates calling the police, groaning as she slides down to collapse on the concrete. 

She knows she should but she can't bring herself to do it, recalling that voice she knows so well and that familiar blond hair. 

What was Deidara doing there? He'd called the other man, the silver-haired corpse, 'Hidan', which meant he knew him. It couldn't have been a coincidence that he'd just randomly showed up either. Something was going on and Sakura neither knew nor wanted to find out.

She shivers as a cold breeze passes through the street, bringing a fresh snowfall with it, and takes a deep breath to calm herself down. Her coat is still folded over her arm, but she needs to get her ungloved hand covered before she can even attempt to put it on, not wanting to ruin it and have to lug it back to her home. 

A few snowflakes drift down and land on her curled fist and she curses under her breath as they turn to gold before they can even begin to melt against her skin. The light from the street lamps catch on the golden snowflakes as she shakes them off her hand and she digs around in the pocket of her skirt for Deidara’s gloves, glancing down the dark street.

Sakura's stomach sinks when she only finds one of the black gloves.

She hesitates, digging around in her pocket again and then searching through her bag just in case, before finally standing. Luckily, the remaining glove is just the one she needs and she worriedly tugs it on, one hand covered with black and the other with latex. A look back the way she'd come confirms that she hadn't dropped it just now and she pales slightly, realizing it likely fell out of her pocket when she had left her hiding spot in the mortuary.

Running a hand nervously through her hair, she stands there on the street for a long, long moment, staring back in the direction of the hospital, before finally turning around. She pulls on her coat and crouches down to collect the golden snowflakes, her expression grim, until she's satisfied that she's found them all.

Straightening up, she sends one last glance over her shoulder before hurrying down the street to find a bus stop. She needs to get home.