#source: twelve forever

[its-ya-girl-phoeni]

@azure-aeon-dragonica + @cjslenderboss

Pizzahead, after dodging Zora Link's attacks: Haha! Nice try, Fish Boy!

[hitlikehammers]

(not your average) seven minutes ⏰ ♥️

or: what if Steve had been ‘playfully’ locked into a room by his drunken not-friends at that infamous Halloween party in 1984, for 💕Seven Minutes in Heaven💞!

…and no one realized Eddie Munson was already hiding inside 🫥

Steve just wants to get the fuck out of this place, this party, this fucking…bullshit life he’s found himself in. He’s not at his best, under-fucking-standadably, so when the drunk-ass Halloween masses push and shove and giggle as they lock him in an upstairs bedroom for—oh god, Seven Minutes In Heaven, what are they, goddamn twelve—he’s going to fucking scream, he— “Not quite what you were expecting behind Door Number One?” Steve spins, a little jump in it when he looks for the source of the voice which sounds familiar and then also, not, because Steve thinks he should know a voice like that, because it’s a good voice, a really good voice, it’s not too deep but it’s smooth and it’s— It’s a good voice, basically. And when he finds its owner, shadowed by the curtains in the corner, well. The leather jacket would’ve given him away if the mess of frizzy curls weren’t kind of an automatic tell: Eddie the Freak. Half-hidden as he flips a clear antique of a lighter too fucking close to the gauzy drapes and it…it does something. To Steve. It does something to Steve.

rating: t ♥️ tags: s2 era, alternate meeting, that ONE HALLOWEEN PARTY (you know which one), steve meets eddie immediately after nancy does her drunken bullshit thing, seven minutes in heaven meets truth or dare, (weirdly more effective than you’d think), first kiss(es), fluff, humor, boys being boys, climbing out of windows (like a ninja🥷), getting together (?) ♥️

again: originally a fill from @eddiemunsonbingo forever ago, and I’m only bringing it over here NOW because it’s going to have a sequel show up soon for @steddielovemonth—which I thank profusely for giving me the kick in the ass required to revisit and actually try to finish this series!

“Oh my fucking god.”

Steve honestly doesn’t know if he’s going to start crying or throwing up quicker, like which one’s closest to the surface; keeping his balance as the shock, the jagged parts that draw blood when your heart gets crushed to shards leaving him susceptible—pathetic, fucking pathetic— to the pushing and pulling and grabbing of the throngs of trashed partygoers shoving him away from the front door, pushing harder every time he tripped up the stairs, laughing and yelling and chanting and fuck, fuck he doesn’t need this, he doesn’t want this, and he doesn’t even know what the fuck it is, just that it’s not his car, and then his house, and then his bed where he can…let it all come crashing down and not have a fucking audience, just: goddamn.

As soon as a door’s thrown open and she’s shoved to stumble hard, catch his nails to bending, bleeding against the light switch as the lock clicks behind him—well fuck.

He gets it now.

Fuck.

“Not what you were expecting behind Door Number One?”

Steve spins, a little jump in it when he looks for the source of the voice which is familiar and then, not, because Steve thinks he should know a voice like that, because it’s a good voice, a really good voice, it’s not too deep but it’s smooth and it’s—

It’s a good voice, basically.

And when he finds its owner, shadowed by the curtains in the corner, well. The leather jacket would’ve given him away if the mess of frizzy curls weren’t kind of an automatic tell: Eddie the Freak, half-hidden as he flips a clear antique of a lighter too fucking close to the gauzy drapes but…it does something.

It does something Steve doesn’t want to dwell on, the kind of thing he’s kinda been working really hard and doing pretty fucking well and not dwelling on but then…maybe like, any other night, any other hour of any other night? Steve maybe would have turned, and at least tried to force the door open; maybe he’d have pushed it down like he’s been getting real good at, almost to the point where he doesn’t even have to think about it, the thing itself or the pushing it down: in fact he’s absolutely sure he’d have done just that. Any other night. After any other fucking night.

But it’s all bullshit anyway, so like, why even bother, what does any of it even matter, Barb’s dead, blood’s on his hands apparently for a pool he doesn’t even fucking pay for, his love’s fucking nothing and the voice from the corner, hell, even the jawline the flame’s casting sharp every other second, every flip open then stealing away with every flip closed: that’s something and so, like.

Any other night. It’d be different.

But it’s this night.

��I wasn’t expecting any door except the one on the front driver’s side of my goddamn car, man,” Steve sighs and throws his weight against a dresser—plain. Really plain—kid’s room. Not too young. Boy’s room. Little brother of…fuck, Steve can’t even remember whose house they’re in.

“I can see where this would definitely count as,” Munson’s tongue runs almost contemplatively over his lips as he tips his head; “a deviation from the plan.”

Steve snorts; he means it to sound amused, because he is that. Honestly he is.

But it sounds like it get halfway there, before it nosedives a little into a half-stifled sob.

Goddamnit.

“You okay, Harrington?”

Oh. So not only is he recognizable, he’s also recognizably not fucking okay.

That’s just great.

“My girlfriend says I’m bullshit,” Steve has no fucking idea what makes him just say it, to basically a stranger at that, and fuck, no, not a stranger: this stranger, who Steve knows enough of but who Steve’s pretty sure knows too many things about him for comfort, just—he doesn’t know what makes him say it. “That loving her is bullshit.”

Actually: probably that’s it. Bullshit, versus something. Munson’s eyes stay fixed on him the whole time, even as he keeps flicking the lighter.

“Does,” Munson starts, and in his good-voice, he sounds almost, like, hesitant. Which isn’t a way Steve really associates with the guy, if he associates anything with him at all but apparently yeah, he does, because he’s absolutely certain this shit’s out of the norm: “like, not to be a dick, seriously,” yeah, yeah: this is like a gentle voice. Careful. Care…caring?

And, like…why?

“But does that mean she’s still your girlfriend?”

Oh. Pity might be why. That’s fun.

“Shit,” Steve rubs his hands over his face, fucks his hair up even more than it’s been which is possibly not even possible. “Probably not.”

Munson lets out a breath that’s almost a whistle, and looks genuinely regretful—again, why, most of the people he hangs out with would probably celebrate Steve’s suffering, so like, what the fuck—

“That sucks man,” Munson says, honest, like, really honest as he para down his…surprisingly tight jeans until he extracts a pre-roll from the front picked and holds it out in offering: “on the house.”

Steve needs that shit bad enough for it to be maybe the only thing he doesn’t question in all of this.

“Thanks,” he says as Munson holds out a light and Steve leans in; the guy smells of party sweat and too many bodies, of Kate autumn air and cheap cologne. He smells…

It’s a good smell. It matches his good voice.

“You wanna?” Steve offers on impulse after he takes a lungful and maybe a little more, maybe a little too much—greedy, needy, bullshit—and holds it back to Eddie as he breathes out slow, tries to keep it all in as long as he can but not…not in a pushing-it-down kind of way. More a making-the-most kind of way.

“Do you wanna?” Munson asks, eyes so wide, like a baby animal or something. Like a cartoon character. Steve just keeps holding the joint out to him, close enough that his lips will touch Steve’s fingers if he wants them to, and in Steve’s head he feels like he’ll call him Eddie, in his head, if his mouth brushes his skin.

It does.

Eddie it is, then.

And Steve’s real good at shoving down things like the way his heart skips and fucking jumps, runs a little—he’s good at it.

But not tonight.

“They always double the time, ‘specially when they think they’re being funny,” Steve licks his fingers where Eddie’s mouth had touched because why the fuck not, and he slides down the simple preteen dresser and leans back on the palms of his hands as he sighs out the words and the remaining smoke in his lungs, but let’s go of none of the taste he’d lapped off the skin around his knuckles. Not that. “Probably longer than that if they’re as drunk as they looked.”

“Ah,” Eddie kinda, almost, hums through the purse of his lips before he offers the smoke back Steve’s way, and if Steve makes sure his lips drag over Eddie’s fingers, what fucking of it. It does make the space between his inhale and Eddie’s willingness to say any more words out loud a long quiet pause where Steve’s pulse runs high between his collarbones but it’s…it’s not bad. And Steve kinda wants to keep that in his back pocket, for later: the thing he’s gotten so good and pushing down might not feel so goddamn bad, up near the surface where it’s still able to breathe.

Huh.

“So you’re up here on a mission,” Eddie finally says, a little choked but not like you choke on a weird drag, y’know? Different choking. Steve feels the urge to smirk and while he doesn’t give into it?

It’s definitely there.

“As far as they’re concerned,” Steve says with…Steve doesn’t know what he says it with. How he says it. How he means it.

“You don’t look drunk,” Eddie saves him from dwelling on that particular unknown, lets him course correct with a little scoff.

It also distracts him from how Eddie sits next to him. Not too close, but still pretty fucking close.

“I know my limits.” Which is why he takes back the joint without a single thought and does the maybe-too-much thing, because it feels good, and lets himself look for the taste of Eddie on the paper: salt and a tang of something and then sweetness, like fucking candy.

It’s a good taste.

“I’m probably a little drunk,” Eddie declares without sounding it at all, and taking to the eeed again without a secondly hesitation; “more like tipsy, really, if that, but still, totally not my style,” he frowns, like it really isn’t, like he’s disappointed in himself. It’s kinda…cute.

Fuck.

“I don’t touch shit at these parties but I was thirsty as fuck,” Eddie gestures with his free hand, and it’s the first time Steve’s notices how his run at glint: good hands; “haven’t eaten all day and thought I’d beat the punch spiking.”

“Aww, man,” Steve moans on Eddie’s behalf, sympathetic; “the punch is always pre-spiked.”

“Duly noted,” Eddie nods, holding the joint to Steve’s lips straight on this time, and Steve thinks nothing of breathing in without touching it himself, letting Eddie decide when to pull it back. “Point being, on an empty stomach, even one such as myself,” Eddie gestures broadly at his person with the nearly-spent smoke: “is not immune.”

Steve huffs a little laugh; he kinda wants it to be bigger but he’s feeling…soft. Nice.

Good.

“So we’ve got somewhere between seven and…” Eddie glances at his wrist as if he’s expecting a watch there; Steve wants to know if he forgot one he normally wears or if it’s all for show: “thirty minutes, by your estimation?”

“Thereabouts,” Steve shrugs. You can never really know for sure.

“You umm,” Eddie ventures after a few seconds; “you want to talk about, umm,” and he trails off, but the implication is clear.

“Not,” Steve’s saying before really thinking;“not really.” It’s actually kind of weird how much he means it, too. “I was trying to get home.”

“Drown your sorrows?” Eddie surmises, but Steve shakes his head.

“Wasn’t even gonna bother,” and his asshole father’s got the good shit, too; Steve probably could have managed a decent bit of wallowing with minimal hangover. “Just wanted to get out, clear my,” he clears his throat, though he’s not sure why, doesn’t really thing he needs it: “head.”

Then Steve turns to look at Eddie only to find Eddie already looking straight at him.

That’s…that’s something.

“Then they shoved me in here because they’re all fucking assholes,” Steve chuckles a little, does his damn best to make it clear he’s only calling the dickheads downstairs assholes; not…not Eddie.

Like it was an asshole move to shove him in here but, not because of Eddie.

Like, at all.

“And drunk off their asses,” Eddie grins, a very good grin, and Steve matches it as best he’s able because it means his comments landed okay, the right way; “swear I didn’t sell anything hard enough to be the culprit.” Steve snorts, and Eddie matches that and all the matching feels…it feels.

“It’s funny though,” Eddie comments, a little idly once the laughter’s echoed out. Steve tilts his head, all question.

“No one knew I was in here,” Eddie gestures to the whole of the not-very-big room. “It’d be one thing to prank you and shove you in here with me, ha ha,” he tosses his head back and forth and sticks out his tongue like Steve knows he’s done on the tables in the cafeteria more than once but it’s softer, here, it’s almost warm or playful and maybe a little self…deprecating? Steve thinks that’s the word but whatever the word is, Steve doesn’t love that it’s there alongside everything else.

“I mean, insulting as shit to you, so they probably wouldn’t have done that to you,” and Steve frowns because yeah, these parts are thinks he loves at all; “you’re still royalty,” and Eddie pops on an accent and bows his head and it’s not mocking like it would be in school, but.

Steve doesn’t fucking love that either.

“Fuck that,” Steve’s quick to kind of…bite out. Like, hard. “And hell, if I am fucking royalty,” he air-quotes the word because fuck it, fuck it all; “it’s not for much longer.”

Eddie settles, and watches Steve almost…careful. Like maybe he’s looking for something. Or else, he’s taking the time to really get something from whatever he does see.

It��s weird. Steve doesn’t know what to do with being looked at to be seen.

“Think I’ll be glad to be rid of it, to be honest,” Steve says, picks at the beds of his nails a little, something he’s learned from all the girls he’s dated for a few days here and there—distraction.

But he means it, he realizes that for absolute certain as soon as he says it.

“Huh,” Eddie finally says, and it’s said…like it means something.

Something maybe…good. Or like it could be. Can be.

Huh.

“Anyway, they would have thought the room was empty,” Eddie picks back up, stretches a little and oh. Oh wow, he’s got a long neck when it’s all stretched out. It’s…it looks good.

Then Eddie cuts his gaze sly toward Steve and smirks: “Who were you supposed to fucking have your seven heavenly minutes with?”

Steve rolls his eyes and smirks lazily back in Eddie’s direction.

“My hand?”

Eddie’s eyes widen a little, and they’re…they’re really close, like, either Steve didn’t notice before or they’ve gotten closer.

Eddie’s lips are…really close.

“Oh, well,” those close lips are saying, but that good voice is kinda too-soft for the tease: “don’t let me interrupt.”

Steve blinks a couple times, to make sure he heard right.

“Sorry, that was—“ Eddie starts to walk it back but once Steve’s done with his blinking?

He fucking busts out laughing. Like…the embarrassing, snorting, pitchy kind of laughter.

“Funny,” he gasps a little, waving Eddie’s concern away because it was, it was: “That was funny, man.”

Maybe Steve thinks it’s too funny. But once Eddie shifts from shocked to something more like pleasantly surprised?

It feels like it was the perfect level of funny.

“Okay,” Eddie says as his grin grows but gets ducked into his chin, as his hand fumbles for a stand of his hair like he can hide behind it, which is silly, and weird.

And…endearing. Steve wants to see what that strand of hair feels like.

Also weird. Maybe silly. Maybe too much, maybe bullshit—

“Hey,” Eddie’s leaning toward him, and if Steve thought they were close before, that was a fucking lie in comparison because holy fucking wow, is Eddie close. He’s got freckles on his nose. Steve never would have guessed. “Want me to be funny some more?” He asks, a little loud, a little too bout any and bouncy and…like he means it, like he wants to be this thing but not so much for himself, or else not just for himself, but for Steve.

No one does shit like that for Steve.

“Your eyes are too pretty to be sad.”

Steve’s eyes aren’t too fucking pretty to nearly pop out their goddamn sockets when those words register in his ears, in his brain, make his chest tight in a kinda fucking terrifying way but such a good way and Eddie looks so scared, and Eddie’s eyes are too pretty to be scared and, oh shit.

“Truth or dare?”

The question kinda just pops out, which is…not ideal but better than his eyes doing that, so: win. And Eddie’s eyes shift from scared to stunned, confused—both better options. Double win.

“What?”

Steve clears his throat this time because you genuinely fucking needs it. “Gotta do something to pass however many minutes they leave us here, don’t we?”

Because it was definitely a seven-minutes-in-heaven set up. And Steve doesn’t know how long they’ve passed so far but he wants it to be a while longer that they’ve got left and distractions, distractions to keep from dwelling—

“Truth.”

Oh. Alright.

“Just my eyes?”

That, Steve clocks right after saying it, is the exact opposite of not fucking dwelling. He feels a little sick.

But his heart’s leaping like it’s never been free of a fucking cage until this moment, so it’s confusing.

Eddie looks confused too, so on top of it: Steve’s not even alone. In being confused.

And Steve’s alone so much. This is…kinda nice.

Kinda good.

“Is it just my eyes that are too pretty?” Steve says, for clarity. And Eddie swallows so hard Steve can hear it; fuck, he swallows hard enough it has to hurt.

“No,” Eddie says, tiny and faint before he straights his spine and looks Steve straight on: intentional.

Bracing for impact.

“Truth or dare.”

Steve’s kinda tired of being daring on principle. Generally. He’s terrified of the truth but…shit.

“Truth.”

“Are you fucking with me right now?” Eddie doesn’t say it mean. But he does say it in a way Steve couldn’t have lied to him about if he wanted to even try.

He doesn’t though. Want to try.

“Literally or, like, figuratively?”

The implications of that answer hit a little belatedly and Steve feels his cheeks go read as Eddie’s breath punches straight out of his lungs:

“Jesus H. Christ—“

“No, to both,” Steve answers quick before he loses his nerve, because maybe the truth was as daring, more daring even, than anything else. “Not even a little bit. For either.”

Eddie’s throat works around words he doesn’t say for a long stretch of seconds. Steve’s heart’s in his throat so, he thinks he kinda gets the feeling.

“Truth or Dare,” he forces out. Because it’s his turn.

“Dare,” Eddie barely breathes. Steve wasn’t expecting that, but the ready response makes it clear that deep down, he was hoping.

“Give me my seven minutes.”

Eddie freezes. Coughs. Pales a little before he stumbles over words less like he’s avoiding anything and more like he’s really that unbalanced. Shocked out of sync.

“With your hand?” he asks, a little squeak in the pitch of his voice. “Like, turns my back, cover my ears?”

Steve huffs a nervous little laugh. Nervous but…undeniably fond.

“No, dipshit.” The implication is…pretty fucking clear.

“You’re heartbroken,” Eddie points out.

“Maybe less that I thought I’d be,” Steve answers honestly, surprises himself; and maybe that’s for a damn good reason, too. “You’re ‘tipsy’.”

“Increasingly less so by the goddamn second,” Eddie confesses, his eyes fixed to Steve’s lips before flickering back up, so so wide:

“Harrington,” he whispers, sounding kinda lost; “I don’t—“

“It’s fine, if you,” Steve’s quick to regroup, even though his pulse is trying to choke him—stupid, needy, idiot, too much, greedy, dumbass, fucking bullshit; “you can forget it.”

Steve would like to forget it, kinda immediately; letting himself want. Letting himself try.

“I don’t,” Eddie starts again, but Steve can’t stand it, can’t beat it: that good good voice trying to make this anything but a goddamn catastrophe.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t like, mean to,” and fuck, Steve’s not only clearly suggested some very dangerous things about himself he’s only starting to even be willing to think about coming to grips with but what about what he’s assumed, implied about Eddie, guys don’t take lightly to that shit, oh fucking hell; “I don’t, you know, like, do this,” he tries to salvage, and even he knows it’s a pathetic attempt; “like this—“

“I don’t fuck around with straight boys as a rule, see,” Eddie blurts out in a rush, color high on his cheeks; “keeps my poor squishy gay heart from bruising.”

And Eddie; oh, oh—

Those eyes are too damn pretty to look so scared.

And maybe it’s less about truth being safer than a dare, maybe both are a risk in their own way and maybe…maybe both just require that you’re brave.

Steve can try to be brave, maybe. Just this once. This one night that’s different, where he’s not pushing it all down.

“If I told you,” he says slowly, so slowly because it’s hard to fight what he knows so we’ll; “if I said I didn’t know, yet, how much of a bend there might be in my kind of…straight?” Steve frowns, brow furrowed; that came out so goddamn weird, but he makes himself look at Eddie when he asks:

“Would that change anything?”

Eddie gapes at him, a little like a fish, and Steve goes back to the beginning: he’s equally likely to start sobbing as he is likely to throw the fuck up—but Eddie blinks, and his head tilts and he reaches slow, tentative, like he doesn’t know if he’s really allowed but also like he wants to make sure Steve can cut and run before his hand meets Steve’s cheek.

He is allowed, though. He’s…Steve is pretty sure he’s fucking welcome.

“Would,” Eddie murmurs incredulously, thumbing Steve’s lower lip before he does the slow thing, leaning while leaving an out but Steve doesn’t want a goddamn out.

He moves forward in a blink and kisses Eddie with all the skill and know-how he’s woven together into making the people he kisses feel good, and he puts his whole self in, all the concentration and focus and investment he’s got to make it…great, if he can.

But then something kind of wild happens.

Because it kinda feels like Eddie is…doing the same thing. Like Eddie wants Steve to feel all those things just as big and sure.

Steve doesn’t…Steve’s never been kissed like this. Like that. Like his half of the deal isn’t just a given.

Eddie’s tongue in his mouth, though: Steve has to run on pure instinct; his partner never does that shit first.

It’s fucking amazing. And given the moans he gets, the wet sucking sounds and the panting before they reconnect again, then again: Steve’s willing to bet his instincts are pretty solid.

They finally break for more than a second and Eddie’s hands come to Steve’s chest for balance as he gasps, as his hair falls in a curtain between them and Steve’s barely got the breath in him to speak yet when he covers one of Eddie’s hands with his own and half-whispers.

“Come on,” and he’s tugging Eddie to standing, both of them a little wobbly on their feet for a second or two before Eddie stills.

“We’re locked in,” he seems to remember in real time, like the whole kissing thing—not quite seven minutes; maybe more than seven minutes; not e-fucking-nough either way—knocked reasonable thought out of him for a second, there.

“The window,” Steve’s prepared for it, leads him over with their hands still kinda just covering each other, kinda holding one another, kinda a lot of things. “I’ve been here before, we can get out,” because yeah, he knows the house even if he still doesn’t remember who it belongs to; “and you haven’t eaten,” Steve remembers that clear as day, frowning at Eddie, almost scolding him.

Eddie lights up, though. Like maybe there are things no one’s really ever thought of for Eddie, too. Like, maybe Steve wasn’t the only one finding out someone could…pay attention.

Like he was worth paying attention to.

And like…Eddie? Steve doesn’t know exactly what to do with all the things that are tied up in everything he pushes down, where they’re bubbling up and seeping from his pore or some shit, but what he does know, without a doubt?

Eddie Munson is very much worth paying attention to.

“What the hell’s even open,” Eddie says, and Steve takes a second to add it up—food, he needs food—and he grins, and like…he kinda can’t help it? He definitely doesn’t think about it before he kisses Eddie, hard and quick and more smile in it than…he kinda remembers having, or giving, like…

More than he remembers. At all.

Huh.

“Benny’s if we’re quick,” Steve breaks off and pushes the window open; “otherwise the kitchen at Casa Harrington makes a hell of a TV dinner this time of night,” he tosses a grin Eddie’s way that’s nothing like he uses on the girls, he can tell, can feel it: it’s goofy and sincere and…yeah. “Probably got like a Salisbury steak one.”

It’s Eddie who leans, quicker and more like he’s stealing it, like he’s sneaking it and jumping back quick just in case he gets caught and it’s in doing that exactly that Steve has the incredibly clear sense, amidst all the unclear shit in his chest and his brain and his everything, that he…wants to catch Eddie.

“Fancy,” Eddie grins, and oh fuck.

Oh fuck, those dimples.

“Only the best for my honored guests,” Steve pokes one of those heavenly fucking dimples and oh.

Oh.

Steve’s making sure the window won’t fall on them as them climb down when Eddie leans close, looks down, and talks really close to Steve’s ear:

“They’re a reason we didn’t bail from the get-go?”

Steve wouldn’t hide the way he shivers if he tried.

“Honestly?” Steve chuckles, light with it, maybe…and he’s not sure okay, he could be making shit up and talking out his ass but, like, maybe he’s…

Free with it. Free with it?

He looks at Eddie who’s still grinning, dimples and all.

Free’s close enough.

“I don’t know, wasn’t really thinking,” Steve admits, and then tries the brave thing one more time: “truth or dare?”

Eddie’s answer is immediate, leaned close again against Steve’s shoulder, close at his ear:

“Truth.”

“Will you be angry if I said I wasn’t mad,” Steve turns, and their lips are so close: “that I didn’t think of leaving from the start?”

“Oddly enough?” Eddie grins so near that just the motion brushes their mouths. “Not even a little bit.” Then Eddie leans closer, means to, and doesn’t run like he’s stealing anything this time when he kisses Steve like he means it.

Then he’s speaking straight against Steve’s lips: “Truth or dare?”

And fuck it; everything’s been mixed up, shattered, rebuilt, turned inside out tonight. So far it’s turning out way better than Steve could have guessed. Definitely so much better than it started.

Might as well keep running with it.

“Dare.”

Eddie grins but there’s a heat to it, but then alongside, there’s something…mischievous. And then Eddie’s bumping his head into Steve’s and murmuring close:

“You climb down first and catch my ass when I inevitably fall halfway,” he issues his challenger; “I’m uncoordinated as shit.”

And Steve was wrong before.

The kiss he gives Eddie has more smile in it than he’s ever had, or shown, or shared before; not once in his whole goddamn life.

He could get used to it.

🧡

also on ao3

alsoalso ✨now a series✨

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divider credit here and here

[mockingjaylad]

Mystery twins in Gotham AU…….

Or even just one of them then it’s the stans situation all over again (if it’s multi universal shenanigans and not just making gravity falls real in DCU) and either dipper or Mabel are desperate to find their way back to the other

Both Dipper and Mabel I feel could have really cool dynamics with the batfam

Thinking about how it could have happened is also really cool whether it’s from an outside source from Gotham or maybe some strange unexplainable portal in gravity falls of which both Mabel and dippers pov from gravity falls would be really interesting how they solve the mysteries and figure out how to bring the other back

I feel like both are definitely able to do it because they are awesome and I care them very much

Ofc with the help of other people in GF

It would be really cool to see how they adapt to the DC universe with how much insane shit they’ve seen but ig this could also depend on what period in time the transfer happens

Like if it’s after weirdmagedon then they’d probably be a lot better at adapting and surviving (they adapt very well normally anyways) But maybe if it was before most of the really dark creepy stuff that happens in the show it would be like a kid with way too many questions about their own world gets put into a world with even more strange stuff to think about and how it would effect them

BUT WHAT IF IT WAS BOTH OF THEM!!!! Then their grunkles and friends are like freaking out course the twins have gone missing to some other universe and all the drama

But Mabel and Dipper despite still trying to get home are just kind of having a great time feeding off eachothers energy keeping the vibes high

Like hey at least it’s not a world ending apocalypse where a demon is actively trying to hunt us down and kill us! (That they know of)

Dipper would fit in pretty well with all the paranoid Gothamites but Mabel would instantly get into so much trouble all the time and be immediately on the bars watch list

Dipper and Mabel acting so much like Steph and Tim in those baby vigilante fics where they go out and Tim takes pictures while Steph goes crazy beating up bad guys

Mabel with her own sweater vigilante costume covering her face and a GRAPPLING HOOK!!!!!!!

“So what are you, a twelve year old girl, doing in the streets of Gotham clearly no clue about any of the unspoken rules beating bad guys up”

“… GRAPPLING HOOK!!!!”

She launches the grappling hook at them like the puffy sticker experiment

Them randomly dropping lore about their world to the Bats

“This remind me of that time I was kidnapped by gnomes to become their gnome wife forever” out of nowhere while in a hostage or kidnapping situation and their all just like “HUH???? UR TWELVE????? GNOME WIFE????????”

“this reminds me of the mini golf course people”

Sorry chat I have the gravity falls brainrot

These dumb tweens really thought they did something with these disguises

[voidsuites]

heavy

ART doesn’t venture much from stanford’s campus if it’s not for tennis. yes, he’s gone on the occasional bar-crawl with his teammates after a big win, or taken a rare trip or two to the 24-hour pharmacy on a late-night run for snacks, but never really for anything like this.

a bonfire— one of his teammates had invited him and the rest of the stanford men’s tennis team to the event at the local beach, seeing as it was for his girlfriend’s sorority. art had been quick to decline initially, but the team wouldn’t let him say no.

don’t be a loser. the title would’ve hurt art a long time ago— back in his early days at mark rebellato— but now it hardly broaches the walls he’s built to surround himself. it barely leaves a dent, if that.

but god, does he wish he’d stood his ground more. standing around with sand between his toes and a lukewarm beer in his solo cup’s never looked more pathetic; he’s certain that he resembles a kicked dog more than someone who’s enjoying themself. a volleyball game had been going on behind him earlier, but now that the sun’s set everyone’s decided to sit around the fire and talk.

he’s never been a much of conversationalist, content to stand in the shadows of others. then again, it was easy to shrink himself down in the presence of patrick— let him light up the room with pearly-white teeth and levels of self-assuredness he’d kill to have. no, art was always in his head; always thinking ahead, planning for the next moment.

he’d rather just be alone. and whether that’s in the comfort of his dorm or alone on the beach, he’s not picky.

beer forgotten in the sand, art leaves his solo cup behind as his keyring spins around his finger. maybe he can slip away under the cover of darkness. no one would notice— not with the only source of light being the fire, the conversation around it and the waves crashing in the distance providing the perfect muffling for his footsteps.

it seems like he’s opted for the latter choice, finding himself straying towards the water. it’s pitch-black as he draws close, but art can catch the occasional flash of deep ultramarine under the light of the moon. it’s a shade he could get lost in time and time again— one that’s been dangerous since he’d been twelve, new to mrta, and had met the eyes of his future roommate of six years for the first time— and one that will forever hold him in its clutches for the rest of his existence. not that he’d ever admit that aloud.

it’s only when the foamy edge of the sea washes over his toes does he pick on the voice behind him.

“don’t get in the water. you’ll freeze.” broad shoulders tense at the intrusion to the waves and the soft breeze, but art turns and relaxes. it’s just you.

“you’re probably right,” he admits, voice sheepish. “my feet are already going numb.”

they’re not— he’s just barely entered the water— but that’s not important. art instead fixes his attention on your silhouette in the darkness, lit up by the bonfire behind you and the lit cigarette between your lips.

“those things kill, you know.” he hasn’t smoked since the open a few months ago. not that he smoked often, anyway, but he always was susceptible to the pleas of those with cerulean irises and calloused hands.

you smile, something that makes the edge of your lip curl upwards ever so slightly, the dimple in your left cheek making a rare appearance. he’d know; it doesn’t reveal itself unless the moment’s appropriate. he learned that last week when you’d shown up at the courts after practice, amused with his surprised reaction and subsequent stumble over his own feet.

“i know.” a pause. a quick flutter of your lashes as you inspect him. “you want one?”

no. “sure.” huh. was his stomach feeling this fluttery earlier?

the cigarette leaves your lips so you can offer it out, and art hesitates before ultimately taking it. rough fingertips brush against smooth in the exchange, and the sensation sends goosebumps up his arms. it could’ve been the wind, but he knows it’s the former. art’s certain.

after a decently-sized plume of smoke leaves his nostrils, he passes the cigarette back. he’s got practice tomorrow— the last thing he needs is to be off his game any more considering his beer from earlier’s finally working its magic. the dimple in your cheek fades.

“thanks.” he half-smiles when you just nod in return, seemingly content to stand in silence as well. you haven’t stepped away, though; art can practically feel the warmth rolling off of you considering how cold it is and how close you are. “you can go back to the group, y’know… you don’t need to keep me company.”

you shrug. “i’m not.” it’s not harsh, just honest. “i just want to be alone.”

huh. he ignores the twinge in his chest at that, even if it was just the truth and nothing personal. “me too,” he supplies eventually.

maybe he should’ve known better— should’ve left when he had his chance and gone back to campus. save himself from the slight blow to his ego and the guilt for indulging in something bad for his health regimen. cigarettes kill, you know.

“i know,” the voice in his heads supplies, an echo from a time not-so-far into the past. he can still see the towel wedged underneath the door jam and the plastic bag over the smoke detector. “what— you gonna stop me?”

ultramarine. pearly-white teeth. calloused hands just like his own.

smooth hands. a penchant for being unpredictable. dimples.

… maybe he really is a loser. he’s not sure anymore, but his chest grows heavy regardless.

“you need a ride back to the dorms?” he doesn’t know why he offers it. the last thing he wants (or, thinks he wants) is to have to sit in tense silence with someone that makes his stomach flip-flop like a certain brunet. he should be in his dorm, in bed, covers pulled high over his head as his mind races—

your left dimple resurfaces, almost like it never left. “sure.” and suddenly, he feels lighter than he’s felt all night.

“cool. c’mon.” maybe there is a reason not to wallow in those feelings, as he allows his hand to slip to the small of your back. that’s something he’d never allow himself to do with anyone else.

“but first, let’s stop by cvs on the way back— i need something more than just hot dogs and beer in my system if i don’t want to puking all morning…”

[alchemistc]

catie i'm kissing your tags on this. especially the part about tommy thinking he's being horrifyingly open https://www.tumblr.com/alchemistc/780001978282541056?source=share

#complimentary to all of this is something i like to call Scorpio Honesty#when you try to relate to people with open vulnerability but you never do more rhan scratch the surface of an issue#but the moment you admit something you've gotta smooth it over because when you say it out loud it sounds INSANE#it SOUNDS like a trauma dump instead of a Fun Fact#and you gotta walk it back#turn heel and return the conversation to the other person#make a joke about it#deflect into something else#try to make it sexy instead#tommy does that shit over and over and over#its a learned response#because Someone Could Get In Trouble if you tell the whole honest truth#and you don't want to rock the boat#i don't necessarily think tommy has internalized any of that but#when you drop bits and pieces of lore it FEELS like you have overexposed yourself#but the truth is the way he goes about honesty there's an expectation (on his end) that you'll interpret twelve layers if bullshit#in order to understand him#he brushes off jealousy of the 118 and reverts to bucks jealousy#he brushes off daddy issues after admitting he barely speaks ro his father#he brushes off admiration of the 118 being there for each other#he brushes off the jealousy of the anniversary date with a 'youre hot makes sense'#any time he gets CLOSE to vulnerability he opens the door to let out a crumb and then slams and locks the door closed#he wants to be vulnerable but he doesn't know how#he thinks he IS being open when he alludes to things#and sometimes its not even that its painful or scary to open up#sometimes he thinks he's being HORRIFYINGLY open and doesn't realize he's dropping scraps that are impossible to follow to a bigger picture#he hasn't maintained Mystery Man out of any conscious desire to hide himself away#he just feels like he's exposing nerves when all he's really doing is showing a diagram of where they are

Mimi I hit the tag limit on that post and I was SO MAD ABOUT IT.

Gonna AND ANOTHER THING myself right here to add that Scorpio Honesty isn't actively trying to be deceitful or White Lying your way through life.

The ficlet I posted yesterday dove into that a little but unfortunately (for me) it's Very Close to a conversation I have had to have with my partner more than once because in my mind these tiny little morsels are the full fucking kit and caboodle and are just this glaringly obvious window into my brain and my trauma and my feelings when in reality, to most people in my life the blue curtains are just fucking blue.

Tommy drops crumbs about what HAPPENED, not what they made him feel or how he reacted in the face of them. He wasn't out on the job. He dated and was engaged to Abby. He was jealous of the 118. He IS jealous of Eddie. He doesn't have daddy issues (clearly a LIE Tommy jfc). He's a Kinsey six. He was in the Army. He has a an accountant cousin. He'd be interested in doing something with Buck on Saturday.

Like. Scratching the surface shit. Facts.

And on the other side of his Facts is a man who is HUNGRY for information, who drinks in facts and doesn't dig deeper unless there's already a through line to the Substack/Reddit thread/etc.

Tommy sees a man who seems to dig and dig and interpret and come to conclusions based on evidence, and honestly I think it's kind of a shock to him to realize that Buck didn't draw conclusions based on what Tommy thought was GLARING evidence. Yes, he's spooked by the jump from "We dated the same woman and also you're flustered by this woman's flirting on our anniversary and also you have clearly done NO research about your sexuality that wasn't dating and fucking me" to "I want to start the process that often ends with a forever kind of thing" but he's also definitely spooked by the sudden realization that Buck took his crumbs at face value. Because Tommy never offered a through line to more.

And Buck, who is and has been desperate for the kind of relationship where someone can be his Person, where he can be someone's Person (meanwhile Tommy is silently stewing over Buck already having a Person), is so fucking aware of boundaries and so fucking cautious about pushing too-hard too-fast too-much, that even if he DID want more out of Tommy's crumbs, he never pushed because Tommy's body language EVERY one of those times was so closed off he convinced himself to steer it into a joke, a tease, a flirt.

The miscommunication is juicy and wonderful and tears my heart to pieces because they're THERE. They want a future together. Even after so much time apart they are instantly drawn in, instantly aware that they want each other, but in the hookup they sort of switch: Tommy shooting for the stars with $7mil worth of eggs and Prosecco, Buck managing expectations.

And the miscommunication is such a juicy trope to work within but the point of it is ALWAYS to find a way forward. Sometimes the way is calling it, thanking each other, moving on. Sometimes it's demanding better of themselves and their partner. If we're looking at it from a rom-com angle and not a cautionary tale angle, the miscommunication is in the story to make a couple stronger.

They know each other, but they don't know each other. And for Tommy there's this hurdle, another man who knows Buck. For Buck there's this hurdle where he doesn't know how to get to know Tommy without pushing him away.

There's so much room for them to work on it. There's so much room for them to GROW, together and separately. The whump is delicious.

I just hope that we get to see some of it on screen.

[maritteknewtheenemy]

SOTR the reaping could be brilliant if in like two years SC released a book with very little/no initial marketing called 'Sunset on the Reaping' that is about Haymitch Abernathy, an indigenous kid from the seam, getting reaped by the random cruelty of the Hunger Games system who then has to say goodbye to his family and his very normal non fairy princess girlfriend to take part in the 50th hunger games. A Haymitch Abernathy who watches the twelve year old child of a past victor die but he can't quite remember the victor's name, just that he was from District 3. This Haymitch forges a relationship with Maysilee Donner from his district that is contentious but real and he never calls her 'sis' the way someone who has never had a sister thinks people treat their sisters. He's determined to get home to his kid brother and overworked mom and very normal girlfriend- but he's still absolutely gutted when Maysilee is killed. She haunts him forever and so does her twin sister back in the district. His stunt with the forcefield is enough to get his mom and his kid brother and his very normal girlfriend killed. He never sees them again. We get to see his first year as mentor when he meets a man named Chaff from the district right next to and yet so far from his who makes him laugh and hands him a bottle full of liquid that burns all the way down and numbs his throat and his head and the whole damn world for the next twenty five years. It never once references SOTR, it's characters or anything that happened in it, but it is so clearly the true, gritty, hopeless depiction of Haymitch's games. There's no rebel subplot. No hint of rebellion. Just 47 dead kids and the victor who won by his wits and his weapons but lost everything anyway and now has to live with that. It starts with a boy and ends with a bitter, jaded young man.

THAT would make SOTR a literary masterpiece. THAT would make the theme of propaganda in SOTR brilliant instead of the flattest execution of anything I've ever seen from SC. If 'Sunset on the Reaping' was quietly released SOTR becomes the biggest cautionary tale about propaganda and trusting the wrong sources and bandwagoning and the pretty, satisfying lies that true propaganda is trussed up in. Knowing SOTR was supposed to be ABOUT propaganda but not realizing it WAS the propaganda until this other hypothetical book came out would be the most brilliant cautionary tale. 'Sunset on the Reaping' tanking in sales and not being promoted would be poetic. It being more unpopular or panned because it didn't have any fanservice or callbacks to the original trilogy would be cinematic. I'd eat that shit up. I'd hope it was NEVER adapted into a film. I'd never shut up about it ever.

I know it would never happen. I know SC would never do it and she'd never write a book designed not to make money. But if I was SC that's what I would do.

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // part twelve

summary: may the odds be ever in your favour.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.9k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, r is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: i can't believe we made it to the end of s1! i am so, so excited to move on to the next era of this story! this is a reminder if you love this series and you haven't already please reblog this or the masterlist! it makes such a big big difference for me and my fellow writers know it all too well lol.

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist

Coriolanus wakes up, head on the open pages of Romeo and Juliet as people start to flood in, everyone anxious about what would happen to you.

He rubs the sleep out of his eyes, quickly casting his view to the screen ahead, camera view still locked on you. There was no one else for it to be tracking, after all. Except now, you were on Lamina's beam, lying down with your eyes closed. He wasn't sure if you were awake, or when you had even made your way down into the clearing, but you don't move. He can see the steady rise and fall of your chest as you lay with his scarf bunched up behind your head. Tigris was right, you had survived, but you wouldn't have without him. You looked peaceful- not at all like the girl he had seen crumbling apart on the same screen just a few hours prior.

"I feel as though I should inform you, they'll be going in very soon." Highbottom says, grabbing the boy's attention. "But I'd put my money on those boys being dead in there. Congratulations, Coriolanus. This means almost nothing for you."

He walks away before Coryo is even done processing what he had said. He wouldn't get the prize, most likely, but he would still have you.

You don't stir until you hear the peacekeepers entering the arena, sitting up and seeing them with guns pointed in your direction. "Don't move." One of them spits at you and you nod, eyes wide as you raise your hands. You watch as a designated team in different uniforms make their way up to enter the vents, and others spray something over the piles of snakes, stilling those that were still showing any signs of life.

"Is it over?" You ask, confused.

"Not until we can confirm you are the only remaining tribute." One of them answers and you nod, chewing on your lip as you watch the men disappear into the vents.

"Okay... Thank you."

You know what they would find in there, the bodies of the two boys trapped behind your salt line. You could tell them where the boys would be found, but then you'd be outing yourself. You had only confessed to Coryo. Only he could know. Last night, you didn't care. You have to assume he was the only one who witnessed your breakdown, your confession, because if anyone else had, you'd likely be dead by now. You have to hope your secret is safe with him if you want to go home.

The morning drags on forever as you sit there with guns pointed at you from the ground, and Coryo is pacing in the hall. There were many people around, excited to see if you would be crowned as the victor. People were rooting for you, and he was proud of that, but support didn't mean that you were promised a win.

Vipsania and Domitia were the only other two remaining mentors, whispering to each other across the room after they came back. It was eerily silent.

Then, one of the men emerges from the vent, turning all heads including yours as he just nods toward the peacekeepers watching you.

"Alright. Come on down." The same peacekeeper addresses you and you nod, a tear falling down your cheek.

"She did it." Coryo whispers to himself, realization forcing a grin onto his face.

Lucky laughs, clapping his hands together. "She's won! Y/N Y/L/N from District Twelve!" He calls out, making his way over to Coriolanus. "Coriolanus Snow is the Victor of the Tenth Annual Hunger Games!"

Coryo laughs in shock, smiling as the man pats his shoulder. He catches in the corner of his eye as his two classmates storm out, and he's quickly crowded with congratulations and praise.

"I won?" You ask quietly, feet landing on the ground again.

"Yes, they were found." He nods, and quickly your arms are being grabbed as you're led out of the arena.

"Do you know, did Coriolanus get his prize?" You ask them, but your question is ignored as you walk down the hall toward the exit, looking back over your shoulder as the gate is closed behind you.

Just outside the gates, you don't get much of a taste of freedom before you're being pushed into the back of the same truck. Empty. Bigger. Lonely.

"Empty your pockets." The peacekeeper tells you, standing at the entrance.

You do so hesitantly, holding up the compact on a shaky palm. "I'm sorry to ask, but can I have some water? Please?" You ask, once again ignored as the compact is pulled from your hand. "Please, sir, that was a gift... If you must take it can you return it to my mentor? Coriolanus Snow?"

He opens the cold metal, pulling out the piece of paper and unfolds it, quickly scanning it's contents. "That is for him, too. Though, if I had the chance now I would change it." You explain. You knew you both would be in deep trouble if you were caught for what you convinced yourself was no more than salt, and clarity came to you enough to lie about what the compact had contained all this time.

The peacekeeper hums, closing it up again and shoving both items into his own pocket, pointing the gun at you again. "Clothes off."

"Ex-excuse me?" You reply, taken aback by the request.

"Clothes off. Now." He repeats and you nod, swallowing the lump in your dry throat as you begin to slide off your dress, letting it fall at your feet. He moves the gun again, gesturing for you to continue. With trembling hands you remove your underthings, your shoes, and the scarf, placing them on the floor in front of you. He quickly gathers them, taking a step back and nodding to someone outside.

He moves out of the way and you stand there confused, watching as he shakes out your clothes and searches them, when suddenly you're being sprayed down with a hose. You yelp from the fast contact of the cold water pelting against your skin, but it wakes you up. After the initial shock, it actually feels good to be somewhat clean again.

You pant as the water is shut off, catching your breath and rubbing your arms to try and warm yourself again. Your clothes are tossed back into the truck at you before the door is slammed, and you use the scarf to try and dry yourself off a little bit before tying it around yourself the same way Coryo had. By the time you pull the second strap of your dress back on, the truck is moving and you're lurching forward.

You're driving for a while before the door is opened again, and you're relieved to get some fresh air. It was cold in there, and you were shivering in your small dress that was now also damp from your skin.

Once the doors open you're staring down the barrels of more guns as the peacekeepers usher you out and into the train station, right where you were let off all those days ago. Days... or weeks? You don't even know anymore.

"Lay off, why don't you? She's been through enough." A man in a black suit comes into your view, and they drop their weapons and let you go.

He steps in front of you and you wrap your arms around yourself to try and warm up. "Thank you, Sir." You smile, nodding at him politely.

"Nothing to thank me for..." He sighs. "I'm Dean Highbottom from the academy, it's a pleasure to meet you. Congratulations on your victory." Surprisingly to you, he doesn't seem inconvenienced. Someone other than Coryo and Sejanus seemed to be willing to talk to you, to treat you like a human again. When he congratulates you, he sounds sad.

"Thank you, Sir." You nod again. "Do I... Will I be going home now?"

"Yes. In just a few minutes." He nods, gesturing for you to follow him toward the train. "I am extremely familiar with your mentor, Coriolanus Snow." He tells you as you join his side.

"Oh, wonderful!" You force a smile. "I have some things for him, just a note and something he leant to me. I gave them to that man over there. Would you mind making sure they make it back to him?" You point out the peacekeeper as you follow him toward the train.

"I'll see to it that he gets it back, yes." Dean Highbottom nods with a slight roll of his eyes, stopping next to the stairs that would lead you onto the passenger train. "But... if I may offer you some advice?"

"Please." You nod, urging him on.

"Be grateful you survived him."

You want to ask what he means, but the anger you saw behind your friend's eyes that night in the arena would haunt you and you knew that. Surely, that's what the Dean is talking about.

"Yes." You agree, unsure what else to say when he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a stack of cash.

"Take this, your prize, I suppose." He hands it over to you. It must be hundreds of dollars. Maybe over a thousand. With this, you could do so much for your family. "Oh, and Miss Y/L/N... You wouldn't happen to know anything about the rat poison that was in that compact, would you?"

You tense up, tilting your head at him with a confused smile. "Poison? No... All I had put inside was salt." You reply. "Sejanus Plinth gave it to me, with food from his Ma. Salt is good for protection, you know, so I kept it for later. Keeps you safe from evil and harm." You ramble on, panic and shock in your tone. Sejanus had given you salt to put on some vegetables and sandwiches he brought you, but now that you're trying to piece the story together, you don't remember even opening the compact until you were in that vent. Coryo had told you not to open it, so you wouldn't have. Your own memory is confusing you.

"I've heard that." He nods, eyeing you skeptically.

The train horn makes you jump before you can even thank him.

"Go on, now." He urges you onto the train, deciding to let slide however you had came across the rat poison. Clearly, you didn't know what you had done. Or you were convincing yourself you didn't remember. "Enjoy your freedom."

You nod and step up onto the stairs. You were hoping you would get to see Coryo again, it disappointed you that you never would. Maybe it was a good thing you wrote your goodbye note, even if you had survived. "I give you, upon my knees, a thousand thanks." You smile to the man still standing on the ground below you who just nods in acknowledgment before you close the door behind yourself, Coryo's scarf still wrapped around your waist.

"Y/N?" Coryo calls out, walking into the high biology lab. He was told you had something for him, no doubt the scarf and the compact.

"She's gone." Dean Highbottom cuts in, just before Coryo spots him in the poorly lit room.

"I was told-"

"I know what you were told. Here." The Dean tells him, pointing to the metal compact on the table.

Coryo looks at it only briefly before returning his gaze to the man who offered it to him. "Where is she?"

"I wouldn't worry about that, Coriolanus. Your work is done." He explains vaguely. "Were you aware that she cheated?"

"Cheated?" Coryo asks. "How?" He feigns ignorance.

"The boys in the vents didn't die from snake venom, or violently, or, naturally- for that matter." The Dean tsk's. "It was rat poison. Which, before you argue with me, cannot be found inside the arena or even within reach of the monkey cage at the zoo. I checked. So be honest, you have no idea how she got her hands on such a substance?"

"No, I don't." Coryo lies. "But she did what she could to survive- don't take it out on her because she somehow cheated your games. Next year give them uniforms, or up security or something."

"Just thought I'd ask. She told me she got it from Plinth." He waves him off, and Coryo ticks his head in slight confusion.

"Sejanus? No, he-"

"She really... declined, in there." Highbottom cuts him off, making it evident that he at least believed that Sejanus wouldn't do such a thing. "Told me it was only salt. Genuinely, it seemed like she didn't know. Or, she forced herself to forget. A sweet girl like that, it doesn't surprise me that that's how she would rationalize her actions."

"Is she alive? Because if you killed her for that I-"

"You'll what, Mister Snow? I thought you said you just wanted the prize."

"She deserved better." He states simply, swallowing the anxiety building in his throat.

"She does. I agree." Highbottom nods. "Which is why you won't see her again."

Coryo furrows his brow. "I... I don't understand how that could be relevant."

"Oh, I know you do, Mister Snow." His superior replies, a condescending edge to his words.

Coryo snatches the compact off of the table and quickly pockets it, storming out of the room. At least he hadn't been caught for helping you cheat, though he was sure Highbottom knew better. Now, he didn't have the Plinth Prize, and he didn't have you.

When he finally got home, he couldn't help but slam the door behind himself.

"Coryo?" Tigris calls out, excited as she puts down the project she was working on and rushes to the entranceway to meet him. "I didn't expect you home so soon! Did you get to see Y/N?" Her smile fades when she sees his expression. "What's wrong?"

"They wouldn't let me see her. She's already gone." He explains, pulling off his blazer.

"Oh..." Tigris frowns, taking the blazer from him to hang it up. "I know you really wanted to say goodbye. I'm so sorry."

"She'll never forgive me." He shakes his head slightly. "If she's even still alive! I doubt they would tell me!" He laughs, bringing his hands up to rub his eyes with his palms.

"They wouldn't kill her, Coryo. People loved her too much." She is quickly reassuring, reaching out to rub his shoulders. "You did nothing wrong... You did all you could for her. She'll forgive you."

"Not that." He mutters. "It's what I told you. You didn't see the way she looked at me, Tigris. Like... Like I was a monster."

"She was already scared. She was way out of her element. I think now, that she's safe, she'll find the space to see it reasonably." She tries to soothe his worries as best she can. "You're a good friend to her, and she's a kind person. She'll understand."

"But I'll never know for sure that she does."

"You might one day... Don't beat yourself up about it, and don't give up on her."

After a long, two-day journey curled up on a bench on the train, you recognize the building the train is stopping at. Suddenly, all your energy is returned to you as it slows to a stop, and you're already waiting at the door. You hear the latch unlock and you couldn't get off fast enough.

No one you knew were there, not that you expected any kind of greeting party. You inhale the fresh air, once again surrounded by the trees and your own people. You walk out of the train station and down the street, in the general direction of your home. You tried waving at a few folks you knew on the way, but people just stared, for the most part, jaws slack with surprise. They had already grieved your death. Sometimes you were met with a sad smile, but no one wanted to speak to you. You understood. You were used to that after your time in the Capitol.

"Y/N Y/L/N, is that you?" An excited voice called after you resigned yourself to a quiet walk home, twenty minutes from the bustle of the train station. You turn your head to look up at the back entrance to the Hob, a wide smile taking over your face when you see the speaker.

Your friend is already barrelling toward you, throwing her arms around you as your eyes fill with happy tears. It was refreshing. "I never thought I'd see you again..." You sniff, resting your chin on her shoulder as you hug her back.

Rhythmically, your best friend sways you back and forth. "Oh, I know, I know, sweetheart..." She hums, rubbing your back reassuringly. You can hear her voice crack too. "But you're home now. You're okay..."

She lets you break down as she practically holds you up as you cry in each other's arms. From happiness or trauma, you're not sure. "I did some awful things, I regret it all..."

"Don't regret a thing." She shushes you. "You did what you had to."

"No, no... You don't know... You didn't see..."

"I watched, Hun. When I could." She pulls away, placing her hands on your cheeks to wipe your tears. "You did nothing wrong. All that matters is that you're home now."

You sniff again with a slight nod. "I fear too early, for my mind misgives; Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, shall bitterly begin."

"No... Y/N/N. You're safe here. You are forgiven." She assures you, rubbing your arms. "Now, let's get you home. A good rest will do you well, your parents have been waitin' on you." She waits for you to nod before stepping to your side, guiding you in the right direction with an arm around your waist.

"Thank you, Lucy Gray." You mumble, allowing yourself to lean into her hold.

taglist: @soulessjourney , @that-veela-girl ,  @dreamyysouls , @rockstarbfs , @maysileeewrites , @baybieruth , @kitscutie ,  @fratboyharrysgf0201 , @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @drewsandsebastianswife , @niicole-87 , @queenofshinigamis , @innercreationflower , @nallasstuff , @scorpiolystoned , @iovemoonyy , @thatmarvelchick19 , @wearemadeofstardust0 , @regulusblackcore , @puredreamagination , @fantasticchaosthing , @becauseseaotters , @secretsicanthideanymore

okay suddenly tumblr isn't letting me tag more people than this so i just made some cuts unfortunately :') i just left the max amount of people i could whose users i recognized and see in my notifs all the time :) if you're not on here and you should be i'm so sorry!

also this taglist is closed now!! if you’d like to get a notification when i update, turn on my post notifications!! i promise i won’t spam y'all :,)

[anon-sect]

Everyone here wishing about cocks and socks, but I'm here staring at my straight best friends perfect ass, wishing there was a way I could be close to it, because I know there's no way he'd let me close to it normally. Even if it's just for an hour or two.

Picture source: @malepulchritude4

Tyson truly adored his straight best friend, Steven. He had fantasies about him, because he had such a hot body. But Steven was straight was in a relationship a young lady he has been seeing for the past three months. There was no way he was getting close to his body, even though it was Steven's ass that gave him a hard on.

One day, Tyson came up with a way he could be close to Steven's body without him even knowing about it. Ordinarily, Steven would never let him near his body. He had expressed that to him before. Tyson had drunk a durability formula while at Steven's house. He waited till He went to another room. Tyson quickly went to Steven's bedroom. He pointed the small TF Ray device at himself and fired. He was quickly reduced to a pair of underwear with his face in the rear end instead of at the front. He heard his friend calling his name, looking for him. Since he used the device on himself there was no way to revert back unless someone else used it to turn him back, but unfortunately the device also shrunk down to size with him. He watched as Steven came into his bedroom, stepping on him. He heard a slight crunch as he realized the TF Ray device was just crushed. He saw Steven pick him and place him in the underwear drawer, shutting him in darkness.

It was two days later, that Steven finally pulled him out of the drawer and put him on. He was so glad to be so close to his body at last. His only view was his ass. Tyson knew his best friend work in construction. He knew that meant sweaty underwear if he was working outside like he usually does. He didn't mind that. He was enjoying every moment of being so close to his ass without Steven even being aware of it.

All day at work, Tyson absorbed Steven's sweat. he did his best to keep him dry during the twelve hours workday. He could feel every movement that Steven made. The whole experience was a total dream come true. He wanted more days wrapped around his best friend's waist, seeing his ass the entire time. He even didn't mind that every time that Steven sat down, his face was plastered under his ass. But this was also his permanent fate. The device was destroyed two days ago. He was forever underwear around his waist.

Steven arrived home for work and found that his ass and crotch was completely dry. His underwear had absorbed all his sweat. He was amazed. None of his underwear had ever done this before. He looked at the waist band and noticed Tyson's name edged on the inside. He was curious on how that could have happened. Anyway, seeing how this pair of underwear performed, he might have to wear them every day. These just might become his favorite underwear, he thought to himself.

[hungermakesmonsters]

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Seventeen

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : PG

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Nothing too warning worthy, just some really creepy vibes at the end. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 4.5k

A/N : happy fic-friday!

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN | CHAPTER TWELVE | CHAPTER THIRTEEN | CHAPTER FOURTEEN | CHAPTER FIFTEEN | CHAPTER SIXTEEN

MASTER LIST

Chapter Seventeen

You sat in silence, too paralysed by fear to think rationally. There were things you knew you should be doing, like looking out of the window and trying to figure out where you were and, perhaps more importantly, where you were going. But, really, what did it matter? You’d always known that it would come down to this, that you’d end up his prisoner and, now, you knew for certain that no one was going to save you.

Your eyes drifted to the rear window, not looking at him, not even acknowledging his existence. 

The streets of New York all looked the same at night; all bright lights and crowds of people. The only thing you could tell was that you didn’t seem to be leaving the city. Somehow that made things worse, knowing that you were still so close to Billy but you might as well have been a million miles away. 

And, suddenly, despite your situation, Billy was all you could think about. He was probably at Josie’s by now, he’d probably realised that you were gone and that he’d never see you again. He was probably so angry.

“You’ll soon get tired of giving me the silent treatment,” he stated with a confidence that made you sick to your stomach, “but I’m not going to rush you. I have patience and we have the rest of forever.”

Forcing a breath, you tried everything you could to keep a blank face and not give into the scared helplessness that was filling you. Your gaze remained focused on the window and the streets you’d been so excited to explore only a few weeks ago. 

A sense of claustrophobia took hold the moment the limo turned into an underground parking structure, darkness filling the car and making you feel more trapped than ever. Then the car stopped.

You didn’t move, didn’t even tear your eyes away from the window.

Until he reached for you.

His cold hand on yours caused you to flinch and pull away, only to find fingers tightly gripping your good wrist.

“You’re going to behave for me,” he told you, the slightest hint of annoyance seeping into his tone.

“Or what?”

You weren’t sure what came over you in that moment but you were just as surprised by your sudden snap as he was.

“Do I have to remind you what will happen to your family?” He asked, leaning closer, gripping tighter. “Or maybe I should remind you what I’m capable of...”

“You don’t scare me anymore, Mr Drake,” you answered back, his name spat from your mouth like venom despite knowing you were only making things worse. 

“Please, you should call me Justin since you’re going to be my wife,” he offered with a smile that made you feel ill. “And you should be scared of what could happen if you try to refuse me again.”

“Am I supposed to care what happens to my parents after they sold me to you?”

You didn’t expect the laugh that followed, a sound that caused the dread in your stomach to continue to build.

“And what about Irene? You still care about her, right?”

The sound of your sister’s name on his lips was almost enough to cause your heart to stop. It was a lie, it had to be. She’d been gone for years, no one knew where she was or how to find her.

“You’re lying.” You decided to call his bluff.

He let go of your arm to reach into his pocket and pull out his phone. A moment later you felt bile rise in the back of your throat at the picture he showed you. It had been years since you’d seen her, but there was no mistaking that it was your older sister. The sickening feeling only continued to increase as he started to swipe through pictures; pictures of a family, of two young children and a telltale bump on her belly.

“If you’d prefer I could take what’s owed me from her instead, along with your nephews and your unborn niece.” He put the phone away, no longer needing it to threaten you. He’d made his point.

“You’re a monster.”

He laughed again.

“Oh, darling, you have no idea.” He leaned to open the door and then gave a wave of his hand, indicating that he wanted you to move. “It’s up to you whether we do this the easy way or the hard way.”

For a few seconds you remained completely still, defiant.

Then you moved.

What choice did you have? You knew he could bend you to his will if he wanted to, you knew he could hurt you and those closest to you. More than that, you knew that you were completely alone. No one was going to look for you. No one was coming to your rescue.

“Good choice,” you heard him mutter as he followed you out of the limo.

You bristled at the touch of his hand against your lower back, guiding you towards the elevator but you moved regardless, knowing better than to think you could outrun a vampire in the gloomy parking lot.

The elevator doors slid shut, trapping you with him and his driver, watching as he swiped a key card for the penthouse floor. Your heart lurched along with the elevator and, despite wanting to remain steely and unphased by the situation, you found yourself pulling your arms across your chest.

It was only then that you realised your suitcase was nowhere to be seen. Try as you might, you couldn’t remember what had happened to it. It had been with you when you left Josie’s but then you’d walked into Krista and -

And after that, everything was hazy.

“Where are my things?” You asked. “I had a suitcase.”

“Gone. You don’t need it,” he answered.

Your chest tightened, squeezing out a breath. Your eyes fixed forward, unblinking, not wanting to show him how upset you were. You weren’t bothered about your things, about your purse or phone, but your heart was breaking over the stuffed beagle that meant so much to you, the last little piece of Billy that you had.

“I want it,” you demanded defiantly. 

“Why?” He asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

“Because it’s mine. If you want me to stay here and not cause problems, then you need to find it.” You glared at him as he spoke, as if there was really anything you could do to hurt him. 

He seemed disinterested but shrugged before giving his driver a glance. The man nodded, understanding his orders without a word even passing between them. Though, by now, you knew it was probably too late. You’d probably never see Bill the Beagle again.

As he led you into the penthouse suite, his driver disappeared back into the elevator, but you weren’t so naive as to think that you were alone with him. He’d have his goons somewhere near, in case he needed them. If you wanted to even think about trying to get away from him again, you were going to have to bide your time.

Your stomach dropped when you were led into a bedroom. You lingered in the doorway, leaving as much space between you and him as you could and, of course, he noticed.

“There’s no need to be shy,” he told you, barely holding back a smirk.

“I’m not being shy,” you answered back. 

His gaze darkened.

“I can’t say that I like this new attitude you seem to have developed. I can see now why William Russo had to resort to physical means to keep you in line,” he stated, gesturing at your broken arm.

“You don’t know anything about Billy,” you snapped through gritted teeth.

“Oh, Billy is it?” He asked, looking at you like he could look right through you, like he could tell every little thought in your head, and he didn’t like what he saw. “Got close to him, did you?”

You felt your cheeks start to burn while your hands clenched to fists at your side, and he noticed it all.

“More than that?” He asked, though he didn’t need to hear an answer. “You’re lucky I’m not a jealous man, otherwise I might have taken it out on poor dear Billy. But, then, why should I be jealous of a vampire who likes to play with his food?” 

“You know nothing about it or him.”

“Oh, I know plenty,” he answered back. “Enough to know that he’ll have a new girl in his employ, bleeding for him by the end of the week and probably in his bed just as quick, just like he replaced your friend Krista...”

You shook your head, insolent, even though some part of you wondered if he was right. Perhaps Lissa had already put out an advertisement for your replacement.

But you weren’t given time to linger on the thought. He closed the distance between you, his cold fingers grasping your chin, turning your head one way and then the other as he inspected your neck.

“Did he bite you?” He asked and you stayed silent, so he resorted to threats. “Do I have to strip you and check for myself?”

The threat was enough to break you. “No. He didn’t bite me.”

“Good. Now get changed out of those clothes, so we can have supper and discuss our future together.” A wave of his hand led your gaze to an outfit that had been set out for you on the bed.

----------------

“Why didn’t she tell me?” Billy asked as if he thought Karen might have some magic answer to explain everything that was going on.

She’d explained about Madani, about the questions the Homeland agent had about Billy, as well as the warning that she’d offered outside the hospital. But she only knew what you had shared with her and the little that Madani had been willing to say, and it wasn’t a lot. 

And it certainly wasn’t enough for Billy.

“I don’t know, I guess because she didn’t believe it, she didn’t think it was worth worrying you with it,” Karen offered, lifting her glass and taking a slow drink.

Billy and Frank had asked around, hoping someone had seen you while Karen called Madani, but the most they got was from a drunk who thought you might have gotten into a limousine with friends. By the time they sat to wait for the Homeland agent, Billy was crawling out of his skin.

“And you’re sure she didn’t believe it?” He asked, again trying to get an answer that he knew Karen couldn’t possibly know.

“Well, she saw Krista, didn’t she?” Frank offered. “Hard to think you killed someone who’s still walkin’ around.”

“But, what if -” he started and stopped as Karen dared to reach across the table, placing a hand on his arm.

“Billy, she didn’t leave because she thought you’d done something wrong,” she offered.

“No, she left because I’m like... this...”

Frank bristled at his side but didn’t say anything, though Karen could tell just how much effort it took for him to bite his tongue. She’d seen them have that argument before, and she’d been the one left to console Frank afterwards.

“We’ll find her, Billy,” Karen tried again, pulling back her hand.

“I just -” he started but stopped the moment he noticed a woman in a suit approaching them, eyeing him with very obvious suspicion.

Karen’s eyes followed Billy’s, and she quickly stood up.

“Agent Madani.”

“Ms Page,” she greeted Karen before uncomfortably eyeing Billy and Frank.

“Something’s happened and we need your help,” Karen tried to explain, waving a hand, trying to get Madani to sit. 

Between the three of them, they explained what had happened as far as they knew, up to the point where they found your suitcase on the sidewalk. An uncomfortable silence fell while Madani took it all in.

“How can you be sure she didn’t just abandon it?” Madani asked, glancing at the case.

“She wouldn’t do that,” Billy answered, his hand resting on the stuffed beagle. “Why would she leave her phone and purse?”

Madani looked at him for a few moments, saying nothing.

“And how do I know that any of this is true?” She finally asked. “How do I know that this isn’t some elaborate ruse? How do I know she isn’t dead somewhere and all of this is to stop me from asking questions later on?”

“I didn’t kill her. I haven’t killed anyone. I -” Billy started to snap.

“Bill,” Frank warned, silencing him.

“You’ve got a badge, right?” Karen asked. “The store across the street has got a security camera pointed at the street, you can take a look at the last hour and see if we’re telling the truth or not.”

Frank struggled to fight back a grin, nudging Karen with his elbow, impressed with her. Madani on the other hand, seemed a little less enthusiastic. 

“It’s not that simple, I’d need a warrant, and -”

“We don’t have time -” Karen started.

“Fuck this,” Billy muttered, getting to his feet.

Frank followed suit. “What’re you doin’, Bill?” 

“I’m going to get the security footage myself,” he answered.

“Hey, if you think I’m going to sit back while you commit a crime -” Madani was on her feet a second later.

“The more time we waste, the harder it’s going to be to find her,” Billy snapped. “And I’m not going to lose her. You can either help or you can stay out of my way, but I’m warning you, Agent Madani, I’m not someone you want as an enemy.”

Without another word, he started towards the door, Madani and Frank following after while Karen opted to hang back with your suitcase.

Billy made his way across the street, not caring if he was followed; he was determined to find out what happened, with or without help. With the way he was feeling, he’d tear the store owner apart if he even tried to get in his way. And Frank seemed to realise that. It was why he didn’t let Billy get more than a few feet ahead of him.

And Madani followed because she was almost hoping that he’d do something to prove her right about him.

“How we doin’ this then?” Frank asked just outside the little corner store, stopping Billy in his tracks. 

“That’s up to Agent Madani,” Billy answered, glaring at the Homeland agent.

For a few seconds she looked at the two vampires, hating that she was being put on the spot but realising that there was nothing that she could do to stop them from looking at the footage one way or another.

“Fine, wait here,” she answered, as she moved to step past Billy.

“What? If you think I’m -” Billy was silenced by Frank’s hand on his shoulder.

Madani waited for a beat before entering the store alone.

The bell over the door chimed, signalling her arrival to the young guy behind the counter who looked up from his phone for a split-second before dropping his gaze again. Madani strode towards the counter, reaching into her jacket for her badge and ID. For a few seconds she didn’t say anything, instead she listened to the faint sounds coming from the assistant's phone.

‘If vampire’s keep taking all the wealth and making it so honest, hard working humans can’t find a decent job that pays a decent wage -”

She cleared her throat, having heard all she needed to. Anti-vampire sentiment was still widespread and there were plenty of online commentators willing to try to make a quick buck from it, and in this situation, it was something she could use to her advantage.

“Agent Madani, Homeland Security,” she stated. The kid looked ready to shit himself at the sight of her badge. “I’m going to need to see the CCTV footage from the front of the store for the last couple of hours.”

“I -” for a moment he struggled to find the words, “- I think I’d need to ask my boss.”

“Is he here right now?”

“No, he lives in Jersey...”

Madani let out a sigh, letting the kid see her frustration.

“Listen, I’ll level with you, I’m tracking a dangerous vampire,” she told him and saw a flicker of anger on his face. “I think they’ve hurt a lot of people, a lot of young women about your age...”

“Fucking bloodsuckers,” he muttered.

“If I could see that footage, I might be able to catch him and, if I do...” she shrugged, “well, there’d be nothing to stop you from posting the whole thing online. I hear you can make a lot of money with stuff like this.”

Madani could practically see dollar signs lighting up behind his eyes. At any other time it might have bothered her just how easily influenced the kid was, but time was of the essence and she needed to know if Russo was lying to her. 

“Yeah, okay,” the kid relented, “it’s in the back here.” 

He gave a quick glance around the store, making sure it was still empty before showing her into the backroom. The set up was hardly state of the art, but it was easy enough to use - in fact, she’d used several similar systems in the past, so it didn’t take her long to scrub through the video and find the exact moment that you left Josie’s. The picture quality wasn’t brilliant and the poor lighting on the street didn’t help, but you were easy enough to spot with your suitcase.

Madani watched as someone deliberately stepped into your path before taking you by the arm and leading you towards a waiting limousine. She managed to get half of the licence plate of the limo and snapped a quick photo of the blurry figure with her phone while the kid’s back was turned, then she stood.

“Is it on there?” He asked.

“No,” she answered, forcing another sigh, “looks like the bastard managed to slip by just out of range of the camera.”

His disappointment was palpable.

“But that isn’t to say that he won’t come back,” Madani offered, “so it’d be best if you didn’t mention this to anyone, otherwise you might spook him and... well, I wouldn’t want to see you charged with obstruction after you’ve been so helpful.” 

He nodded and she didn’t waste any time in making her excuses to get out of there.

Billy was pacing by the time she stepped back outside, both men seemed to be engaged in a heated debate about something, and it looked as though Russo was on the losing end of it.

“All I’m sayin’ is -”

“What did you find out?” Billy asked, ignoring Frank and quickly refocusing all of his attention on Madani.

“I’m not sure,” Madani stated, pulling out her phone, “she left the bar and someone met her outside before leading her to a limousine. There wasn’t a struggle but... something didn’t seem right...”

“You think someone was compellin’ her?” Frank asked.

“Maybe. I can’t be sure. I got a partial plate and I’m going to call in some favours to run it, see if I can figure out who owns the limo and where it went,” Madani explained before holding up her phone to the men, showing the blurry image she’d captured. “But, while we wait, we should try to figure out who this is.”

“Fuck,” Billy grit out almost instantly.

“Goddamnit,” Frank let out a second later.

“Well, that was quicker than expected. Care to fill me in?” Madani asked.

“I knew I should’ve killed her,” Billy muttered, forcing an uneven breath, struggling to stay in control of himself.

“It’s Krista Dumont, alive and well, and still pissin’ everyone off,” Frank answered, though his gaze stayed on Billy. “You went lookin’ for her, right, Bill? Know where she might be now?”

“Yeah, I know where she lives,” Billy answered, his attention quickly turning to Madani. “You wanted to know what happened to my previous employees, right? Well, you’re about to find out.”

Without another word, he started moving back towards where he’d left his car. Frank and Madani quickly followed after, the latter on her phone calling in those favours to try and track down the limo.

----------------

You were finally left alone to change, though you spent at least five minutes searching the room, looking for anything that might help you escape. As much as you’d felt resigned to this eventuality, just being around him again had panic and dread gnawing at your insides. You had to get away.

The first thing you did was check the windows, despite already knowing that you were too high up to even consider it an option. In fact, the penthouse suite was so high up that the people on the street below seemed like ants.

Next thing you checked was the room’s phone by lifting it to your ear. No dial tone. No cord connecting it to the wall. If you could get a cord from one of the other phones in the suite, you might be able to call for help. You filled away the thought for later. 

Then you checked the drawers and the wardrobe, feeling sick to your stomach when you found several outfits that were obviously for you. They looked like the sort of clothes your mother would have picked for you and not at all like the outfits you’d enjoyed wearing over the last six months. Even the dress he’d laid out on the bed for you felt uncomfortably conservative - though you supposed you should be glad he wanted you to dress that way.

Shaking your head you tried to force the thought away and concentrate on finding things that might be helpful. 

Wooden hangers could perhaps be turned into weapons but... well, that was a line you didn’t want to think about crossing until you really had to.

“Dinner is here,” you heard his voice from behind the door. “Unless you want me to come in there and dress you myself, I suggest you hurry up.” 

As much as you wanted to be stubborn, as much as you wanted to cause him as much trouble as possible, the sorry fact of the matter was that you were scared. And you had every reason to be scared. So, you gave up your search and quickly changed into the clothes that he had left for you and stepped out into the suite.

The main room was lit by lamps, creating a romantic glow that made you feel sick.

Instead of looking at him and the table, you glanced around the room, taking note of where the phone was and how close the door was. But your host seemed to realise what you were doing.

“Sit,” he ordered, pulling out a chair at the table.

You made a point of walking around him and taking a different seat.

“You’re starting to test my patience,” he remarked, taking his own seat. 

“Already?” You remarked off-handedly, reminding him of the comment he’d made not two hours ago in the limo.

“Did Billy Russo let you talk back like this?”

“He never gave me a reason to,” you answered without hesitation, despite knowing it wasn’t strictly true.

He gave a grunt of irritation before uncovering your food. You looked down at the plate, your lips curling at the sight; tuna steak and salad. While he started to eat, you simply stared down at the plate. Even though you knew you’d never see him again, let alone bleed for him, the thought of eating anything from his list of prohibited foods. It took Justin Drake  a minute to realise that you weren’t eating, and then came the frustrated sigh.

“Are you going to fight me on everything?” He asked.

“I don’t eat tuna.”

“Since when?”

“Since I decided I don’t like it.”

“Then eat the salad,” he snapped.

You took small consolation in the fact that you were already getting to him, showing him that you were going to be far more trouble than you were worth but, again, you knew better than to push too far too soon. He could hurt you. He would hurt you if he felt like it. 

Reluctantly, you began to pick at the salad with your fork, silently wondering if you’d be able to sneak any of the cutlery away from the table.

You ate in silence, neither speaking until you were both done. He’d poured you a glass of wine, but it had been left mostly untouched and, thankfully, he hadn’t thought to order dessert.

“Tomorrow we’ll be travelling home,” he informed you. “The wedding is being arranged as we speak and, by this time next week, you’ll be my wife, so you should rid yourself of any childish notions of escaping or denying me.”

“I won’t marry you.”

“Yes you will.”

“Why? Why any of this? Why me?” You asked, anger quickly starting to bubble over. “I’ll never stop fighting you, I’ll never be yours. How is any of this worth it to you?”

He just laughed at that, sitting back in his chair and lifting his wine glass to his lips, taking a slow drink before even thinking to answer you.

“Because it’s fate.”

“What?” Had you heard him correctly? Had he called it fate?

“It was never about the money - that was just to keep your parents in line - it’s always been about you, my sweet girl.” He continued to smile as your skin started to crawl. “I knew I had to have you the first time I set eyes on you.”

Your stomach continued to churn and tie itself in knots as you thought how long ago that must have been.

“Why?” You dared to ask even though you were terrified of how he might answer.

“You look just like your great-great-great-grandmother.” He paused as if he was expecting you to say something but the shock had rendered you silent. “She was like you, she refused me what should have been mine, and she paid the price.”

It felt like your blood had turned to ice in your veins, not sure exactly what he was telling you, but not wanting to ask for clarification either. You remained silent, wondering how long he’d been tormenting your family like this and if you were the first to find yourself in this situation with him. 

“I always regretted it, once she was gone I mean. I should have handled things differently, but I was young back then, barely past my first century...” he sounded almost wistful, like he was recounting a fond memory. “But then I found you. And I won’t make the same mistake twice. You will bend to my will. You will be my wife in every sense of the word and, when you’ve finally accepted your place at my side, I will give you the greatest gift imaginable.”

You didn’t have to ask to know what he was implying.

“No,” your head shook. “I don’t want to be a vampire.”

“My sweet girl, what makes you think you have a choice?”

End Note : ... I'm not even sorry about ending it like that, I'm having too much fun getting things ready for the final confrontation. I think that there's probably only two more chapters left of this one now (depending on how carried away I get with the next part), so I hope you all enjoy what I've got planned. Also I'm sorry I picked that name for the bad guy...

As ever, thank you so much for reading/liking/reblogging/screaming at me in the comments! Have a great weekend!!

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[geekgirles]

The Doll and the Dragon

Chapter 11: Intertwined

Word Count: 26,955

Read on AO3

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Chapter Summary: "Sacred Dance Day has arrived! A starry-eyed Amalia finds herself amidst all the decorations and preparations for such a momentuous occasion, both excited and worried for what the future might hold for her and her standing with the Eliatropes. Will she be able to find the perfect way to contribute? And what about Yugo? Is it possible that this year's celebration has a special meaning for him as well? And what could it be?"

At the very beginning, there was nothing. Scientists and religious leaders alike have long theorised there was only darkness, void and lifeless. A darkness so all-encompassing it couldn’t be described. It would be senseless, after all. What was the point of speaking about the vast coldness, the neverending silence, or the seeping hopelessness if none of those concepts even existed yet?

But then, nobody knows exactly when, something nothing short of miraculous happened. 

Nobody knows or will likely ever know how it happened or where they came from, but the two very first souls came into existence. Both of them beings of great power and the source of the two quintessential energies of what would later become the known universe. Both of them the other’s complete opposite in every regard. 

One of them was feminine in nature. She encompassed concepts that would later become known as ‘love’ and ‘space’, with the astonishing ability to travel to any plane through portals. Her bright, turquoise hues represented life and creation, a clear symbol of her motherly nature. She was the Great Goddess Eliatrope, the source of all wakfu in the universe, of all life and mobility. 

The other was masculine in nature. With his ethereal and evasive, yet reptilian, form, the first dragon was born. The powerful magenta of his form bore the power of destruction and stability. He was the Great Dragon, the source of all Stasis in the universe, the origin of death itself. 

Wakfu and Stasis. The two primordial energies in the universe; two sides of the same coin. The eternal balance between life and death, of endings and new beginnings alike. 

Perhaps it was because they were the only two souls in existence, or maybe it was that that old saying about how ‘opposites attract’ is indeed as old as time, or in this case, even older, but Eliatrope and the Dragon fell in love. 

With not much to do during a time when nothing was everything and everything was nothing, the two beings found themselves drawn to each other. And so, they began to dance. The more they danced, the more they loved each other, until they became intertwined, both their forms woven into one, forever sealing their fate as life and death would become inseparable from that point onwards. What death did, life couldn’t undo, and wherever death visited, life would flourish anew. 

It was from that dance and the unshakable balance it created that the Krosmoz was born. Where there used to be nothing but darkness, now were millions upon millions of shining stars, illuminating the endless vastness of space. Solid celestial bodies would become planets, patiently waiting for their time to harbour life. And the first ever souls, those that would eventually become the twelve gods and that would eventually spawn countless more, were first created.

The eternal balance between life and death had been established, and with it, its cycle could finally begin. 

“And that is why we celebrate Sacred Dance Day.” Yugo finished his retelling, leaning over the railing in Amalia’s balcony with the doll by his side. 

He couldn’t help to preen himself under her admiring gaze, shining like the stars above. Although he couldn’t take all the credit of mesmerising her to himself—the ambience had really helped. With the stellar mantle hovering overhead from where they stood at her balcony, the light coming from her room illuminating their profiles, it felt as though they had been there, witnessing the very birth of the Krosmoz. 

“Amazing…” Amalia breathed. Her full attention was on Yugo, her head resting in her palm as she listened to his tale. “I don’t think Twelvians have anything quite like it. Maybe Huppermages, but they care more about the Krosmic Balance itself than its creation…” She trailed off, her nose scrunched up in thought. 

The Eliatrope just chuckled softly and gave a helpless shrug. 

“Well, unlike the Twelvians, we Eliatropes and our dragons actually worship the Great Goddess and the Great Dragon. It’s only natural we would take certain things more seriously than them and vice versa.” As if to emphasise his point, he opened a small portal, no bigger than the palm of his hand. 

“Touché.” It was Amalia’s turn to shrug. “When did you say the celebration will take place?” 

“A week from now.” 

She blinked as realisation dawned on her. “It’s that why the entire village is decorated?” 

She’d been meaning to ask for a while now, having first taken notice of the festive ambiance one day when she was headed to the forest located at the outskirts of town, where Glip’s training took place. Between her lessons, tending to her garden, and other distractions, she never had the chance to ask. 

A wry smile made its way to her lips when he began to sheepishly rub the back of his head in that way that was so characteristically him.   

“Yes, sorry for not telling you sooner.” Her smile dimmed a little when he winced. “I meant to do it earlier, but… life got in the way.”

The doll refrained from pointing out how they had actually been spending a lot of time together lately. For some reason, there seemed to have been a shift in Yugo’s demeanour, and the rest of the Council of Six’s, too, for that matter. Everyone appeared to be more… vigilant, more alert, if that was even possible. With Yugo and Adamaï choosing to spend most of their free time with her—which, while always a welcomed thing, stoked her suspicions—, and even the guards being more attentive of what she did than ever. 

But seeing as such an important celebration was just around the corner, she shrugged it off as them simply being on edge trying to make sure everything went off without a hitch. She tried to ignore the small pang of guilt she felt when she realised her presence had probably derailed their usual plans quite a bit. 

Instead, she simply leaned closer to Yugo and put a comforting hand on top of his, and softly said, “It’s alright. Thank you for telling me. Thinking back, I should have known, seeing as I am already familiar with this piece of your history and culture.”

Even as he drew lazy circles on her skin with his thumb, his eyebrows still shot up in surprise, “You do?”

Another shrug. “From Glip and Baltazar’s classes.” In retrospect, she was a little disappointed with herself for not connecting the dots sooner. Shaking those thoughts away, she sent her friend a coy look. “So, tell me. How do you celebrate Sacred Dance Day, exactly?”

The king was only taken aback for a few seconds before he let out a puff of air that soon morphed into quiet laughter. Holding the doll’s hand in his until they were dangling from the balcony—and secretly relishing when her mesmerised eyes followed the movement and the sweetest blush lit up her cheeks—, he started, mirth shining in his eyes:

“It’s always the same, to be honest. Although that doesn't make it any less special.” He was quick to point out. 

The doll nodded. “Of course not.”

“Of course not.” His smile widened a little. “As you’ve already seen, it’s tradition to decorate our homes with silks, sheer and edged in gold, and charms carved in stone in the shape of a portal. Now that I think about it, we still have to decorate the palace—I’ll talk to Nora about it.” He added, as if thinking aloud. Then, catching himself, he went on with his explanation. “But that’s only the beginning, and it’s something we actually do before Sacred Dance Day actually arrives.

“On that day, families will spend the morning together, celebrating what life has given them. But it’s in the evening when the fun really starts.” He smiled devilishly at her, his pearly whites peeking through his lips in a way that sent butterflies to her stomach. Why, the doll didn’t know. But she did know she liked it when Yugo made her feel like that. “That’s when we all gather together around the temple, in the middle of the main square. I officially inaugurate the festivities with a little speech, and the fun begins. 

“There’s games set out for young and old alike, music fills the air, and everyone mingles and enjoys themselves. Following that, we all share a hearty dinner filled with laughter, relishing in the ironic intimacy of a full-blown party. And then, the real magic happens.”

His wording had the desired effect. Amalia’s eyes were shining with anticipation. “What do you do?”

“It’s Mina and Phaeris’ turn to lead the ceremonial aspect of the festivity.” He revealed, his tone almost conspiratorial. “They deliver this wonderful, heartfelt speech in honour of the Great Goddess and thank everyone for their offerings. And then, they lead everyone in our annual reproduction of the first Sacred Dance.”

The doll positively lit up, a dazzling smile splitting her face in two. “You guys dance! Oh, that sounds so fun! I haven’t danced since the banquet at Bonta.” 

Shyly looking away, Amalia allowed herself to get lost in the memories for a few instants. It really had been long since she last danced. Not only with Yugo—the thought making her heart ache with longing—, but herself. She remembered quite fondly those times where her father would lead a dance with her and her sisters. Those moments always filled her with a sense of peace like she hadn’t felt in a while. 

It was funny, now that she thought about it. She hadn’t realised how much she missed it until Yugo brought it up. 

Her gaze snapped back at the king in surprise when he rushed out to clarify. “Erm, well… Yes and no.” His heart dropped to his stomach when timid disappointment flashed across her face. 

“You don’t dance?”

“No, no! Of course not!” He blurted, only to throw his head back in frustration when his unfortunate wording only disheartened Amalia further. 

He rubbed his hands down his face, exasperated with himself. Ever since he realised his feelings for Amalia, he felt clumsier than ever. He took one deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly, trying to compose himself. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t explain myself properly.” He told the doll, who hung onto his every word. “What I meant to say is we do dance, only that’s actually how the night ends. Let’s just say it’s only part of our way of honouring the Great Goddess and the Great Dragon.”

“Oh. I see…” Amalia said tentatively. Her spirits lifted at the idea of getting to dance after all, the corner of her lips twitched upwards into a small smile. “Then what’s the whole picture?”

“‘The whole picture’?” Yugo repeated, tilting his head in confusion. 

“Yes, you know, if dancing’s only part of it, how do you honour Eliatrope and the Great Dragon?”

“Oh, right.” He cleared his throat and nudged her playfully. “This is actually the pièce de résistance of the whole event, Amalia, you’re going to love it.”

Giggling at his theatrics, she simply gestured with one hand for him to get on with it already. 

He chuckled. “Right. Well, as I said, Mina and Phaeris lead the whole ceremony. So once they’re done giving their speech, they lead us all to raise our hands in the air and will our wakfu to manifest.”

“Wait,” The doll interrupted him, blinking rapidly. “That’s it? You guys just create portals?”

“I never said that.” The Eliatrope chastised her lightly, booping her nose a few times to get his point across. They both averted their eyes bashfully when his actions fully registered in their minds. 

Amalia, who kept threading her fingers through her evergreen hair nervously, was the first to break the silence, “So, if you guys don’t create portals, what do you do?”

That seemed to bring Yugo back to reality, who jolted in place. He cleared his throat in an attempt to appear nonchalant, “W-what we do is we project our energy unto the night sky, and with Mina and Phaeris’ help, those wisps of wakfu are shaped into a representation of Eliatrope and the Great Dragon as they dance together.”

“Oh.” Was all Amalia could say. Because, what can you even say to that?

“And then we dance under them.” Yugo finished, already anticipating she’d want to know about that little detail in specific. 

“Good.” She nodded so resolutely that Yugo couldn’t help but snort. “Dancing is what distinguishes good parties from mediocre ones.”

“You really love to dance, don’t you?” He smirked. 

She smirked right back, though hers held a touch of mystery. “It's a Sadida thing.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Please, do.”

They managed to hold their laughter in for all of two seconds. The quiet of the night was broken by their breaking down in hysterics, with Amalia playfully shoving Yugo away when he started making faces just to make her laugh harder. All tactics that worked flawlessly, much to her chagrin. Eventually, they quieted down, although their cheeks still flushed from mirth and they were holding onto their aching stomachs. 

As his uproarious cackles faded into chuckles, Yugo wiped a tear off his eye. “You’ll have to tell me what’s so important about dancing one day.”

Hiding her giggles behind her hand, Amalia returned his affectionate gaze with a mischievous one of her own. “Maybe one day you’ll find out by yourself.”

The grin he answered with was so tender she could feel herself melt. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

The doll’s breath hitched in her throat, and she scrambled to tear her gaze away from his, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she willed her heartbeat to go back to normal. Hard as she tried, she just couldn’t understand what happened to her whenever Yugo was involved. Her mouth would dry, her heart would start thumping wildly in her ribcage like an untamed Dragoturkey, she would be both incredibly comfortable and bashful in his presence, and she was constantly flushing like an idiot. 

At first she thought that was normal between friends. Yugo was quite literally the first person she interacted with outside of Inglorium, where she would spend most of her time with her father and sisters, anyway. She assumed all those butterflies in her stomach were the usual elation from making a new friend, someone to spend your time with and to cherish. 

But the more people she met, the more she began to doubt her theory. 

Even though it was true she still spent most of her free time with Yugo, she had also been branching out to other people in the span of the last few months. People she felt comfortable with and, if not friends, she believed she could at least call acquaintances. People, who, regardless of the appropriate terminology to refer to them by, welcomed her with open arms. 

Adamaï, Baltazar, Glip (eventually), the children, Chibi, Grougaloragran, Kérubim and Atcham, Alibert and Ruel… Nora was difficult to define: Amalia had the feeling the pink-eyed Eliatrope held no grudges against her, but she was bound by her loyalty to her brother, who very much hated her. All that led the doll to think of her relationship with Nora as bittersweet, even if it was no fault of hers.

She shook those thoughts away. She refused to let Efrim damper her good mood yet again. Especially when she still had much to figure out.

The truth was, she enjoyed their company, and she wanted to believe the feeling was mutual between them. And yet, despite their supposed friendship, she certainly didn’t feel the same way about any of them as she felt about Yugo. 

To say the questions left her flummoxed would be an understatement. Why was Yugo so different from everybody else? Why was it that only he could lift her spirits up when she was lost in despair, at the same time as the idea of losing him felt like a knife in her heart? Would this have anything to do with what her father said about suitors and brides—?

“A little tofu told me you had a hand in the creation of the Magnolias.” Yugo’s voice cut through her pondering like a knife. Suddenly, she didn’t remember what she’d be wondering about in the first place. 

Blinking blankly as she regained her bearings, all Amalia could offer was a weak, “Huh?”

“Chibi and Grougal.” He clarified. “They told me all about the Magnolias.” He smirked, leaning his head against his knuckles as he scooted a little closer to her side. “Gotta say, I’m not all that surprised. It definitely has your mark.”

Feeling shy under his praiseful look, Amalia tried to play it off by turning her back to the balcony, her hands resting at both sides of her on the railing. “Yeah, well. After we almost died in a work-induced fire, I’d say anything that doesn’t involve being burnt to a crisp is a vast improvement, don’t you think?”

Yugo’s eyes widened like saucers, his very being trembling in alarm. 

“Come again?” He choked out. 

But Amalia didn’t elaborate. “But really, it was a joint effort.” She waved the mere notion off dismissively. “After Chibi and Grougal explained how the Wik-Fi Network worked and their issues with finding replacements for their usual materials here, all I really did was provide them with the means necessary to achieve their goal. I’m sure they would have managed just fine even without me.”

It was clear Amalia wasn’t going to assuage his fears concerning the very real possibility that she was almost burned alive, so he chose to stow his questions for later. He’d have a word with Chibi and Grougal on proper safety measures and on finally adding some darned windows and sprinkler system to their workshop later. For now, he contented himself with squeezing the doll’s hand in his, his heart fluttering at the adorable squeak of surprise she let out at the contact. 

“Nevertheless, it was a success.” He told her softly. “I know for a fact they were struggling with it, and thanks to you, my people can finally communicate just like they did back home. It’s a small taste of familiarity in a whole new world, but a needed one nonetheless.”

There! There right there was the source of her turmoil! 

Oh, how in Sadida’s name was she supposed to make peace with the mysterious yet exhilarating way Yugo made her feel, if he kept making her little Ogrine heart race with just a few sweet words?! 

It was downright torturous at this point. An agonisingly sweet torture. 

Her mouth feeling like cotton (something she usually only experienced in her rag doll form), it was a miracle when she finally managed to change the topic. “So…um…” She coughed awkwardly. “Uh, anything else that you’d like to tell me about Sacred Dance Day?”

Mimicking her position, his back now to the railing as well, Yugo just shrugged nonchalantly. “Not really, no. That’s everything important.”

She had just given a noncommittal nod when he rushed out to add, “No, wait. Sorry. Now that I think about it, do you think you could help us decorate the palace? My siblings and I have had our hands full lately and couldn’t do it until now.”

She beamed at him. “Sure thing!” Then, she let out a wistful sigh. “Anything to get to experience Sacred Dance Day, even if it’s only a little and from my room.”

The king raised a confused eyebrow. “What are you talking about? Amalia, you’re invited to the celebration. You know that, right?”

With a small gasp, her whole demeanour lit up like the stars above them. “Really?!”

His own expression softened. “Yes, really.” He surprised even himself when his body moved on its own accord and closed the distance between them just so, enough so their faces were one breath away from each other as he whispered, “That is, if you want to.”

Amalia didn’t even have to think about her answer. Thank Sadida, because with Yugo at such close proximity she wouldn’t have been able to form a single coherent thought even if she wanted to. “Of course I’d love to go.”

And then, right before they could close the distance between them completely, a jolt went through both of them, causing them to all but jump away from each other, their cheeks on fire and hearts hammering in their chests. Whatever moment they had was now lost. 

“G-great!” The Eliatrope said, his voice cracking embarrassedly. “T-then, I’ll… I’ll see you there!”

“You bet!” Amalia squeaked, wishing a carnivorous plant would swallow her whole when she realised she had just used finger-guns with Yugo, like some awkward loser with no social skills. 

The king was saved from further embarrassing himself when he remembered something important. 

“Oh, just one last thing.”

“Hm?”

“Since this is actually quite an important day for us, it’s tradition that we all dress to the nines for the occasion. And since you’ll be participating too, I guess that includes you.”

“I see… I suppose, then, that I can’t exactly wear my adventuring outfit to the ceremony.” Amalia guessed.

“Considering my sisters would kill me if I let you wear nothing short of regal to the festivities, I’m afraid that no, you cannot.”

Her nose scrunched up in thought for a moment as she held her chin between her thumb and index finger. “I suppose I could always come up with something else.” She splayed her hands in surrender, though her stance was resolute. “I’m sorry, Yugo, but I categorically refuse to wear the same dress as my arrival or the banquet at Bonta for something as important as Sacred Dance Day. It’s a matter of principle.” She asserted, arms crossed over her chest, indicating she wouldn’t budge on the matter. 

“Never crossed my mind.” He said instead, honestly taking her by surprise. “I was actually thinking along the lines of sending the royal tailor to your chambers sometime this week so he can sew a new, custom-made outfit for you from scratch.”

The Divine Doll’s reaction was instantaneous. No sooner had the words left the Eliatrope King’s mouth, did she begin to squeal excitedly and to thank him profusely. As she prattled on and on about all the ideas she already had for her dress—because it had to be a dress, she wouldn’t take no for an answer—and that she wanted to discuss with the tailor as soon as he arrived, Yugo was rendered helpless in her presence. 

As Amalia excitedly shared her plans with him, all he could do was stare adoringly down at her and privately think about his own reasons for looking forward to Sacred Dance Day. 

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

Amalia couldn’t help but find it ironic how, despite being the daughter of a literal god, that is to say, an object of profound, spiritual admiration with festivities revolving around the very notion of worshipping him, she actually knew very little about what honouring a god entailed. 

Mainly, she had been completely blindsided to find out part of celebrating Sacred Dance Day was a mandatory holiday period where businesses would either close early, or take the day off entirely. Same with Glip and Baltazar’s classes. Apparently, it was tradition to relax and spend the week preceding the festivity with one’s family, even when that meant putting a temporary stop to the cultivation of knowledge and physical training. 

The very next day after the holiday was also free, since the Eliatropes would be too tired from partying to be productive. 

And that is why Amalia suddenly found herself with little to do. With her afternoons now free from having to train (although Glip had strongly encouraged his students to work on what they’d learned the very last class before their little vacation period), the Divine Doll found herself with a lot of time in her hands. Time she mostly dedicated to her garden, but there was only so much she could do before Qilby and Shinonomé could finally pay her that one visit where they were supposed to share what kind of plants their clinic needed from her. 

Normally, she would have taken advantage of her nearly empty schedule to spend more time with Yugo, and hopefully figure out what that feeling she experienced around him was at last; but he and the rest of the Council were busy preparing for their roles to play in the upcoming celebration. 

According to the palace staff, while the king and Adamaï were busy overseeing everything, Mina and Phaeris barely left the temple. They would depart at the break of dawn, and return well after sunset, when the sky was pitch black except for the moon and stars illuminating the night. 

While a part of the doll told her that was the Ochre Twins’ responsibility and they knew what they were doing, she still couldn’t help but fear for their health. She just hoped they ate and slept well enough. 

All in all, despite her undeniable excitement over getting to witness what Sacred Dance Day was like firsthand, Amalia would be lying if she said she wasn’t a little bored from the lack of activity. 

Hence why, despite her reservations, she jumped at the chance to help Nora decorate the palace when she came knocking on the door that afternoon and told her Yugo had asked her to go look for her. To be honest, she had almost forgotten about that. 

And that was how she found herself carrying boxes filled with delicate fabrics and ornate decorations all around the palace. Her arms ached from the weight, but it was better than tracing the murals on her wall for the umpteenth time. At this point she was probably capable of drawing those paintings herself with her eyes closed…

The two women’s efforts were currently focused on decorating the large, majestic columns lining up the main hall that led to the throne room. Amalia couldn’t help but be grateful that Chibi and Grougal’s common sense hadn't been abandoned for this wing of the building and they didn’t forget to add windows. That way, she could just summon her vines from outside for help. That made everything so much easier. 

She was perched on a ramble, its ends wrapped snugly around her form like a harness, as it guided her along the height of the column she was currently working on, draping the fabrics and hanging the stone-made ornaments along the polished marble. Another pair of thinner, more manoeuvrable vines acted as a second pair of arms, rummaging through the boxes on the floor in search of more materials to hand over to her whenever her current stash ran out. 

Nora completed the same task through the use of her square-shaped portals. But when the pink-wearing Eliatrope had offered to do the same for Amalia, the doll had politely but adamantly refused. At her swift yet resolute response, Nora couldn’t help but feel grateful for the mask covering her face—she wouldn’t have been able to hide her amused grin otherwise. 

Thank goodness she hadn’t offered to carry the doll around as she floated in the air! She had a feeling that would have ended up doing Amalia in for good. And something told her Yugo wouldn’t take it kindly if she upset the Divine Doll, especially not after the shocking discovery he and Ad made. 

Securing the knot joining two different pieces of silk together, Nora’s light mood darkened slightly as the reminder sobered her up. She sneaked a glance towards Amalia, taking in the way her tongue stuck out cutely as she directed all her focus on hanging one of the stone portals. 

It was both astonishing and relieving to see how she remained unaware of the going-ons around her, especially when she seemed to be at the centre of it all. 

Once their king and his dragon twin had found out about their mysterious intruder, they wasted no time calling an emergency council meeting and warning their siblings of the possible danger in their midst. They didn’t even flinch before the Council’s scandalised reactions upon finding out their—or rather, her— target had been Amalia. Even as Efrim set out to exteriorise his disapproval of the Divine Doll as per usual, it was Adamaï who promptly shut down his attempts, pointedly reminding him their top priority right now was ensuring her safety and with it, that of their people’s.

For his part, Yugo didn’t waste a second in organising everyone so Amalia would be watched over at all times. Whoever was in charge of patrolling each week would keep an eye out on her chambers in particular, and the rest of the Council was to find a way to remain close to her. For the most part, it didn’t pose a problem for anyone, since whenever Yugo himself wasn’t there by the Sadida Doll’s side, her training sessions with Glip and Baltazar meant they had it covered. But now that classes were out due to the upcoming holiday, they had to get creative. 

Asking Amalia to help out with the preparations for Sacred Dance Day was an idea equal parts ingenious and subtle, Nora admitted to herself. That way, Amalia remained blissfully unaware of the potential danger she was in, at the same time as it allowed for whoever was in charge of guarding her to remain close without their behaviour coming off as suspicious or unusual.

Bright pink eyes blinked rapidly as the doll’s sweet voice broke her out of her thoughts, “So, I’ve been meaning to ask… Why fabrics?”

“I beg your pardon?” Nora raised an eyebrow, uncomprehending. 

From where she was, held securely by her vine, Amalia held up the piece of silk in her hands, “Why do you use fabrics to decorate for Sacred Dance Day? I can understand the ornaments, since they’re clearly modelled after your portals, but this…?” She trailed off meaningfully. 

Eyes widening slightly in understanding, Nora nodded. “It’s in honour of Eliatrope.”

It was Amalia’s turn to blink, confused. “But isn’t that what the portal decorations are for?”

The pink-eyed Eliatrope couldn’t help but laugh lightly at her earnest confusion. “They represent different things.” She said simply. Pointing her open palm at the box on the floor near her, she summoned a small portal, a piece of silk and a stone ornament landing neatly into her outstretched palm. “The portal represents the Great Goddess’ power, her gift to us; whereas the silk handkerchiefs represent the goddess herself.”

The doll’s inquisitive eyes darted back and forth between the objects in her companion’s hands and her placid smile, her mind scrambling to understand what she was trying to say, until… “Okay, I give up. How does a handkerchief represent a goddess?”

“Don’t masks represent your father?” Nora shot back knowingly, only for Amalia’s swift counter to cause her smirk to drop from her face. 

“My father always wears a mask. It’s practically his trademark. And with good reason, too—anyone who stares at Sadida’s bare face suffers a fate worse than death.”

There was a moment where all the Eliatrope woman could do was openly gape, either at the revelation or the nonchalant fashion in which the doll uttered it, she wasn’t sure. In the end, all she could say was, “I suppose you learn something new every day…”

“So…” Amalia trailed off meaningfully. 

Nora, recovering from her previous shock, raised an eyebrow, “So?”

“So…” The doll repeated pointedly. “How do silk handkerchiefs represent your mother?”

The other girl just chuckled. “Our mother is different from the other gods in a lot of ways. For starters, she lacks a humanoid body.”

Even though a part of Amalia couldn’t help but wonder how in the World of Twelve Nora knew that when she was pretty sure she had never met the twelve gods, she opted to stow that away for later and asked, “Then what does she look like?” 

Her face scrunched up in confusion when Nora pulled a face of her own, making a so-so gesture with her hand. 

“To be completely honest, like a porcelain doll’s face with a giant, bright blue wig.” She nodded solemnly when it was the Sadida Doll’s turn to pull a face. “Yeah, I know.”

“But I thought a god’s followers were supposed to take after them in terms of powers and appearance? You certainly inherited her powers, but you guys look… Well, like that,” she pointed meaningfully to all of Nora, “while she looks like, well, like you said…” She finished lamely, looking down while fidgeting with her hands. 

The Eliatrope just smirked coyly. “That coming from the doll whose father always wears a mask while his followers are essentially green-haired, dark-skinned humans.” She was quick to point out. 

Amalia splayed her hands in surrender. “True, true. There’s no denying you have a point there. But Sadida men do have their faces covered by their manes, and we are essentially tree people, my father’s domain. By contrast, you don’t even have blue hair, that’s the Feca.”

“Touché.” Then, seemingly processing her words, she tilted her head, unsure. “What’s up with that? Isn’t their goddess a brunette?”

The doll shrugged. “Beats me.”

There was a moment where an awkward silence fell over them, neither of them knowing what to say or how to continue with their bizarre conversation. At least, until Amalia broke the quiet:

“...if it’s any consolation, Xelor’s face is on his chest. When he moves his pectorals, his eyes blink.”

“Ew.” Nora oh-so-eloquently replied. She absent-mindedly thought back to the Xelor royals and aristocrats they met at Bonta. Even with their bodies covered in armour and enough bandages that her first instinct was to wonder what kind of horrible accident they had been in, from the look of things, that was still nothing compared to their patron god’s eldritch qualities. 

“I know.” Not sure if that little titbit of gossip had been of help or only made things worse, the doll just pushed through, hoping to have her curiosity sated so they could both finally move on from the awkward conversation. 

“So!” She and Nora both winced, having been a tad louder than she intended. She tried again at a more acceptable volume. “So you use silk to represent the Great Goddess’ more…ethereal form?” She offered. 

“In a way.” Nora said, thankful for the much needed change of topic. She turned her focus back to the piece of fabric in her hands, her fingers delicately running along its surface, the material making a rustling noise under her fingertips. “As you can imagine, Eliatrope’s unique physical appearance sets her apart from the rest of the gods.”

Even though the doll’s inner thoughts commented dryly on the fact that she was probably hairier than even Ecaflip, on the outside she was smart enough to muse, “I suppose that’s true, yes.”

“Unlike the twelve gods, who all have at least one pair of arms and a physical body, the goddess Eliatrope has neither—her vast mantle of hair stands in for both.” Taking advantage of Amalia’s momentary state of shock—and mentally lamenting she couldn’t see the look on her face, with her wide eyes and gaping mouth—, the pink-eyed council member continued. “That’s what the silken handkerchiefs are supposed to represent; her hair.” Floating closer to a still bewildered Amalia, she traced the fabric with her fingers as she explained, “See? That’s why it’s a rich shade of turquoise with golden edges, because that’s how our mother looks.” Then, softly, so softly the doll wouldn’t have heard her if she hadn’t been paying attention, she added, “It’s a small comfort during these trying times; a way to say she is still with us.”

Brown eyes softening, empathising with the meaning behind the tradition, though not without a small pang of longing as she thought about her own divine father, Amalia called after Nora as she went back to decorate her side of the hall. “Has it been long since you last saw your mother?”

While she posed her question hoping for Nora to speak fondly of their mother and assure her she was always looking over them, Amalia couldn’t shake this cynical feeling at the back of her head, gnawing at her with the possibility of the Great Goddess Eliatrope being as neglectful to her children as Kérubim, Atcham, and Harebourg accused their parents of being. A sinking feeling rooted itself in her heart when the Eliatrope’s words failed to assuage her fears.

“Since shortly before the war with the Mechasms.” She admitted, her voice distant as she once again lost herself in a sea of painful memories that threatened to drag her down below and drown her. Chancing a glance towards the doll, she winced at her disheartened expression and braced herself for the uncomfortable questions she would have to shut down. She really wasn’t in the mood to think about the war right now. 

Only to be pleasantly surprised when all the doll asked instead was, “Do you miss her?” 

The question still hurt, as it unintentionally opened old wounds that had yet to heal, but it was still far more manageable. 

“I do. We all do, really.” She sighed, and for a moment it appeared as if she alone carried the entire weight of the world on her tiny shoulders. “She was our mother, and we all loved her deeply, almost as much as she loved us. Though I will admit we in particular shared a special bond with her, one unlike any of our siblings’.”

“Oh, you were closer to her than the rest of your siblings?”

“Yes, but even our bond was nothing compared to her and Efrim’s.”

As soon as the name rolled off her tongue, the two of them stiffened up, the air around them becoming charged with unspoken tension. 

Pink eyes frantic at her slip of the tongue, Nora turned to face Amalia, her gaze searching hers, and she cursed herself when she found her rooted to her spot, completely frozen yet her whitened knuckles showing she was holding onto her rambles for dear life. The Eliatrope girl could feel the knot forming at the pit of her stomach at the sight of the doll’s bark-like complexion blanching, gaining an almost deathly parlour. 

Who could blame her? Her dragon twin had become off-limits as a topic of conversation between them ever since their last encounter. 

Rushing to her side, Nora reached out to the Divine Doll but never made contact with her skin, her hand hanging almost uselessly in the air as she tried to apologise. “Amalia, I… I’m so sorry. I…I mean… Forget I said anything. I just…”

As if awoken from a dream, Amalia began to blink rapidly, slowly but surely regaining her bearings. Even though she still looked mildly surprised when she took notice of the pink-clad Eliatrope’s close proximity, jolting slightly in her makeshift seat, her shock melted into understanding at the sight of her. 

Taking pity on the poor girl’s frazzled state, knowing full well it was due to feeling guilty over accidentally putting her on edge, the Sadida Doll offered her a small but kind smile as she gently lowered her outstretched hand. 

“Nora, I’m fine. Don’t beat yourself up about this.” She let out a self-deprecating laugh. “It’s my own fault for being so sensitive when it comes to… your twin.”

“But—.”

“Not ‘buts’.” She told her kindly but sternly, sending her a look. “Besides, I should really stop being so on edge around him, lest we risk Yugo catching wind that something is definitely wrong between us.”

While she tried to imbue her voice with some humour, it rang hollow even to her ears, causing her to wince and to avert her gaze. While she absentmindedly rubbed her arm for comfort, accidentally dishevelling one of her wristbands, Nora remained afloat, biting down on her lip behind her magenta mask and fidgeting with her fingers nervously, almost too afraid to ask. 

At last, she mustered up the courage to voice the difficult question right at the tip of her tongue, begging for release. “Speaking of Yugo… Does he, you know, know?”

Amalia’s voice was distant yet unwavering. “No. He doesn’t know.” Nora flinched when she set her searching brown eyes on her. “Isn’t that what we agreed on? That we couldn’t tell Yugo what happened so as to not worry him when he’s already so busy?”

It was Nora’s turn to break eye contact, feeling uncomfortable in her own skin for some reason. “Yeah, that’s right.”

Once again, silence settled between them, heavy and oppressing as it weighed heavily over both women. Their minds elsewhere, Amalia was completely taken aback when she suddenly registered the lack of light coming from the windows. Frowning in confusion, she turned her head in search of the sun casting its rays down on them, only to start when all she saw instead was the faint glow of the moonlight and far away stars. 

They must have been working on this area of the palace longer than they realised. 

Hovering behind her, Nora must have reached the same conclusion. Her heavy sigh drew the doll’s attention back to her, only to see her uselessly trying to tuck a strand of pinkish white hair behind her covered ear right before she stretched, making her bones pop!, and turned around. She watched her go even as she called out to her over her cloaked shoulder, “We should really hurry up and finish this hall already.”

Despite the emotions brewing inside her, inside both of them, Amalia acquiesced. She guided her verdant helping hands in their task of finding and handing her more decorations, but the faint light of the moon wasn’t helping. Even when her sight had finally adjusted to the darkness, she still had to squint her eyes as she tried to tie the knots connecting the pieces of silk, or when she searched for the nails she could hang her stone portals from. 

Noticing Amalia’s struggle—most likely due to her constant grunts of effort and frustration—, Nora peered over at her from over her shoulder. For a moment, she stared questioningly at the doll and the trouble she seemed to be having all of a sudden, not really comprehending, until one last glance over the hall helped her realise the relative darkness they were working in surely had something to do with it. 

Perhaps out of the two of them it was Efrim who possessed night vision, but one didn’t get to carry out as many successful night patrols as Nora had under her metaphorical belt if they couldn’t manage themselves in the dark. That was why she hadn’t even taken notice of the fact that the torches lining up the walls had yet to be lit up since it was still early for the guards’ night shift. 

Shaking her head fondly at the struggling doll, she chose to take pity on her and be merciful for once. “Amalia, do you want me to light up the sconces so you can see?”

“That’s alrig—.” Amalia began to say, only to cut herself off and do a double-take when her companion’s choice of words began to sink in. “Wait, how come you don’t have a problem with it?”

She could only gape as the Eliatrope shrugged. “I’m used to working in the dark.” 

“Care to elaborate on that?” Amalia deadpanned, bemused. 

A special kind of outrage rooted itself into her heart when all Nora did in response to that was smirk. 

“Nope.” She said, popping the ‘p’.

Still gaping and feeling personally affronted for some reason, Amalia huffed and, arms crossed over her chest, she turned back around. “Fine. Whatever. See if I care.” Much to her chagrin, her face heated up with indignation when she heard Nora snickering behind her.

As much as Nora would have loved to laugh at Amalia’s haughty little number—if it were up to her, she would have been going at it for hours—, she knew they had a job to finish. Although she supposed there was no real rush, seeing that as long as Amalia had someone near watching over her, she was still technically fulfilling her mission of keeping her safe. 

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to sober up a little. “Amalia, are you sure you don’t want me to light up a fire or something?” She actually flinched at the unamused glare the doll sent her over her shoulder. 

“After your brothers and I almost died in one the other day?” She deadpanned dryly. “No, thank you.” Wincing at the reminder, Nora was about to apologise when Amalia, a mischievous grin on her face, cut her off. “Besides, I got this covered.”

“Huh?”

Face scrunched up in confusion even behind her mask, the pink-eyed Eliatrope could only look on as the Divine Doll splayed one hand palms-up. Before she could question her on what she was doing in the first place, a small bud made out of leaves materialised on her mahogany palm. As it opened, revealing a small, floating orb of light, Nora’s astonishment was such that she actually lowered her mask as she stared at the sphere in awe. Her bright magenta eyes followed it in wonder when it left its creator’s hand and began to float all around the space until making its way back to Amalia, who directed it to hover above her and light up her way. 

Amalia’s pride and joy at the sight of her latest development managing to render her companion speechless was somewhat doused when the Eliatrope woman blurted out, “What does light have to do with plants?!” Pointing at the luminous sphere in bewilderment, her pink eyes darted back and forth between the Sadida Doll and her… Whatever it was. Her mouth agape. “How did you even do that?!”

Huffing with a roll of her eyes at her reaction, having hoped to bask in the glory of the moment for a little while longer, it was the doll’s turn to smirk smugly. Despite everything, she had to admit she enjoyed knowing something Nora didn’t for once. 

“As a matter of fact, plants and light have a lot to do with each other.” Amalia pointed out matter-of-factly. “Remember? Most plants practice photosynthesis, the natural process of changing sunlight into chemical energy—you know, food.” She snickered to herself, almost as if she’d just remembered a funny joke. “If you think about it, there are few things that are more connected to each other than plants and light.”

“Yeah, but that still doesn’t explain how you got a plant to blossom into your personal flashlight!” Nora shot back, growing a little miffed at the doll’s condescending attitude just because she wasn’t intrinsically connected to plant-life.

But Amalia just raised a finger up. “I was getting there.” She chided her playfully, earning herself a raspberry that, after a small, offended gasp, she returned quite fervently. “As I was saying,” she made sure to draw out the words to emphasise her point, ignoring her companion’s groans, “there actually are several plants and fungi capable of emitting light. As it happens, a prime, available example would be the bulbshrooms in my room.”

Nora blinked. She had honestly forgotten about those. 

“Is that one of the plants capable of emitting light?” She inquired, the initial shock and aggravation in her tone replaced by genuine curiosity. 

Amalia’s smile was so bright it almost put her plant to shame. “Not exactly. It’s something I’ve been working on.” She beckoned the orb closer to her and showed it to Nora, who had closed the distance between them and was hovering in mid-air. “Normal bioluminescent plants do just that, give off light. This little guy right here could be used for so much more! I just need to keep working on it.”

“Really?” Nora raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Well, if everything goes well, they could also give off heat, almost like a mini sun.” She explained. “That way, I could grow plants that only grow in warm climates even during the cold season.”

The pink-clad girl hated herself for having to burst her bubble. 

“...you do know we live on a tropical island, right?” She pointed out. “We don’t exactly have cold seasons.”

But much to her surprise, the doll just shrugged nonchalantly. “I know.” Then, she flashed her a knowing look. “But not everyone lives on a tropical island, right? I figured you could establish a solid trade with the Twelvians if you offered them the chance to grow produce all year round in exchange for their alliance or whatever you need.”

Nora was so taken aback by her logic, by the way the young, naïve, inexperienced Divine Doll somehow managed to be three steps ahead, that she didn’t hear her question. 

Blinking rapidly, she asked her to repeat herself almost absentmindedly. 

“What do you think? Do you like it?” Amalia repeated her question. There was so much hope and anticipation in her brown gaze that the Eliatrope knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if her king had seen it, he would have keeled over. She’d be lying to herself if she said she couldn’t relate to the feeling, to be honest…

Luckily for her, this time she could afford to be as honest as she wanted. “It’s wonderful, Amalia. Like a small Sadida star.”

Yugo’s heart would have stopped at the way she beamed under the praise. Hers sure did.

After that, the two agreed that it was high time they really focused back on their task and completed it once and for all. So, turning back to their respective pillars, the two women went back to decorating, Amalia’s little star lighting up the hall and making things easier for them. Even if Nora wouldn’t admit it was actually more helpful than her own, trained sight.

They had been working in silence for a while, making steady progress, when Nora sensed it. A rather pronounced shift in Amalia’s wakfu and the air between them. The light-hearted atmosphere had turned heavy and stifling, and she already knew what the doll was going to say before she even opened her mouth. 

“Nora,” she started, and the Eliatrope braced herself. “Do you really think it’s best to leave Yugo in the dark regarding what happened with Efrim?”

Steeling herself, she repeated the same reasoning she gave her when it all happened. “Yes, Amalia. Trust me. My brother already has a lot on his plate, the last thing he needs is to worry about his little brother.”

“I know, it’s just…” A pregnant pause. Even if she didn’t turn around, Nora was listening intently. “I just don’t feel comfortable hiding things from him, that’s all.”

“Well, don’t be. You’ll see, all Efrim needs is a little time to get over himself and get used to you. Before you know it, he’ll be fully accepting of you and it’ll be like that little incident between you two never happened.” She tried to imbue her voice with as much reassurance and confidence as she could, her own concerns calming down when the Divine Doll finally relented, muttering how she was probably right. 

This time, the pang of guilt she felt over her own selfishness hurt a little less.

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

There were many upsides to having her own garden. The chance to truly test her limits and explore her Sadida magic to its full potential was the most obvious one. Even if she maintained she wanted to grow her plants the traditional way and give them time to blossom on their own unless it was absolutely necessary to speed up the process, Amalia still got to experiment with them a little. 

First were her Sadida dolls, all of them acting nearly independently from her despite being bound to their mistress. Those little rag dolls were the best assistants a Sadida could ever ask for! While some of them remained near her to lend a raggedy hand as she worked on her latest project, many others busied themselves around the garden, tending to its various needs—controlling irrigation, working the ground for new seeds, measuring each plant got the necessary sunlight and the ground’s pH levels, fertilising the crops…

She had yet to work out the final kinks on her explosive dolls, but since it wasn’t a priority, Amalia wasn’t worried. 

Another reason to be thankful for her garden was that she felt like she could really make a difference with it. While her training with Glip and Baltazar was her way of helping herself, her garden opened countless possibilities for the Eliatropes. Thanks to her instinctive knowledge of nature and her innate green thumb, Amalia didn’t just know what to grow to meet their needs, but she was also capable of anticipating them before she was even informed there was a need for anything at all.

And right now, they needed medicinal herbs and plants they could extract healing substances from. All she had to do was wait for Qilby and Shinonomé to pay her their long-awaited visit and inform her of what exactly she had to grow. As deep as Amalia’s connection to plants was, she had to admit she wasn’t confident enough to act on her own and impose her gut feeling on them. Rather, she preferred to trust their judgement, as the Crimson Twins were their people’s medics and, judging from what Shinonomé told her all those weeks ago, their knowledge on medicine would rival even the most powerful and experienced of Eniripsas. 

Perks of living thousands of years and remembering every single lifetime, she supposed. Although she could never shake the feeling that there was something more going on beneath the surface. The graveness in the dragoness’ voice as she shared their story etched onto the lines of her long, elegant face kept flashing through the doll’s mind.

Shaking those memories away, for it would be of no help to dwell on them now, Amalia focused back on the task at hand. She let out a blissful sigh as she relished the feeling of her hands coming into contact with the soft grass. That gentle coolness as the blades caressed her skin. Already they had so much to tell. 

By far, the best thing about having her own garden was the fact that it allowed her to connect with nature on a much more personal level, easing her Sadida instincts as they finally answered plant-life’s call, listening intently to its soft, yet lively, voice. 

As much as she’d come to like Oma Island and its many wonders, nothing could beat the feeling of becoming one with Sadida’s treasures. What good was it to know the language of the trees if you could never hear them because you were too far apart? Even as she stood on her balcony, her body leaning forward precariously to the point where she constantly risked falling down, all that managed to make its way to her were soft murmurs. There simply was no comparison with the symphony of voices reaching her now. 

While a Sadida’s link to nature couldn’t be broken even by death itself, staying away from the greenery was still unnatural. Sadida knew it best—the best way to keep your feet on the ground was to go barefoot so you’d be able to feel its many wonders. 

Oh, how had she missed the ever-present embrace of plant-life in her daily life! It was such a stark contrast going from being surrounded by otherworldly plants and trees in her father’s dimension, to being enclosed in stone walls here at the Eliatrope palace. Even her adventures with Yugo were but an appetiser. Something meant to make her work up an appetite as she waited for the main course. 

But now, her meal was finally served, and all her needs were finally sated. 

That was when she felt it, that familiar pulse going through her that never failed to disorient her at the same time as it grounded her. 

A small gasp escaped her lips, not because she was genuinely surprised—she had been waiting for the next time it would pounce—, but because, even then, she could never predict when the pull would manifest itself again. 

Yet, there it was. As usual, she could sense the energy radiating from it was fainter than what it should actually be, but that didn’t change the fact that it was still powerful, all-encompassing, beckoning. The pull circled all over her form like a snake, coming to rest over her heart, only she wasn’t afraid. Whatever it was, something deep inside her told Amalia she should never fear it. So, she didn’t fear it. 

Instead, she followed it. 

Hands still resting against the floor, she focused all her attention on the burst of energy coming from within and expelled it. Suddenly, the pull gained volume, form, morphing from a simple feeling into a thread, something she could follow and trace back. It wasn’t enough so she could have a clear reading on its origin, but it was more than she had had in months. 

Taking one last deep breath to steel herself, Amalia chose to follow its lead. 

She was immediately mesmerised by what she saw through her third eye. That thread, a thin, nearly unsuspecting thing of emerald green, seemed to be connected to everything! Wherever she looked, every root, every flower, every bush and tree and even weed had at least one tendril of the same strand coming out of them and convening at the same cord. That same, all-consuming cord tracing back as far as met the eye. 

Using every ounce of concentration she possessed, she tried following it to its very origin. Perhaps if she quite literally followed the thread, she’d be able to unravel the mystery. 

Her brow furrowed in deep concentration, Amalia followed the filament back to what felt like entire continents, each plant it was connected to telling a completely unique story. She was getting closer, she could feel it with every urgent thumping of her heart. It was as if all she had to do was reach out her hand and—.

“Did we come at a bad time?”

Just like that, like someone had cut the connection with a pair of scissors, the thread was gone. Caught off guard by the sudden change, Amalia snapped her eyes open, letting out a small gasp. Blinking wearily a few times, she turned her head every which way, trying to find her bearings. It took her a little longer than she cared to admit to taking notice of Qilby and Shinonomé looking down at her with varying expressions of intrigue. 

When she finally did, it was like a slap on the face. 

She hastily sprung up to her feet, muttering rushed apologies and sheepish explanations of what she’d been up to and how time seemed to get away from her, all the while she nervously dusted her clothes off. 

When she finally (begrudgingly) understood she wouldn’t be able to look any more presentable than she did already—her pants stained with grass at the knees, dirt underneath her fingernails, beads of sweat pooling under her bangs, and her green ponytail askew and dishevelled—, she tried to clear her throat in an attempt to appear nonchalant instead. 

“Qilby, Shinonomé! It’s great to see you again! What brings you here?” She internally winced the moment the words were out of her mouth, her brain too slow to catch up with her tongue. 

As always, Qilby was kind enough to remind her exactly what brought them there. 

“My, Lady Amalia! We’re here because we had agreed on coming to tell you all about the plants we need you to grow for our clinic. Do Divine Dolls have such bad short-term memory?” He adjusted his glasses smugly as he regarded an uncomfortable Amalia like she was one of his souvenirs, only to let out a yelp of protest when his sister elbowed him softly. 

Without even sparing him a glance, the dragoness smiled down at the doll. “Do forgive my brother, my Lady. You know how he can be; he just loves to tease!”

“Right. Of course…” Amalia muttered, not too convinced but eager to move the conversation along. Perking up again, she gestured for the twins to follow her. “If you please, I’d like to show you the space I have prepared in anticipation of your visit. As soon as you tell me what you need, I can start working on it.”

With quiet agreements and nods of assent, Qilby and Shinonomé followed the Divine Doll to a remote corner of the garden. One look at the ground beneath their feet was enough to know the earth had already been worked on in preparation for the upcoming crops. 

“As you can see, we’ve organised the ground into different sections,” she pointed at each of them. “Each one will hold a specific species you’re in need of. Thanks to this separation, they won’t steal nutrients from each other and harm their development.”

“Quite ingenious, my Lady.” At least, it would be if it weren’t because their people had been doing the same thing for generations. Qilby had to resist the urge to roll his eyes, in fear of his sister delivering another painful elbow to his side. 

To his surprise, the doll just waved his praise off. “Not at all! These are all very common agriculture techniques. Even your farmers use them.”

While her twin was left floundering like a fish, Shinonomé intervened. “That is quite true, Lady Amalia. Thank you for taking it into account.”

She shrugged, smiling, “If it’s not broken, don’t fix it.” This time, both of them were taken off guard by what she said, “Besides, most plants like it better this way. It’s the most fair solution.”

“Right, I forgot she speaks plant.” Qilby noted sarcastically, his dragon twin agreeing through their psychic link. 

“Well!” Qilby clasped his hands loudly to get the doll’s attention, the grin on his face just a tad too big to be genuine. “As fascinating as this all is, my sister and I would truly hate to impose on you for much longer. So if it is alright with you, we have taken the liberty of listing everything we need. We hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, no. That’s quite alright, and very thoughtful of you.” She took the piece of paper out of Shinonomé’s proffered hand and skimmed over its contents with a critical eye. Then, she snapped her fingers, summoning a group of Sadida dolls to aid her—making both siblings jump; Qilby clutching his chest— and, without further ado, set out to work.

As Amalia instructed her little helpers to get the seeds and tools they would need and they scurried off to complete their assigned tasks, Qilby and Shinonomé kept trying to sidestep the dolls as they came and went. At one point, the dragoness had to grab one by the tail and, with a stern look and a puff of smoke in warning that made it flinch in fright, set it back on the ground. Qilby had half the mind not to summon a portal and have all the enchanted toys tumble out of its other end. 

They couldn’t afford to look too impatient or purposeful. They had chosen that day specifically to visit the Sadida Doll for a reason, and they weren’t going to let such a perfect chance go to waste. 

None the wiser to the Crimson Twins’ struggles with her dolls, Amalia had once again crouched down on the ground, her hands gently setting the earth apart to plant the seeds she would need. At first she’d been worried she wouldn’t have everything they needed and would have to create those species from scratch—not an impossible task, but one that would require a lot more time and dedication. Fortunately, the worst didn’t come to pass; she had every plant and herb they needed right in her garden. All she had to do was grow them. 

With that problem taken care of, her mind wandered to tackle the next issue. The matter with irrigation. While she had access to plenty of water and she just needed to ask the guards to fetch her some more whenever she was running low, the doll still didn’t feel comfortable relying so much on the Eliatropes for that. 

It was true neither the village nor the castle seemed to suffer any sort of shortage in water, but she still had no idea how they managed. After all, they lived on an island—yes, they had plenty of water around, but it was sea water. It wasn’t exactly low on sodium.  

Maybe Chibi and Grougal had developed some sort of cutting edge filtering system?

With a sigh, she shook her head from those thoughts. It wouldn’t do much to overthink things. What mattered was that she could water her garden. Although, a part of her couldn’t help but wish she were friends with a Cra. She heard from the Matriarch back at Bonta that they sometimes shot rain arrows for the Sadida whenever their crops risked suffering due to a drought. 

“We really hope we aren’t keeping you away from anything too important, Lady Amalia.” Shinonomé told her kindly, coming to stand beside her before crouching down as well. The Divine Doll looked up in surprise when she began to help her with the seeds her dolls kept bringing. 

Once her initial surprise had worn off, she just shook her head. “No, not at all. I’m really glad that you came to me about this.”

“We simply don’t wish to impose.” Qilby interjected, coming to stand behind his sister as he observed the scene. “You must be so busy these days…” 

Amalia ducked her head shyly, an opportunity the Crimson Twins used to exchange smirks while she wasn’t looking. Through their bond, Shinonomé told her brother to wait a little while longer, for the perfect cue. 

Eventually, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the doll just waved it all off. “It’s no problem, really.  I’m sure you are probably busier than me, with preparing for Sacred Dance Day and all…” Unbeknownst to Amalia, the twins’ smirks widened, a sly glint in their eyes as the perfect opportunity presented itself. They quickly schooled their faces back into friendly neutrality when she turned back to face them. “Yet you still took the time to prepare this and come see me. Really, I should be the one thanking you.”

“Well, we did keep you waiting long enough…” The dragoness commented airily, standing up and dusting herself off. 

“So how about we say we’re even?” Qilby offered. His eyes wrinkled from behind his glasses. “Although… It is true Sacred Dance Day tends to take a lot out of us.”

Shinonomé, reading her twin’s cue, continued without missing a beat, “How could it not? It’s such an important holiday, after all!”

“Yeah, Yugo told me all about it the other day.” She giggled excitedly. “I can’t wait to see it for myself!”

Shinonomé, golden eyes glinting, leaned closer to Amalia, her ruby-hued claws grabbing onto her shoulders like a bird of prey. “Oh, did he tell you about how everyone comes together to make the ceremony a success?”

The doll nodded. “Something like that, yes.” Then, after a moment of consideration, “He said you guys recreate your goddess and the Great Dragon’s first dance, right?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise…” She trailed off meaningfully, letting go of Amalia as she strolled around her garden, pretending to show interest for her plants. “It’s much better to see it with your own two eyes, you know. Though I suppose I should tell you the real beauty of Sacred Dance Day is how it brings all of us together.”

“Really?”

“Why, indeed!” It was Qilby who answered, adjusting his glasses. “At the height of the night, we all come together to recreate one of the most pivotal moments in our entire history! That’s why it’s so important we all work together, because it reminds us that we’re one and the same and brings us closer.”

Amalia felt her heart warm up at the sentiment. She could already picture it all so clearly. Families huddled closer together as they watched the show. Couples, young and old, celebrating by dancing underneath it all. The older generation reminiscing on the good times. Yugo’s presence by her side filling her up with comfort and that weird feeling she didn’t understand but deeply cherished… She could hardly wait. 

Qilby, who had been watching Amalia’s wistful expression for an opening, had to suppress his smirk when he casually, almost too innocently, mused, “And this year promises to be quite intriguing indeed.”

Broken out of her stupor, the doll raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

He just looked at her meaningfully, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And, in a way, it was. 

“Why, because of you, my Lady!” He exclaimed jovially, gesturing at her. “It’s the first time we ever have one of Sadida’s Dolls with us. And since your magic doesn’t work like ours, that means it will also be the first time not all of us get to participate in the recreation.” Wincing with fake sympathy, he crossed his arms and held his head in his palm. “Such a pity. Nothing says ‘togetherness’ like Sacred Dance Day…”

It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice cold water over Amalia. Just like that, all of her previous fantasies had vanished in a puff of smoke. Now, instead of the comforting warmth and electric anticipation she had been feeling these past few days, all that was left was the freezing grip of disappointment cracking open her heart. She had never felt more alien to the Eliatropes as she did in that moment. 

Shinonomé, sensing she was at the verge of her breaking point, schooled her calculating features into a pitying yet empathetic look. Stepping closer to Amalia, she brought a hand to her chest, her voice reassuring at the doll’s side. Eyes glinting like a snake about to swallow her prey whole, she went in for the kill:

“But don’t worry, my dear. Just because you can’t do anything for us on such a special day, it doesn’t mean you’re not part of our community. It just means that we might need more… time to get used to your presence, that’s all.”

That finished doing her in. Her Ogrine heart thudded painfully against her ribs. 

There it was again, that familiar feeling of hopelessness, of uselessness. The same nagging reminder of Efrim’s cruel words as he pinned her against the cold, hard floor and his ice cold eyes bore into her soul. Mocking her and her efforts to fit in. 

“You know nothing!”

“Some demigoddess you are.”

“And to think you have the gall to say you understand.”

She winced at the familiar venom that intoxicated her mind and coursed through her veins, turning her blood ice cold. Biting down on her lip hard enough to draw blood, she had to suppress the urge to bring her hands to her ears in an attempt to drown it all out. Partly because she was still aware that she had company, and the last thing she wanted was to worry Qilby and Shinonomé. But mostly because she already knew that wouldn’t be enough to quiet the echoes of Efrim’s taunts. 

The Crimson Twins’ words had struck a chord within her, and the chord had snapped. 

They were right, of course they were! Everyone was doing everything in their power to make this year’s Sacred Dance Day truly memorable. Not only would they be celebrating it in their new home—which had yet to fully accept them—for the first time, but they were still recovering from the war with the Mechasms. 

Amalia may have never been involved in a war, but even she understood trying to find joy amidst all the chaos and destruction had to be a specially grueling and challenging task. Something that truly tested the limits of your hope and faith. So celebrating their most sacred holiday now, away from home where it actually meant something? That had to be the very definition of bittersweet. 

She just wished she’d realised all that sooner. 

The doll bit down on her lip even harder as soon as the easily recognisable sting of tears pooling in the corner of her eyes made itself known. It took everything in her power not to cry out of frustration with herself. But she couldn’t cry, not when the Eliatropes had already lost so much and they still remained strong. She couldn’t cry, no matter how chagrined she was for not being able to do anything to soothe their pain and contribute to the ceremony. 

She blinked rapidly, keeping the tears at bay still, when she felt someone tugging at her pants. Looking down in surprise, she smiled faintly at the sight of one of her dolls trying to get her attention, its large, little head tilted in curiosity as she peered up at her. 

“That’s right”, she tried to tell herself. “I’m already doing my best to help them. I help the Council navigate the tangled world of Twelvian politics. My garden and my expertise are entirely at their disposal. I help around the palace whenever it’s needed…”

But a voice that sounded surprisingly like Efrim’s kept whispering at her that ‘It wasn’t enough’, and ‘She certainly wouldn’t be much help during Sacred Dance Day.’

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, her teeth gnashing together in aggravation. No, it wasn’t enough. She needed to find something to do for Sacred Dance Day, to show Yugo and his people how much she appreciated everything they’d done for her and how much she respected them, but what?

Her back turned to them as she pondered on what to do, Amalia failed to notice Qilby and Shinonomé sending each other triumphant glances as they observed her fidgeting, relishing in her internal conflict. 

“She makes it so easy to toy with her, I almost feel bad for her.” Qilby smiled at his twin. His glasses glinted maliciously as he adjusted them. “Key word being ‘almost’.”

“She truly is too naïve for her own good.” Shinonomé agreed, her hands clasped before her and her back straight as an arrow. The only thing differing from her regal and composed exterior were the subtle flickers of her tail that betrayed her own self-satisfaction. 

“Well, that just ensures our plans go off without a hitch, doesn’t it?” He looked at his nails, almost bored. 

The dragoness’ expression darkened. “Don’t call victory quite yet, my dear Brother.” She warned, her tone growing serious and stern. “Just because she’s easy to manipulate doesn’t mean the war is already won. You forget Yugo.”

At that, the bespectacled Eliatrope couldn’t find it in himself to care about holding back a derisive scoff, clearly offended. He likewise ignored it when his dragon twin shhed him to be quiet. 

“Please, Sister. You know I could never forget about anything. It’s our burden, remember?” He asked rhetorically, his words laced with a sarcastic sing-songy tone. His ironic smile dropped off his face. “Besides, with his little flower taken care of, Yugo won’t take much convincing to finally leave this dump and reclaim our rightful place amongst the stars.”

His twin hummed thoughtfully, her golden gaze watching him intently. “All I am saying is that we had better not grow too cocky. Overconfidence can cost us everything.”

But her brother just waved her concerns off, causing her to narrow her slitted eyes on him. While she was the only person Qilby actually listened to without any ulterior motive, there were times where even her warnings went unheeded. She honestly feared the kind of trouble he would get up to if she weren’t around to keep him in line. 

“You worry too much, Sister.”

“And you worry too little.” 

He tsked his tongue, not appreciating the interruption. “Nevertheless, the seeds of doubt have already been planted. Amalia is bound to sabotage herself in her conviction that she’s not good enough for our people, let alone Yugo. And Yugo will begin to lose faith in her when he realises his precious doll is keeping things from him.” He traced his finger over the length of one of her horns with purposeful strokes, a self-assured grin plastered over his face yet again. “Trust me. Whatever relationship might be blossoming between our dear King and Sadida’s little girl will be over before it even has a chance to start.

“And the best part of it all?” His smirk turned down-right dark, the shadows falling over his face giving it a sinister quality that sent a shiver down even Shinonomé’s back. “It will die by their own hands. Delightfully ironic, don’t you think?” Even the red-scaled woman had to admit it was kind of creepy how chipper he sounded all of a sudden, but she just shrugged it off. She was used to far bigger discrepancies when it came to her Eliatrope twin. 

However, as her golden eyes settled back on Amalia as she got back to work—her almost robotic actions and nearly blank expression that contrasted greatly with the demons in her gaze a reflection of the whirlwind that probably was her mind—, all Shinonomé could do was hope her brother didn’t forget how most seeds died sooner or later without the appropriate care. 

Her eyes flickering to the position of the sun as it filtered through the windows, and seeing as their job there was done, she found it was finally time to wrap the conversation up. 

“You’ll have to forgive us, Lady Amalia, but we have a meeting to get to.” She began, already turning on her heel and making her way out of the garden. “The Council wishes to discuss possible ways to earn the Twelvians’ trust and, naturally, Qilby and I can’t miss it.”

“Please, do keep us informed of your progress.” The eldest Eliatrope called after her over his shoulder as he followed after his sister. 

And with that, they left her alone with her thoughts and feelings of inadequacy.

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

It was Adamaï who alerted him that something was wrong. 

At first, Yugo feared whoever had been spying on Amalia had returned—and he told Ad as much—, but his brother was quick to reassure him it wasn’t like that. But it definitely had something to do with Amalia.

“She seems… worried about something.” He began, rubbing the back of his head as he struggled to find the words. “Like there’s something on her mind but she doesn’t know how to deal with it. And have you noticed how fidgety and intense she’s been lately? I don’t know, Lil’ Bro, but something’s off.”

Now that Adamaï mentioned it, he had definitely noticed something strange with the doll’s behaviour. All of a sudden, she was very insistent on doing whatever she could to help with the preparations for the upcoming festivity. She went wherever an extra pair of hands was needed, regardless of if she’d been asked to or not. 

At first he just shrugged it off as her being very excited for Sacred Dance Day, but Ad was right. That level of overzealousness was just odd. He’d better talk to her about it. 

And by ‘he’, he meant ‘they’. 

Of course, Adamaï had tried to protest at first, but the moment his brother pointed out the fact that Amalia could easily brush his concerns off as him overthinking things, so he would need all the back-up he could get, he finally relented. …and he may or may not have played the King Card on him to get him to cooperate. But, hey! Ad had been using the Older Brother Card to get away with a lot of things back when they were kids. It was only fair. 

She had been helping the kitchen staff carry the ingredients the chef would need for the celebratory banquet when they found her. Her head snapped up when he called out to her, a small smile that tugged at his heartstrings spreading over her lips when her brown eyes met his. 

“I’ll be right back, Serviette.” She told the maid kindly, who freed her from her literal burden by opening a portal and dumping the ingredients in it (since they were close enough to the kitchen by then).

Dusting her hands off from any remaining flour or crumbs, she made her way over to the king and his dragon twin and beamed up at them. “Yugo, Ad, hi! I didn’t expect to see guys here.” She tilted her head to the side, her smile now growing tentative as she raised an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

After much consideration, Yugo came to the conclusion that the best course of action was to rip the band-aid off as soon as possible. 

“We actually want to know if you’re okay.” He blurted out. 

“Smooth…” Adamaï muttered sarcastically as he leaned closer to him. 

He received an elbow to his rib for his troubles. 

Amalia panicked at his question. Still, she managed to maintain a façade of calmness long enough to shoot back, “What do you mean by that? I’m perfectly fine, guys.”

Both brothers wore matching wincing expressions. Yugo sighed heavily when Ad sent him a meaningful look and nodded towards the doll with his head—saying something about how he ‘was only there for moral support’. The king was so busy pinching his nose in frustration at his brother’s lack of actual support that he almost didn’t see a bewildered Amalia begin to take a few steps back. 

“Well…” she drawled out, taking measured steps and pointing behind her with her thumb. “Not that this hasn’t been fun, but I should probably get back to work. See you later!” She gave them a friendly wave and was about to make a run for it when Yugo’s hand on her shoulder stopped her. 

“Amalia, wait. Please.” There was so much feeling in his voice it physically hurt her to even think about getting away. So she didn’t. Her cheeks warmed a little when, noticing this, he rewarded her with one of his sweet smiles. 

Her own smile faltered when he started talking about her recent behaviour. She had hoped he wouldn’t notice it, but one sideways look at Adamaï’s nodding form was all she needed to know everything in relation to her would always find its way back to Yugo one way or another. 

The doll felt the unreasonable urge to call the dragon a traitor in her mind, even though they had never agreed on keeping quiet about anything. She fought back the urge to pout; it just made her feel better. 

Unaware of her current train of thought, Yugo chose to finally address the dragon in the room (aside from Adamaï, of course). “We’re just a little concerned, that’s all. And we were wondering if there was anything you wanted to talk about?”

She chose to play dumb. “No, not at all. What makes you think that?”

She didn’t expect Ad to be so blunt. 

“Because you’ve been helping out on the preparations for Sacred Dance Day.” Before she could ask what was wrong with that, he cut her off by raising a claw. “Normally, that’d be fine and dandy—the more, the merrier, as they say! But, don’t you think you’ve been a little too…” He trailed off, struggling to find the words. He doubted she would appreciate being described as ‘manic’ or ‘obsessive’...

“We think you’ve been a little too eager to help.” As always, Yugo came through for his twin, who sent him a grateful nod. 

Amalia sputtered, incredulous. “‘Too eager to help’? How in the Doll Master’s name can someone be ‘too eager to help’?” She air-quoted sarcastically before crossing her arms in a huff. “And how is that a problem?”

“Normally, it wouldn’t be.” Yugo started off diplomatically. He winced when all the doll did was curl in on herself tighter, her walls coming up. That wasn’t good. She was growing defensive and that was the opposite of what they wanted. He had to do something to get her to open up, and soon.

So he did what he did best in times of crisis. He took action. 

He could already feel her defences dissolve when he gently grabbed her by the shoulders, his voice impossibly soft as he tried to coax her into talking to them. Understanding what he was trying to do, it wasn’t long until Ad followed his lead, coming to stand beside Amalia and wrapping his tail around her form comfortingly. 

Still, she was one stubborn doll. “I’m only trying to help.” She insisted. 

“We know, and that’s great! We really appreciate it.” Yugo assured her, Adamaï nodding by her side. “We just think you might be overworking yourself.”

Amalia was about to protest when Adamaï pointed out. “Just yesterday, you were helping Bartoloblé bake some cookies for the party. The second you were done with that and you  heard Marie say she needed help taking some last minute offerings to the temple, you volunteered yourself.”

“That’s not such a big deal.” Amalia retorted. 

“It is when right after going up and down about two hundred steps, you offered to help set up the stands for the games.” Yugo shot back without missing a beat. “You’ve been running around like a headless chicken for three days straight with barely a break! Do you understand why we’d worry?”

His brown gaze bore into hers as he asked her the question, and Amalia could hardly stand it. Eventually, she lowered her head in shame and she began to play with her bangs. The concern reflected in Yugo’s eyes was almost unbearable, more so because it was directed at her and the last thing she ever wanted was to make him worry. 

“Amalia, whatever it is that’s on your mind, you can tell us. You know that, right?” 

There was so much tenderness in his voice she had to muster every ounce of self-control she possessed not to cry. More so when Adamaï leaned closer to her and whispered softly, “We’re here for you.”

The doll considered this. She considered confiding in the Emerald Twins her fears and concerns regarding the upcoming celebration and her role in it—or lack thereof. Was it really okay if she couldn’t participate in the recreation of the First Dance? Was there anything she could do to make up for it? 

She had been trying to amend her shortcomings these past few days, hence why she volunteered herself to help with whatever she could get her hands into. She had baked so many cookies, she feared she had lost her appetite for them forever. Climbing and going down the stairs leading up to the temple while carrying offerings just had to count as cardio and weight-lifting, she had the soreness in her body to prove it. Somehow, she got a splinter from helping out with the stands. How was that even possible?! She was a Sadida Doll, for crying out loud! Trees and the wood they produced were her domain!

And the worst part was that, no matter how much she exerted herself, it never felt like compensation enough. 

Eyes glittering, she looked up at Yugo, mouth already parted to tell him everything, when—

“Yugo won’t always be there to protect you, you know?”

And just like that, her resolve to be honest with Yugo, to burden him with her problems, was gone. 

Yugo and Adamaï knew it was coming before she ever even opened her mouth. One moment, there was a resolute fire in the doll’s eyes, a determination they naïvely believed meant she would finally reveal what was tearing her up inside. And the next, that same fire flickered out of existence. Like it had never been there.

She smiled up at them—a sweet little thing, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you, but I really am fine.”

The Emerald Twins could only frown sadly as she got back to her previous task of transporting ingredients. Once she was out of earshot, Adamaï clamped a hand on his twin’s shoulder in an attempt to cheer him up. 

“Don’t worry too much about it, Lil’ Bro. I’m sure she’ll come to you when she’s ready.” His heart squeezed in sympathy for his brother when his dejected gaze remained on the spot the doll had occupied just moments before.

“Then why does it feel that whenever something’s on her mind, I’m the last person she wants to go to for help?” He mused aloud, his hands going to toy mindlessly with what was stored in his cloak pocket.

His eyes following the movement, the white-and-blue dragon tried to instill some positivity into the conversation. “I’m sure all she needs is time. Deep down, she’s only known us for a few months. Before you know it, you two will be like two peas in a pod.”

The corners of the king’s lips turned up slightly, a flicker of hope returning to his eyes. “Do you really think so?”

“I know so. You’re already halfway there.” He smiled back. Then, eying the object in his twin’s hand, he nudged him playfully. “At the very least, I’m sure your little present will help you bridge that gap.”

Now smiling more genuinely, if a little bashfully, as he looked down, Yugo sincerely hoped his brother was right. They’d bridge that gap. Together.

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

Any other day, Amalia would be buzzing with excitement at the prospect of getting a fitting session with the palace tailor, Mr. Needlesworth. The idea of getting to discuss fabrics, shapes, styles, and accessories with such a knowledgeable fashion guru usually sent a thrill down her spine. It was kind of ironic, that a Divine Doll, someone who didn’t have much use, let alone opportunities, for shopping would come to enjoy the process of designing and creating an entirely new outfit from scratch so much. But there she was. 

The only real downside was having to remain completely still for hours on end as Mr. Needlesworth sewed the materials together or added the last finishing touches. It was especially gruesome to feel his needles prickling her skin. It reminded her of when she was first created, and there was something odd about remembering your own birth. 

But now that her mind was exhausted from dodging Yugo’s questions and battling with herself over pouring her heart out to him or not? Now that her body was sore from running around for several days trying to help, sometimes without even using her powers?  

The moment she opened the door to the dexterous Eliatrope and welcomed him into her room she already knew she was most likely going to fall asleep standing while he worked on her dress. 

She had already been about to nod off a few times while they were discussing how she wanted her dress to look like. Even in her half-delirious state, she had found it odd that he didn’t insist on adding anything even remotely Eliatrope to the design. Unlike the last time she had to dress up, there was no sign of even their emblem on her person. 

And the worst part was that Mr. Needlesworth wasn’t dumb. On the contrary, he was acutely aware of her subdued attitude and the heaviness of her eyelids. A stark contrast to her usual enthusiastic self. 

More than once, he would question her as politely as possible, “My Lady, are you quite alright? Because if you’re too tired, we could always postpone this to another day. I’ll make sure to reserve some time for you.”

And each and every time she would offer him a weak smile and insist, “Sacred Dance Day is in two days, Mr. Needlesworth; we don’t have much time left. Thank you for your consideration, but I’m perfectly fine.”

The bushy-haired, stout Eliatrope would then regard her with worried icy blue eyes, his compassionate smile small but kind even as the ends of his moustache dropped in sympathy, before focusing back on the task at hand. 

It couldn’t have been more than an hour or two, but to the sleep-deprived doll, it felt like an eternity. 

First, they discussed the kind of outfit she wanted. Amalia barely gave the tailor enough time to present all the possible options before she blurted out she wanted a dress. To his credit, while the doll blushed sheepishly, all Mr. Needlesworth did was chuckle and say, “Of course.”

With that out of the way, they could choose the materials. While the first thing the talented couturier did upon entering was assure the doll that she had the final say in the design of her outfit, Amalia also recognised he was the expert, so she listened intently to all his suggestions and the reasons behind them. Even though the Eliatrope holiday took place in the Twelvian month of Descendre, which marked the beginning of winter and its cold temperatures, the fact that they lived on an island meant they remained largely unaffected by the inclement weather. Meaning it would certainly be too warm for thicker fabrics; instead, he suggested cooler ones like cotton, lynen, satin… In the end, she went for georgette. 

Then, came the colour. 

At first, the Divine Doll wanted to go for a beige and orange ensemble, but Mr. Needlesworth wisely shut that idea down. He explained it wasn’t bad per se, but since she spent most of her time with her adventuring outfit, which combined beige, orange, and white already, she might want to choose something different and ‘spice things up a bit,’ as he said. 

Amalia considered his words, her thumb and index finger holding her chin pensively, and found he made an excellent point. When she asked for his opinion, the tailor suggested she chose green instead, seeing as it matched her hair and created a lovely contrast with her dark skin, as well as the fact that she made quite an impression with her dress for the banquet at Bonta, which also included green. If she was being honest with herself, Amalia had to admit she didn’t really wear green that often, even though it was the colour of life, a symbol of Sadida and his followers. And even though a small part of her cringed at the idea of standing out as an even bigger outsider amongst the Eliatropes, the rest of her resigned herself to her fate. 

What was yet another reminder of her otherness at this point?

With the basics out of the way, it was time for designing the dress itself—by that point, Amalia was fighting the urge to just drop dead with every fiber of her being. Immortality be darned. 

After inspecting some sketches Mr. Needlesworth had been so kind as to bring along with him, the Sadida Doll opted for a floor-length, full circle skirt. Thinking back to what he said about tropical weather, she decided to be a little bold and, instead of a full top, she asked for the dress to be backless, while two pieces of fabric tied around her neck by a chain exposed her collarbone and midsection. Her cheeks grew warm when she realised the garment would only really cover her breasts, but she would be lying if she said she didn’t like the final result. Moreover, Mr. Needlesworth’s moustache moved alongside his approving grin, and he assured her it would be nothing but tasteful. 

Now all that was left was the accessories. To be perfectly honest, the Sadida Doll was at a loss in that regard. She was used to wearing wristbands and anklets as means of accessorising, but given her dress’ overall design, combining the two would clash—her long skirt would hide her anklets from view, and her usual wristbands just didn’t match the general aesthetic. 

Massaging her temple, she had to cover her yawn behind her hand. “I must admit I have no idea what I want…”

“May I offer a suggestion?” Mr. Needlesworth proposed, to which the doll smiled and nodded as energetically as she could muster given her drowsy state. 

“By all means! Your expertise has already helped me so far, I’m sure whatever you had in mind will be wonderful.”

“Oh, I’m not worthy of such high praise coming from you, my Lady.” He said modestly, rubbing underneath his nose shyly. “However, if you permit me…” He took out his previous sketches of the dress and showed them to Amalia again, who peered down at them curiously. Under her intent gaze, he pointed at the chain holding up her top. “If you ask me, I would say more metal adornments might be a great touch. Not only is jewelry incredibly flattering on most women, but it would also help make the incorporation of the original chain all the more seamless.”

Amalia considered this, her eyes glimmering as she pictured it. “What kind of jewelry did you have in mind?”

The couturier shrugged, pleased to see the approval in the doll’s eyes. “Anything, really.” He pointed at the waist of the sketched dress. “I would start by adding a matching belt, and from there it could evolve into armlets, bracelets, maybe even a headband like the one you sometimes wear but with metallic pieces dangling from it…”

The poor man barely had the time to finish listing his ideas off when the doll leaned closer into his personal space, her brown eyes starry and an almost manic grin on her face. “You had me at ‘anything, really’!”

And so, Mr. Needlesworth got to work. As he traced careful lines in search of the perfect outline for the jewelry Amalia would be wearing, the doll wondered aloud if it’d be possible to add a shawl to it. At first, she winced, for she didn’t mean for that to slip out and she was perfectly aware her Bonta dress had one as well, only to do a double take when the tailor shrugged nonchalantly yet again with a simple, “Sure, we could do that.”

Perplexed, she asked if he was sure, and he explained it would be easy enough to make a shawl that would differentiate itself from the previous one. Then, without even looking up from his sketchbook, he began to list all the possibilities available to make it just as unique—it could be a different yet complementary shade of green; instead of being tied around her neck, it could always hang from her arms; they could even incorporate it into her accessories…

The possibilities were endless as far as Mr. Needlesworth was concerned. 

Once he had the general outline of the dress down, the bushy-haired Eliatrope had to excuse himself for a moment as he went back to his atelier and gathered all the materials he would need, from his sewing kit to the actual fabrics from which to make the dress. When he returned, he dismissed the apparent lack of metal as his needing to ask a blacksmith friend of his for a favour, but it shouldn’t be long and, most importantly, Amalia would get her dress just in time. 

(He also wisely chose not to say anything when he witnessed, clear as day, how the sound of the door closing behind him as he returned had startled the Divine Doll awake, almost causing her to fall off from her chair). 

And so, the real torture began. 

Amalia had to fight her tiredness with everything she possessed so as to not fall asleep right then and there as the stout yet talented man worked on her dress. Although the feeling of being pricked with a needle every down and then certainly helped her keep her eyes open. 

Unfortunately, the stillness and quiet didn’t just have the unfortunate side effect of threatening to send her straight to Draconiros’ realm. They also gave her plenty of time to think. And, as of late, her every thought had been dedicated to what she could offer to Sacred Dance Day. 

Preparations were officially over. Every crook and cranny of Oma Island had been decorated with the traditional portals in stone and silken handkerchiefs. The stands for the games and similar activities leading up to the pièce de resistance had been all set up. The chef had already decided on what dishes to serve as well as he already had all the ingredients and kitchen tools needed for them. Mina, Phaeris, and Yugo were all hard at work for their respective roles in the ceremony, but that wasn’t something she could help in, anyway. The temple was nearly overflowing with offerings for the Great Goddess…

Indeed, there didn’t seem to be anything for her to help with anymore. 

And yet, that fact unsettled her more than it calmed her. 

There was just nothing she could do for the Eliatropes on such a special day!  And worst of all, Yugo had noticed something was bothering her—because he always did—, and instead of coming clean about what was on her mind, she just smiled and lied—just like she always did. The guilt had been eating her alive ever since that night, when she finally had some time to think back on the day’s events and realise what she’d done. She already felt horrible for hiding what happened between Efrim and her from him, and now she added this onto her plate. 

The only reason she didn’t smack her forehead was because Mr. Needlesworth would reprimand her from moving too much. 

Oh, why had she let Efrim’s words get to her yet again? Would there ever be a time where they wouldn’t haunt her? 

Too tired to care anymore, she let out a heavy sigh, her gaze downcast as she pondered on whether she should go look for Yugo after her fitting and tell him everything or face the consequences of her own actions. She was too engrossed in her mental debate, she missed when Mr. Needlesworth’s gaze flickered upwards and his brows furrowed into a concerned frown at her despondency. 

“A flower this beautiful shouldn't look this sad so close to Sacred Dance Day.” He thought to himself. Then, with purposeful pricks as he adjusted the fabric around her skin, he set out to cheer her up as best as he could. 

“You know, Lady Amalia, I should probably thank you.” He started off casually, yet sincerely. Perking up at his words, the Divine Doll tried to look down at him, but he merely shushed her and told her not to move. 

Her spine so straight it threatened to snap any moment now, Amalia breathed out, “Thank me for what, Mr. Needlesworth?”

“For letting me make your dress for you.”

“Oh, no. It’s—,” she tried to shake her head, but once again the tailor wouldn’t let her. “It’s me who should be thankful that you’d agree to take the time out of your packed schedule to sew a dress for me. I can only imagine how busy you must be these days.”

“You’ll have to forgive me, my Lady, but I beg to differ.” He looked up from his task long enough to send her a kind smile from underneath his moustache. “You have no idea of the opportunity you have granted me with your request.”

Luckily, she was allowed to raise her eyebrow in confusion. “What do you mean by that?”

He chuckled and threw his arms to his sides, needle and thread still in hand. “Look around you! Do you see any other races besides our own around?”

“Um, no?” 

Did dragons count?

“Exactly.” He nodded solemnly. “This is the first time in my life I get to design for someone who isn’t an Eliatrope. In fact, as a designer—as an artist—, one of the highlights of my job is getting to be as creative as possible and to take my designs to a whole new level. 

“Adding something new and unique to a tried and true style is challenging enough, but getting to create something based on a whole different culture?” He chuckled, his mind going back to all the suits, and capes, and hats, and dresses he’d created over his life; now that he was working for a Divine Doll, he couldn’t help but feel they would always pale in comparison to whatever he came up with for her. “Now that’s what I consider the peak of my career.”

Humming noncommittally, he abandoned his place at the foot of the stool Amalia was standing up on to pick up some scissors to cut the excess of georgette fabric off the skirt. His back was turned to her as he rummaged through his sewing kit for the necessary tools. 

“In my humble opinion, your presence here does us a lot of good.” He admitted, smirking in satisfaction as he took the scissors out of the kit and turned back around to continue with his work. 

The doll’s eyes widened at his words. Deep down, she already knew that. The very reason for her presence in Oma Island was to help Eliatropes and Twelvians alike in their new coexistence, and she remembered how thankful the villagers had been to her for what the banquet at Bonta meant for them. But to hear Mr. Needlesworth say that aloud, completely unprompted, without Yugo around to perhaps make him praise her out of loyalty for their king… It made warmth spread all over Amalia’s chest as grateful tears pooled in the corner of her eyes. 

“You really think so?” She asked, her voice quivering with emotion. 

“Oh, I’m positive.” He insisted, a huge grin on his face. “The fact that you’re a—what was the word again? A Sadida Doll?—,” she nodded, “is just what we needed: a chance to live amongst someone different from us for a change and to be prepared for when we’re finally accepted by this world’s natives.”

Then he moved his hands to work on her top, their movements careful and respectful as he deliberately kept his eyes on her face. 

“It’s a real shame we didn’t take your presence into account when organising the festivities this year, my Lady.” The tailor mused aloud, threading the fabric together with an expert hand. “Sacred Dance Day could have really used a Sadida touch as a symbol for new beginnings…”

Her emerald eyebrows shot to the ceiling. “You really think so?” 

‘A symbol for new beginnings’... She found she quite liked the sound of that, of being able to add her own touch to the celebration. But alas, she had to suppress a resigned sigh and her hands curled into fists involuntarily at her sides. It wasn’t like she was any closer to discovering what she could do to contribute to the celebration when her magic worked so differently from theirs. 

Later, she would attribute what happened to her father looking out for her, because at that point she had been so close to just giving up…

Instead, for some reason, she smiled down at the tailor at her feet and asked out of genuine curiosity. “What’s your favourite part of Sacred Dance Day, Mr. Needlesworth?”

“My favourite part?” He parroted, taken off guard by the question. Humming in thought, he brought a thimble-clad finger to his moustache and began to stroke it best he could. “I’d say it has to be the recreation of our goddess and the Great Dragon’s first dance.”

“I see.” Amalia snickered, not at all surprised by that answer. “Anything in particular you like about it?”

His next answer, however, did succeed at taking her aback. 

“I suppose I just enjoy imagining what it was like, you know?” He let out a wistful sigh, his mind distant as he tried to picture how it all began. “I wonder what those first stars after the Krosmoz was created looked like… So ironic, one of the most beautiful things in creation, and nobody was around to see them.”

It was like a lightning strike. 

The moment the white-haired couturier uttered those words in his reverie, the memory from the other day echoed in her mind, her eyes widening as realisation hit her. 

“A Sadida star…” She murmured, her mind already whirling as the perfect plan materialised right in front of her. 

“Huh?” Mr. Needlesworth tilted his head. 

Just then, however, his confusion turned into shock and even mild alarm when his model suddenly hopped off the stool and, without much of an explanation, but with a hastily uttered apology thrown over her shoulder, she dashed right out of the room with her unfinished dress still on her person, the fabric fluttering behind her. 

Expertly dodging the bewildered palace staff, she made it to her garden, where, after asking Mina and Phaeris for their opinion and receiving their approval, she remained all night as she set her plan in motion. Her previous exhaustion forgotten as the exhilaration of finding the solution to her troubles finally revealed itself to her. 

At some point during the night, Mr. Needlesworth had to knock on her garden’s door to politely demand she hand her dress over to him so he could finish working on it—and to prevent it from getting dirty from being in contact with grass and dirt. Amalia at least had the decency to look embarrassed as she gave in to his more than justified request. 

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

The air was bubbling with excitement, the party in full swing all around her. 

Finally, Sacred Dance Day had arrived, and everyone was celebrating at the town square. Located at a far corner, an orchestra played wonderful melodies that accompanied the merriness of the holiday. Women and men alike mingled about, sharing their mornings with their families and reminiscing on previous years. The children’s laughter filled the square as they ran about and played, both with each other and with the many games set up around town. A few of them almost bumped into Amalia as they chased after each other; thankfully, the doll always managed to sidestep them before laughing and gently reminding them to be more careful. 

While Amalia took the chance to have a look around, her grin more genuine than it had been in days thanks to the awe she felt at the sight of the festivities, the real crowd of people formed around the Council of Six. Every single member was surrounded by their own loyal entourage of subjects, who either congratulated them on a job well done in organising everything, or tackled issues pertaining to the area of expertise of each of them. 

The doll couldn't help but smile proudly as the Eliatropes congratulated their king on his opening speech. For his part, Yugo looked beyond sheepish, clearly grateful for the praise, but still feeling a little self-conscious despite his clear experience on the matter. She wasn’t the only one that could be read like an open book—his boyish grin and his near constant rubbing of his neck gave him away. 

Then again, it wasn’t like his subjects were wrong for looking up to him or complimenting him for his speech. Amalia stood a little ways off to his side from her place on the temple, just enough for her to be presented to the village while making sure their leaders remained front and centre, and his words still reached her as if they’d been dedicated solely to her. Try as she might to remain composed and with an elegant smile on her face, it didn’t take long for it to turn watery and for her to blink back the tears threatening to spill. 

It was a very beautiful and impactful speech about the many, many hardships they had endured and how, despite it all, they still lived to celebrate another Sacred Dance Day. Regardless of the pain, and loss, and suffering, they were still standing, and nothing would ever bring their spirits down. By the time the Eliatrope King was done, he didn’t just receive thunderous applause and loud cheering from a kingdom that certainly adored him and who resonated with his message, but even the Divine Doll was clutching at her heart in admiration. 

And with that, the celebration could commence. 

Now that Yugo’s attention was elsewhere—after briefly glancing around to make sure no one was watching her—, Amalia let her gaze travel over the length of him, taking it all in. Even though she hid her disappointment well, she was more than a little chagrined when Mina and Phaeris ushered them outside before she got the time to admire how he looked.

While the rest of Oma Island got to spend the first half of the day with their family and loved ones, the palace was a flurry of activity. The staff ran about from one wing to the next as they tended to their leaders’ needs and demands as a result of their being busy with last minute adjustments to their outfits or the final revisions of what they would need. 

The doll knew for a fact Yugo would be busy revising his speech, as would Mina and Phaeris with theirs and the preparations for the ceremony—she could have sworn she watched them leave the throne room carrying a large chest between the two of them—, what she didn’t know, however, was what everybody else was up to. Knowing she wouldn’t be getting any answers then, she eventually just shrugged it off and focused back on her own last minute check-ups. 

Would it be too vain of her to say those last minute check-ups consisted of looking at her reflection in the mirror from all possible angles? Because, Sweet Sadida, Mr. Needlesworth had done an outstanding job with her dress!

As they had agreed on, her dress consisted of a stunning floor-length skirt and a crossed halter top tied around her neck by a medallion connected to a chain and a pear-like hue, revealing her back. As promised, the look was bold and perfect for the warm weather, yet the design was nothing but tasteful, making sure to expose only what she wanted to be seen. The skirt was cinched around her waist by a matching belt adorned with the same crystals as the medallion keeping her ensemble together. But that wasn’t the only accessory she was wearing that day. 

Amalia wouldn’t have been able to keep herself from whimsically flailing her arms around even if she wanted to. True to his word, Mr. Needlesworth added the shawl she wanted: a delicate, lime-green tulle cloth that emerged from her matching pair of bronze bracelets and armlets on each arm and trailed behind her. She was mesmerised by everything, but her breath was especially taken away when she saw the wonderful headband the immensely talented tailor had designed for her. 

True to his word, it resembled the one she wore when she first arrived at Oma, but it was far more elaborate. The white antlers didn’t stick upwards like Osamodas’ horns, rather they curved inwardly and branched out like an Elante’s, emerging from a flower crown like two imposing trees sticking out of a garden in bloom. Dangling from the antlers were several little silver chains from which hung pendants in all shapes and forms. And to really drive the point home that she was a Sadida, Mr. Needlesworth had gone the extra mile and added leaves all over her dress. 

With her long, chartreuse hair down, she seriously doubted she had ever looked half as beautiful as she did in that moment. She only felt even more pleased with herself, her cheeks colouring and heart skipping a beat, when Yugo’s eyes landed on her right before they had to leave and they widened, his face going crimson. His blush—and her giggles—only intensified when, numbstruck at the sight of her and incapable of tearing his gaze off her lovely form, he collided against the doorframe. 

Amalia had never felt more smug than she did at that moment. She didn’t know why, but she received an ego boost from seeing how much power she seemed to hold over Yugo. It was intoxicating. 

Although she couldn’t deny that her intoxication might have been a result of seeing Yugo in his own suit for the occasion. But alas, before she could properly drink it all in and express her own admiration (which, for some reason, made her mouth go dry), they were told they had better get in the way and she didn’t get another chance…

Until now. 

Now she could feast her eyes on the elaborate ensemble the Eliatrope King wore. Because it was truly worthy of a king. 

Much like she was wearing green, the colour most associated with Sadida, he wore the characteristic turquoise of the Eliatropes, the hue he always wore. Amalia couldn’t help but smirk fondly at the sight of him. One way or another, his wardrobe seemed to consist of nothing but variations of his battle suit, the only real difference being how formal or informal the garments actually were. 

In this case, the doll was reminded of the iconic outfit because his ceremonial robes combined the same vivid turquoise and the darker peacock hue of his suit. Draped all over his body was a light blue tunic with white hems that reached down his ankles yet had large vertical slits for better mobility. Secured around his form and highlighting his athletic build was a matching waist belt, while his glowing tattoos were exposed thanks to the slits of his sheer bishop sleeves. If her eyes trailed downwards, she could see dark blue pants and boots underneath his tunic and through its slits. 

It vaguely reminded her of Chibi’s own body suit. 

And it wasn’t the only thing reminiscent of it, either. Yugo seemed to have taken a page out of his brother’s book and incorporated his hood onto his undershirt, for it was the same peacock colour as his tights, yet it was decorated with exquisite shapes and forms of a lighter hue. 

There was something about seeing Yugo in formal clothing that simply set her heart ablaze. Maybe it was the way it complimented his boyish charm while highlighting his own regality. Or the way his every garment seemed to draw attention to his sculpted physique. Or maybe she just thought Yugo looked handsome in everything he wore. The doll honestly didn’t know, but it wasn’t like she cared that much about it either. She couldn’t suppress a dreamy sigh from escaping her mouth. Whatever it was, Amalia found that she really liked it whenever her friend looked his best. Almost as much as she liked it when he appreciated her good looks. 

Her daydreaming was abruptly stopped when she heard snickering not far away from her. Her cheeks burning, she quickly averted her gaze from the man of the hour, hiding her face behind one hand, and began to look around for her own mysterious watcher. 

She blinked blankly when she made eye-contact with Old Biju, the kindly old man from the jewelry store she met during her first visit to the village. The same man she had yet to visit again to design and purchase one of his exquisite pieces. 

Normally, that wouldn’t be so bad—whether it would be mortifying or not to be caught gawking at the king was a whole different story. The weird thing, however, was the fact that he was grinning from ear to ear underneath his greying beard, followed by him sending her a double thumbs-up and a wink before walking away with his family. 

Her brain still trying to catch up to the unusual interaction, her face the perfect definition of ‘confusion’, Amalia eventually just shook her head to clear her thoughts. Still embarrassed for her little indiscretion, she tried to play it cool by pretending to be as entranced by the rest of the Council’s ensembles for the night. 

A small smile curled at her lips and she snorted softly. It seemed whenever it was time for them to dress up, the Council of Six always followed a theme. 

Everyone was wearing similar outfits to Yugo, only in their respective colours and with very small variations. Qilby wore an actual white ceremonial robe with crimson red embroidery, the same sheer material as his brother’s sleeves was used to display his sternum. Nora wore a bright magenta leotard with matching bishop sleeves and pantalons, her toned limbs in full display. Mina wore a light teal, floor-length dress and the same kind of sleeves as her brother and sister. Chibi was clad in a black and golden, open-chested vest, with light beige pantalons secured by a striped, red and gold sash, and brown boots twirled at the tip—his sleeves were almost the same as Yugo’s. Glip was the only one who didn’t use the same material as his siblings. Instead, he simply wore an olive green tunic not too dissimilar from his usual look. 

And, of course, they all had their heads covered by their hats and hoods. 

Meanwhile, their dragon siblings didn’t really wear any special clothing. They looked like they usually did save for the painted markings trailing all over their bodies. The only exception was Shinonomé, who wore a yellow dress similar to Mina’s, only much shorter, drawing attention to her long, ruby-coloured legs. 

It was truly fascinating how they always found a way to stand out from the rest of their siblings while keeping a common factor that made it evident they were all in this together. 

“Then again,” Amalia mused to herself. “I suppose I have the same thing with my sisters. Even if I don’t really show it…”

Smiling to herself, the doll decided, albeit reluctantly, that it was high time she tried to immerse herself a little more into the ceremony. Everything was beautifully decorated, and there were so many fun things to do, she could hardly wait!

And so, she began to look for ways to entertain herself until it was dinner time. 

She tried some of the games, and was pleasantly surprised to find out she was a natural at scoring a basket at the ‘Travelling Portals’ game. A very fun game that only required you to throw a ball through a blue ring. Although it was a little awkward when the man manning the stand sheepishly offered her a doll as a prize. Luckily, nobody seemed offended when she gave her prize to a little girl staring at it with glittering eyes. Instead, they all cooed as the child hugged her new toy tightly. 

She also got to spend some time with a few of the adults. They asked her about her day and her daily routine, and in turn she showed interest in their lives. Apparently, one of them, Araknya, was the village’s most talented seamstress, and back in the day, it had been her who’d sewn all the silken handkerchiefs they still used as decorations. Another one, Mona, was a passionate artist who tried a little bit of everything—painting, sculpting, carving, metal work… And then, there was Trina, who was an accountant.

Honestly, from what she’d told her about her job, the doll couldn’t help but privately wonder how come there weren’t more accountant Enutrofs. Getting to count money all day long had to be paradise for them!

She also shared some pleasantries with Bartoloblé, who still lamented the fact that his children were growing up too fast for his liking when they ‘ditched’ him to spend time with their friends. But then he offered the Divine Doll some freshly baked bread to snack on while they waited for dinner, and he seemed to get over it. For now. 

Then, when her guard was low, the children all worked together to take her by surprise and bombard her with requests to play with them. Amalia lasted for all of two seconds before they pulled out the big guns and she was forced to admit defeat in the face of countless adorable puppy-wow-wow looks. Before she knew it, she was gleefully dancing in a circle, hand-in-hand, with a group of giggling, singing children. Or summoning her vines to carefully lift them up so everyone would look like insects from where they were. Or even playing with them at the stands, trying to win some more prizes for them—and getting completely demolished when Grougal came strutting by and won every single game without breaking a sweat. 

He had to close her gaping mouth himself once he was done handing out plushies and toys for every kid. In response, she crossed her arms and pouted. “Show-off…”

But what truly made her heart flutter and immediately improved her already wonderful evening was when Yugo would get a few minutes to sneak away from his adoring subjects and check up on her. The first few times he did it, it was small things. Like asking if she was having a good time, to which she would assure him that she most definitely was. Or he would recommend some of his favourite past times, and even go with her and spend some time together whenever his presence wasn’t required elsewhere. And other times, they’d get more time together and they would chat the night away, just like they usually did from her balcony. 

Even though all the while she still felt a pang of guilt for not coming clean over her unease of the last few days, it was nothing compared to the longing that would take over her heart whenever her eyes, treacherous as they were, trailed over to what would become the dancefloor and back at Yugo. Would it be wrong to want him to ask her for a dance? 

There was nothing she wanted more than to dance with him. The last time they did so was back in Bonta, and she would be lying if she said she didn’t miss the feeling of swaying in the Eliatrope King’s arms, where she felt protected, cared for, l—.

Her train of thought was abruptly interrupted by Nora and Efrim announcing dinner was served. The corners of her lips turned upwards a little when Yugo placed a polite hand on the small of her back and led her over to her seat at the table. She was seated next to Mina, who flashed her a knowing smirk behind the rim of her cup that made her skin feel too hot even under the light fabric of her dress. Two other Eliatropes she didn’t recognise but would surely come to know by the end of the night were located at her other side and right in front of her. Even the musicians left their position for the time being to enjoy some food. 

Once everyone was in their place, the royal chef listed off the many mouthwatering dishes he’d prepared for the night. Gobball stew—Amalia, Yugo, and even Adamaï shared mischievous glances; it wasn’t bad in any sense of the word, it just wasn’t as good as Alibert’s—, stir-fried vegetables, grilled Kralamoure—this time, the doll and the king had to do everything in their power not to break down laughing at the way Adamaï blanched even whiter than he already was when presented with the dish—, roasted meats with caramelised onion, soups, bread from Bartoloblé’s bakery, and the most artistically baked desserts Amalia had ever seen in her life. 

As everybody ate and shared stories around the meal, the doll felt pleasantly full. Her heart in particular threatened to burst from joy as the most wonderful feeling of belonging enveloped her. 

And just when she thought the night couldn’t get any better, Mina and Phaeris announced it was finally time. 

Perking up with a huge grin on her face, Amalia mimicked everyone around her and stood from the table. Since they would lead the ceremony from the temple, the Council of Six were the first to make their way towards the sacred building. But not before Yugo reached out for Amalia and gently took her hand in his to make sure she wouldn’t be left behind amidst the crowd and she could be watching alongside them. 

As soon as their leaders had begun making their way over to the temple, their subjects followed. They calmly abandoned their own seats and filed out of the dining area. While the Council climbed the stairs leading to one of the highest floors of the temple, ensuring everyone would be able to see perfectly, the Eliatropes all crowded around the main square. The perfect view of Mina and Phaeris as they took a step forward to address their people. 

As his subjects murmured impatiently from below, Yugo’s eyes were on Amalia, watching her every reaction intently in order to file it away in his mind for eternity. He smiled at the thought of her dazzled face when she finally saw the true magnificence of Sacred Dance Day for the very first time. He knew from experience it would stick with her for years to come. 

His affectionate grin faltered slightly when she caught sight of the engraved chest being passed over to Mina and Phaeris. From the look in her eyes, he could tell she recognised it, but couldn’t imagine how that was even possible. Even though she had been in the throne room before, he had never told her of the secrets the Eliatrope throne held. There was simply no way she could know about the Dofus. 

As if reading his mind, the doll leaned closer to him to whisper, “I saw Mina and Phaeris carrying that out of the throne room earlier today.” Okay, that explained a lot of things. “What’s inside of it?”

Even though her unintentional explanation managed to assuage his worries, the king still understood his people held secrets he couldn’t reveal just yet. Especially when Efrim was around watching them like a hawk. As much as he would have liked to reveal everything to Amalia, he knew he couldn’t. 

“Now, now, Amalia. That would ruin the surprise…” He winked down at her, relishing the way she blushed the softest shade of pink even as she pouted. 

A terse but meaningful grunt from Phaeris was all they needed to know they were about to start, so it’d be best if Amalia retook her previous position and stood back. No matter how much he lamented watching her go, Yugo knew it was the right thing to do. However, he didn’t miss the way she seemed to grin impishly to herself, the mysterious action causing him to raise an eyebrow at her retreating form. 

As always, he could count on his brother to ground him back to reality with a subtle, yet not-so-gentle, flick of his tail against the back of his head. His go-to method to get his Eliatrope twin to look forward and pay attention.

As soon as Amalia had returned to her previous position from Yugo’s opening speech, Mina, as if sensing this, addressed her subjects, her arms extended to her sides welcomely. 

“Dear friends, thank you all so much for joining us in the celebration of Sacred Dance Day once more. Your devotion and faith in our mother, the Great Goddess Eliatrope, is not in vain.” At her words, the people gathered at the feet of the temple lowered their heads in a silent prayer, their hearts with their goddess. Mina’s smile widened at the sight of her people’s loyalty. It only lasted for a minute before her expression turned somber. 

“As our king said before, I know I need not remind you of the many hardships we have endured. In what feels both like seconds and several lifetimes, we lost those we considered our friends, our world, and we were forced to begin a long voyage in search of a new place to call home.” Amalia couldn’t help but wince at her quiet admission, her heart going out to the wonderful nation that had taken her in. “In a way, even now we’re still searching.”

Although she lamented having to admit they still had a long way to go before they could say they belonged in the World of Twelve, Mina’s voice remained clear and unwavering even as bitter tears sprung from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. But the silver-haired priestess carried on, emboldened by her people’s faith in them and her brother’s silent support in the form of the comforting touch of his wing against her back. 

“But today we are here to remind you how hope is not a weakness!” She declared, raising one fist in the air to show her conviction. “And neither is it to trust the Great Goddess. Now more than ever, hope and trust give us strength. The strength needed to face each new dawn with motivation and optimism, knowing we can make each day better than yesterday. Our past may be tinged with loss, but the future belongs to us!”

“And we have our goddess to thank for that!” This time, it was Phaeris who took the floor, his solemn roar reverberating throughout the space. “Even if her presence is not as powerful as it used to be, even if she does not hold the same power in this world as she did in our own, let no one ever doubt that she remains with us. Let no one ever doubt that she is still looking over us.

“For if we are all gathered here today, celebrating life despite our many losses, that is precisely because Eliatrope has led us directly to this moment. Even in her absence, us, her children, will forever be her top priority!”

The teal dragon’s conviction resonated with everyone listening. While his siblings and their subjects all cheered and loudly proclaimed their agreement with what he said, Amalia could only glance upwards. As her gaze remained fixed on the night sky, she couldn’t help but wonder if her father was also watching over her despite the distance. A small smile curled itself on her lips at the sentiment. 

“That is right!” Mina concurred, stepping forward with her hands outstretched towards her kingdom. “Eliatrope has blessed us with the chance to start over. Therefore, let us celebrate her grace and compassion by honouring the event that started it all—her sacred dance with the Great Dragon that gave birth to the Krozmos!”

Amidst all the cheering and clapping, the Ochre Twins exchanged a meaningful look. Gripping each other’s hand tightly, they raised it high above their heads and exclaimed, “For new beginnings!”

“FOR NEW BEGINNINGS!” Everyone chorused immediately after. 

Amalia watched from her position as Mina instructed everyone to follow her lead. Her palms facing outwards, soon enough, they turned wakfu-blue and began to emit a shapeless mass of energy that floated skywards. The doll’s brown eyes widened in awe and she craned her neck when, one by one, her fellow Eliatrope members of the Council copied her actions, their own wakfu coming to join hers high above. 

And yet, that was nothing compared to the veritable spectacle that was seeing every single Eliatrope gathered around—regardless of age, size, or gender—contribute with their own energy. Before long, they were all standing under a cloud of the purest hue of turquoise that lit up the night. 

The only thing that succeeded at getting the Divine Doll to tear her gaze away was the sight of Mina elegantly and measuredly waving her arms around as she commanded the wakfu cloud. It was like watching the waves crash against the shore—beautiful and calming, yet extremely impactful. Amalia could only gasp as she finally realised what the priestess was trying to do. She was moulding their combined wakfu into a more refined shape. One that, only enough, resembled a face with extraordinarily long locks of hair.

Her eyes widened in realisation yet again. “The Eliatrope Goddess!”

It was at that time that Phaeris took action. Effortlessly dragging the mysterious chest in front of him, he bent down and unclasped the lock. When he stood up, he was carrying six colourful eggs the size of boulders in his arms. But if Amalia thought that was strange, it was nothing compared to the shock she felt when he willed them into forming a rotating circle all around him. 

The doll could only watch on, mesmerised, as the Ochre dragon clearly used every last drop of his concentration to keep the eggs under control even as they began to spin faster around his form and glow ominously. At last, he seemed to achieve his goal, for with a draconic roar that sent tremors down to her very core, Phaeris spread his arms and wings wide as a great burst of energy was released from both his body and the eggs. 

And yet, that was nothing compared to the astonishment she experienced when the blue energy the eggs had been operating with suddenly turned purple. Her hairs stood up on end and she instinctively brought her arms around her torso to hug herself at the sudden shift in the atmosphere. She could just feel it. 

But before she could so much as ask about it, the eggs—the Dofus, she realised. Just like the one her sisters and Osamodas��� dragons had created all those years ago—began to move about, purple energy trailing after them. Her eyes remained snapped open in bewilderment, for she feared missing anything if she so much as blinked, as the currents began to mount and spike up. Just as she was about to run for cover, fearing the worst, her concerns proved unfounded when the Dofus turned into a giant, ethereal dragon made out of the very same purple energy they emitted. 

And even that was nothing when the Great Dragon and Eliatrope Goddess’ recreations began to dance, taking her breath away. 

It was like nothing she had ever experienced. Craning her neck so far back a subconscious part of her was sure she would feel it in the morning, Amalia wouldn’t have been able to tear her eyes away to save her life. She followed the two lovers’ every movement, mesmerised, as the Ochre Twins directed them high above. All around her, the delighted murmurs coming from the Eliatropes watching from down below echoed her own sentiment. 

It was truly breathtaking. 

A pleasant warmth spread all over Yugo’s chest when, having discreetly flickered his eyes towards her, he got to see the amazement plastered all over the doll’s face. The Council of Six had witnessed the traditional recreation of the Sacred Dance so many times, he knew exactly what would happen next without having to look. 

First, Mina and Phaeris would wield the wakfu from the Eliatropes and the stasis from the Dofus into taking the form of their parents. Next, they would recreate their first meeting by guiding both constructs to stand (or would it be more accurate to say ‘hover’?) on opposite ends. Slowly, they would draw them both near until they were face to face. Just like Eliatrope and the Great Dragon, upon seeing each other for the first time, the constructs would lunge at each other and form a perfect spiral as they began their mystical dance. Little by little, their ethereal forms would undulate and shoot upwards, purple and blue becoming interwoven for eternity in the form of a whole new universe where life and death were intrinsically linked. 

And although he was sure he would never tire of seeing it, for it never failed to be absolutely beautiful, this time it somehow still paled in comparison to getting to see Amalia see their union for the first time.  

Knowing this was usually the part where his siblings let loose of their hold on the energy constructs and allowed them to move on their own as the commemoratory dance began underneath their light, Yugo felt tempted to take Amalia aside and give her his present then. 

Only for something so unexpected not even Chibi would have been able to predict it to happen. 

As scripted, Mina and Phaeris dropped their hold on the wakfu and stasis clouds at that moment. But then addressing their people like they did was completely unscripted. 

As usually, the first to speak was Mina. “My dear people, normally, this would be the time when we got the actual dancing of the holiday underway.”

“However,” Phaeris continued, dutifully ignoring the confused glances being shared even amongst their siblings. “This time, there is one more surprise waiting for us. But why doesn’t Phaeris allow the person behind it to step forward and share her idea with us?” When he gestured to his side and Amalia stepped forward, shyly waving down at the Eliatropes, there wasn’t a single jaw that didn’t drop at the sight of the Divine Doll seemingly organising something for their special day. 

Yugo and Adamaï’s were certainly only centimetres apart from the floor. 

“Thank you, Mina. Phaeris.” Her nervous heart racing wildly in her ribcage, Amalia discreetly took a deep breath to steel herself as she slid up beside the Ochre Twins. Remembering what they said about projecting her voice, she addressed her audience with as much poise and confidence as she could muster. “I would like to start by thanking you all, from the bottom of my heart, for allowing me to share such a meaningful occasion with you. Truly, I am not worthy of such honour.”  Placing a hand over her chest and lowering her head solemnly, she didn’t miss the way Efrim seemed to agree with her statement, but she didn’t let that deter her. 

She was done letting him get into her head. That, and the soft huff of air that left his maw when one of his siblings nudged him in his side certainly helped. 

“However, I have not come here today to talk about what I am lacking, rather, to share what I can provide for you instead. All I ask in return is that you place your trust in me for a few scarce moments.”

Not waiting for an answer, indistinguishable from all the chatter crowded down below, she looked over her shoulder at the Ochre Twins and offered them a curt nod. 

“Do you have any idea what she’s up to?” Adamaï questioned him. His brother had to admit his stoic façade did a wonderful job at hiding his own bewilderment. 

“No, she didn’t mention everything all day.” Blinking in surprise, Yugo’s gaze flickered over to his silver-haired sister and, her hand behind her back, she opened up a portal. 

His dirty-blond brows shot up to the nonexistent ceiling when it became apparent she had actually created one large portal that stood amidst their mother’s offerings and it then dissolved into innumerable smaller ones all over their audience. Despite his many questions, his mind immediately drew a blank when a portal opened right in front of him and deposited a small, leaf-like package in his hands. 

…did Amalia organise some sort of cabbage exchange, or something?

His head snapped over to Nora. “No way! Is this—?”

“What you have in your hands is my present to you.” Amalia continued, the only one who didn’t have a cabbage-like thing in her hands. Instead, hers were splayed at her sides, her palms up. Not unlike how Mina herself had initiated the ceremony. “This is my way of saying ‘thank you’, for everything. I know it’s nowhere near as impressive as the magnificence of the dance that created the Krosmoz, but someone made me realise that, perhaps, that was exactly what was missing—the Krosmoz.

“Now, if you would all be so kind as to raise what you’ve been given in the air…” She gestured for them to follow her motions, raising the mysterious present high above their heads. Her smile widening at the patches of green greeting her from down below, illuminated from the still moving bursts of blue and purple energy, she knew everything else was up to her. 

Amalia placed her extended palms in front of her and, much like Phaeris had done before her, she began to concentrate all her energy into that indescribable source that connected all of plant-life together. The very same source she felt deep within her core ever since the Leafy Godl himself brought her to life. 

In a way, she was literally pouring everything she had into this, and that alone gave her enough hope to believe it would work. 

At first, she heard it rather than saw it. 

A surprised gasp, soon followed by another, and another. Soon enough, the sounds of curiosity were replaced by joyous laughter, loud hollering and cheering, little kids telling their parents to ‘Look!’, and the excited chatter she had been looking for. A huge weight was lifted off her shoulders.

She could only chuckle when she heard Chibi exclaim, “What does light have to do with plants?!”

“That’s what I said!” That was Nora. 

Despite everything, the Divine Doll still was almost too afraid to look. After a moment’s hesitation, she finally peeked one eye open, and soon it was her turn to grin broadly at the scene in front of her. 

From where she stood, dozens of golden, little dots lit up the town square, but all she could see were the delighted expressions of the Eliatropes as they stared at the glowing orbs in awe. Amalia wouldn’t have been able to wipe the smile off her face even if she wanted to. Her plan was a success! She had contributed something of value to Sacred Dance Day all by herself!

Now, there was only one thing left to do. 

“My dear Eliatropes, I give you…” With a fluid motion of her hand, her plant-based lights took off into the night sky, “the first stars in the Krosmoz!”

From where he stood, watching alongside his husband, Mr. Needlesworth had to wipe a tear off, a huge, touched grin breaking out under his moustache. He and his love leaned into each other at the view, holding each other close. 

While her subjects erupted in even more gasps and cheers, Mina took the chance to draw their attention back to her once again. Her own gaze followed the orb she had previously held as it floated away. 

“I believe I speak in the name of all of us when I say it is us who are grateful for you and everything you have done for us, Lady Amalia.” She placed a warm hand on top of the Sadida Doll’s shoulder, smiling warmly down at her. From the genuine glint in her dark eyes, it was easy to see she meant every word. She turned to her subjects. “And with that, may the dance commence!”

No sooner did the words leave her mouth that the Eliatropes began to celebrate underneath their Great Goddess and the Great Dragon, only this time, countless Sadida stars served as their witnesses. It was incredible how something could go from solemn to immensely festive so quickly. One minute, everyone watched and listened attentively to everything the Council of Six had to say, and the next, people were coupling up, or forming rings, or even going solo to dance the night away. 

Not for the first time that week, Amalia’s heart squeezed in longing as she observed their almost crazed movements. Not only did she miss dancing in the ridges alongside her family as the breeze gently swayed flower petals behind them. But, watching the couples sway softly to the music, she yearned to be able to do the same with Yugo. 

As pleasant as that feeling he elicited was, a deep loneliness enveloped her whenever he wasn’t there with her. Was it normal to miss someone you saw almost every day?

Unbeknownst to her, she wasn’t the only one observing. A little ways off from his siblings as they celebrated and congratulated each other on yet another successful Sacred Dance Day—except Nora, Chibi, Grougal, and even Baltazar; who had teleported themselves to the dancefloor—, Yugo’s eyes were on Amalia, his heart thundering against his ears. 

He had long known she was beyond beautiful. One only needed to ask around for a little bit and it soon became apparent he found her to be bewitching from the very moment he first laid his eyes on her human form. As a matter of fact, with each passing day, he only found her lovelier and lovelier, proof enough of that was the way his brain stopped working as soon as he saw her in her new dress. 

But after what she did today for them… He was convinced she had never looked more beautiful. 

The weight of what he carried around in his breast pocket heavier than ever, the king made up his mind. He had to give it to her now before he lost his nerve. There wouldn’t be a more perfect moment. 

Sliding up to her and clearing his throat, he almost felt bad at the way his unexpected company made her jolt in place. Although it was kind of adorable how it took her a little to regain her bearings and notice his presence. 

“Oh, Yugo! You scared me!” She chided him lightly, slapping him on the arm without any real force behind it. 

“Sorry, Amalia. That wasn’t my intent.”

“It’s alright.” She smiled. “Did you need anything?”

And just like that, his mouth went dry at the moment of truth. 

“Y-yes, actually.” He stammered. He tried to hide his blush behind his fist. “I was wondering if you would come with me? I’d like to talk to you in private.” Was it just him, or did a flicker of hope just die out in her eyes?

“O-oh!” Now it was her turn to stammer. “S-sure, I mean…” She waved her hand lazily. “Lead the way.”

With a nod, Yugo did just that. He tried not to think about her squeak in surprise when he snaked a hand around her waist and pressed her flush to his side. Or how right it felt when her arms came to circle around his torso and to hold on tight when he jumped off the temple and onto a lower, more isolated platform. 

The moment Amalia let go, he immediately missed her warmth. 

The doll looked around in confusion for a minute, before turning back to the king with a raised eyebrow. “So? What did you want to tell me?”

She could only blink blankly at his answer. 

“Remember when I first took you to the village?” Yugo blurted out. 

Okay… That wasn’t what she’d been expecting, but she’d play along for now. “Yes, of course. How couldn’t I? Not only was it a great day, but I’ve been coming back quite often ever since.” She tilted her head to the side. “Why do you ask?”

“Remember when we were about to leave but we stopped for a minute to talk with Mr. Biju?” He prodded. “You know, the jeweller known for his literally one-of-a-kind pieces?”

“How could I forget? I saw him earlier.” She chose not to say anything about his weird behaviour then. But her tone grew wistful. “I have yet to visit him again to commission him something for me…”

At her words, Yugo’s smile softened. “Well, to tell you the truth, I’m kinda glad you didn’t?”

“Huh?” Amalia blinked, more confused than ever. “Really? Why?”

“Because of this.” He said simply. He brought his hand to his breast pocket and took something out of it. Something he placed into Amalia’s open hand. Her eyes flickered back to the lukewarm, sleek object in her hand for a fraction of a second, before her head snapped up back at him in wonder, her mouth slightly agape.

The king shrugged so nonchalantly it just didn’t fit what he’d just admitted to doing for her. “What can I say? I wanted to do something for Sacred Dance Day for you too.”

Still incapable of forming a single coherent thought, Amalia’s astonished gaze returned to the object currently holding her attention. There, laying in her open hand, was a beautiful pendant. While the chain itself was fairly simple, what truly caught her eye was the intricate design of the charm. It somehow managed to be both simple and breathtaking. Glinting in her palm was a golden spiral, but what made it truly memorable was how the outer lines consisted of jagged edges, highly reminiscent of an Eliatrope portal; while the inner ones curled in on themselves into the shape of a leafy vine, like the ones she would summon. 

With a start, she realised it was supposed to represent them and their bond. As she reached that conclusion, words failed her, although she still gave it her best shot. 

“Yugo… I… This is… I-I don't know what to say!” Her voice, though tremulous, was full of emotion. 

“Do you like it?” He asked simply with a smile. If he were being honest with himself, he wasn’t faring much better. 

“I love it. It's… It's beautiful!” She assured him, and he immediately felt ten times lighter. “But, I didn't get you anything…”

“Are you kidding me? You did all of this.” He opened his arms wide and gestured around. “Even though you didn't have to.”

But she shook her head. “It was the least I could do after you all took me in and were so kind to me.” At least, most of them were. “I couldn't possibly do nothing for you on such a special day for you. I—.”

“Amalia, you're a Divine Doll.” He reminded her gently, lifting her chin with his thumb so she would look at him. So she would see the seriousness and sincerity in his eyes. “You didn't even know about Sacred Dance Day until very recently! Nobody would've put it against you if you didn't do something to celebrate with us.”

“Still…”

“Is that why you’ve been so off lately?” The king finally questioned, and the doll had to suppress the urge to gasp when he hit the nail on the head. Instead, she tried averting her gaze again, but the thumb under her chin wouldn’t let her. “Amalia. Please, talk to me. Do you have any idea what knowing that you don’t trust me does to me?”

Her answer was immediate. “But I trust you!” He was probably the person she trusted most on Oma Island. Nay, the entire World of Twelve!

“Then why don’t you ever come to me when you have a problem?” Yugo prodded, hopeful at what seemed to be progress between the two. 

Amalia’s voice was so small he almost didn’t hear her. “Because you’re a king, you’re already dealing with so much, and I… I don’t want to worry you.” She started when he actually snorted. 

Flinching under her disbelieving glare, he tried to wave it off. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just…” He let out yet another chuckle, though a mirthless one. “If the reason you don’t tell me what’s bothering you is because you don’t want me to worry, then I’m sorry to tell you you’re being counterproductive.”

“What do you mean?” The doll tilted her head, the pendants hanging from her headband dangling with the movement. 

“Amalia, if I see you’re worried about something but you don’t tell me what, I’m only going to worry more!”

Oh. When he put it like that, maybe trying to be the strong and silent type that didn’t really open up wasn’t the best solution she could have come up with. 

“Yeah… You might have a point.” She winced, instantly regretting all the secrecy from the past few days. Looking back at Yugo, she let out a rueful sigh. “I’m sorry, Yugo. You’re right, I should have told you how I felt about not being able to collaborate much from the beginning. It would have saved us a lot of trouble….”

“I’m kind of glad you didn’t, actually.” Again, she was looking at him like he’d grown a second head. He could only laugh. “Don’t you see? It was thanks to that that you ended up organising all this!” He pointed at the glowing orbs high above. “It’s the first time we’ve ever deviated from our traditions, and I must say, I think this is our best Sacred Dance Day yet.” He smiled down at her, winking knowingly. “I’d say it’s quite fitting, given the circumstances.”

Knowing exactly what he meant, a soft blush on her cheeks, Amalia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m just glad you guys liked it. After everything you’ve done for me, this was the least I could do.”

They were quiet for a little while after that until Yugo broke the silence, his voice kind yet full of meaning. “But seriously, from now on, if you have a problem, don’t hesitate to come to me, okay? I feel much better knowing I can at least offer some support than watching you agonise from the sidelines.”

After a beat, a small smile stretched over the doll’s lips as she glanced back up at him. She was done letting Efrim dictate her life. If he wanted to blame her for all of his misfortunes, so be it. But she wouldn’t let him affect her friendship with Yugo anymore. 

“I promise.” And just then, without a warning, she threw herself at Yugo’s arms, who, despite his initial surprise, automatically held her against his body just as tightly. Her warmth seeping into his body, her emerald hair tickled his nose, her natural floral scent with tinges of sunlight so intoxicating he had to (very reluctantly) place her back down lest he got dizzy. 

Once her feet were on the floor again, he softly asked for her permission to let him help her with her necklace, which she happily granted. Tucking her hair in front of her to facilitate the Eliatrope’s access, she felt a tingle of excitement run down her back as his bare hands grazed her skin while he tried to clasp the chain around her neck. 

When he finally stepped away to see how it looked on her (beyond gorgeous), Amalia picked it up and stared at it intently. However, for some reason, an unreadable expression settled on her face the more she stared at the necklace. Seeming to realise what she was doing, the doll sent her a small yet soulful smile, but that only soothed his worries a little. 

“I still feel a little bad for not getting you a present.” She confessed.

Yugo frowned. He gave her that necklace hoping to convey how much she meant to him and how much he appreciated having her in his life, even if he couldn't say it out loud himself. It tore at his heart to see his gift causing her grief of any kind. All he wanted was to take all her worries away and help her enjoy herself after the absolute wonder she had just performed. 

His eyes flickered away for a moment, drawn by the lights, music, and laughter to their side, and his concerned frown melted into a mischievous grin as an idea came to mind. 

“Do you really want to do something for me?

Amalia blinked, taken aback by the sudden question. She nodded vehemently when the words registered in her mind. “Yes, of course! Anything!”

She raised an eyebrow when all Yugo did in response was chuckle fondly, only to let out a quiet gasp when he held her hand in his and his other one snaked around her waist, bringing her flush against him. Her cheeks burned from the intimate contact. 

Her heart was thumping in her ribcage so loudly, she almost didn't hear him say, “Then come dance with me.”

An ear-splitting grin broke across her face, her brown eyes shining with elation. All night she had been staring longingly at the dancefloor, secretly hoping Yugo would ask her to dance with him. And he just did! Oh, sweet Sadida above, she was so happy she might as well burst. 

Unable to contain her squeal of excitement, Amalia broke the embrace Yugo had her in. Before a confused king could ask her about it, she grabbed him by the wrist and practically dragged him to the dancefloor as she hurriedly climbed down the stairs leading to it. Not like Yugo was complaining. Only when they made their way between the throngs of spinning dancers, did they retake their previous position. 

And so, they danced the night away between festive cheers and elated cries. Every time Yugo spun her away before bringing her back to his side, Amalia couldn't help but giggle, a huge grin splitting her face. And all Yugo could do whenever she came back to her senses and realised her hair must be a mess from all the dancing was stare down adoringly at her, quietly hoping that would be the first Sacred Dance Days of many they’d get to spend like this. 

And all the while, the pendant around Amalia's neck would glint softly under the moonlight and party lights. A clear reflection of the connection between Sadida and Eliatrope the two of them were forging together.  

[sapphicseasapphire]

Living in a world as populated as it is by mortals, it is rare to come across a being who is not so. Rarer still is it to come across one who is both mortal and immortal- those who toe the line between Life and Death.

Reapers are abundant but undetected, doing their work for the spirits while hidden in a mortal body. They are bound to no Gods, serving only the lost souls of the land and answering only to the inevitability of Life and Death.

Hylian legends depict Death as a woman clothed in flowing white fabric, serene and tranquil, everlasting and inescapable. Some fear her, some hate her. Most bunch her up with the Goddesses.

She is not a Goddess.

She is… a promise.

And just as they’ve cast Death’s image onto a Goddess that doesn’t exist, they attribute Life’s gifts to Hylia, singing her praise. Hylia, the little sister of the Golden Three, tasked with protecting this world, is not Life.

Life has existed here for far longer than Hylia has. Some say that she was created with the breath of Farore, others speculate that she came before.

People think that Death exists in Life’s shadow, that they are entirely separate from one another. One brings joy, the other brings pain. This is, wholly and entirely, untrue.

For Life and Death wear matching white cloth, and they stand so closely together that they are indistinguishable from each other. One cannot exist without the other. They are… the same, in nature. They are patient. They take nothing more than what they are given; they give nothing more than what they take. It is balanced, in that way.

Everyone must face them, one way or another. Even Gods cannot deny the push and pull of Life and Death.

Although, there are occasions in which they can be swayed. In the case of a young boy who’d met his end during his quest, so beloved by the spirits, Death chose to wait. She did not claim his soul, not yet. She heeded the pleas of the spirits and allowed him to continue on- to finish what he had started. But this was not without a cost.

The boy- only twelve years old- was named Link, and he was not unique. Those who are favored by the spirits and succumb to illness or injury are often granted these second chances. They may never remember that they had died, but they are forever changed.

These people are known as Reapers. They recruited by Death to guide lost spirits to the afterlife. They have heartbeats, they breathe, they require sustenance. Reapers are mortal, normal people.

Until it becomes time to do the reaping, that is.

In order for a Reaper to find and guide spirits, they must use spirit magic. Spirit magic is as potent and variable as any other type of magic, except its power source is distinct: it is fueled by the power of an untethered soul. It comes naturally to Reapers, except in order to use it, they must free their soul.

Reapers have the ability to separate their souls from their bodies, becoming nothing more than a spirit. Once freed, they are immediately pulled to the nearest lost soul and it is their duty to aid them in their journey to the next life. The pull of a Poe is just as potent as the pull of a portal: demanding and unavoidable. Reapers feel it physically.

When their soul is outside of their body, a Reaper will appear comatose to the waking world. Unresponsive and unmoving, almost like they’re asleep. Their hearts still beat, their lungs still breathe. They still live but there’s nothing there. If their body is moved during this time, the Reaper will have a difficult time returning to it. Their survival will depend on whether or not they can find their body.

Link is one of many Reapers that serve under Death, and he is not unhappy. He sees the Threads of Fate that bind all things- the red ones of the living, the black ones of the dead, and the white ones of the immortal- and he takes pride in helping wayward Poes follow these threads home. He… has experience guiding souls, after all.

Link doesn’t remember when exactly he died, but he knows it had to have happened during his quest to rid the Demon King from Princess Zelda’s body. With her spirit by his side, he felt unstoppable. And his new job isn’t much different. He doesn’t feel sadness when he guides a Poe to their next adventure. No, he feels… at peace.

Death is extremely welcoming to him, for she knows that in time, he will return to her. Just as all things do. Link- our Spirit- admires Death. He serves under her but he is not opposed to it. He’s wholly dedicated to his job. He takes pride in it. It doesn’t interfere with his waking life too much and even as he cast on another adventure, it’s not too much to manage. Death treats him well, and he’d never denounce her.

When he’s reaping, he’s making a difference. He’s helping people. Is that not what a hero should strive for?

He’s… home.

Some notes!

• This kind of turned into a post about Reapers specifically and less about Spirit, but ehhh lore is lore

• Spirit and Wind are BEST BUDS. I’ve been referring to them as “the twins” in my head this whole time

• Spirit’s pupils glow when he is looking at the Threads of Fate. He can��t see them all the time, just when he really focuses on them, or else he’d be blinded by all the string everywhere!

• More on that- he doesn’t only see the threads that bind people to each other. He also sees the threads that bind people to objects. Everything has a memory, everything has a story.

• Something about Spirit’s presence is so inherently peaceful. He speaks quietly and clearly, he moves like a whisp, he smiles so gently. He can 100% be a little goblin in his own right, but he can be incredibly comforting when he wants to be.

• He cannot swim. Wind is APPALLED.

• He knows that Time is a God right away. His string is white. He doesn’t tell anyone, though, because it’s not his place. Everyone has their secrets, everyone should have the right to reveal themselves at their own pace.

• He and Wild sure do have a relationship. Yep. Just. The Reaper- the one who is tasked with guiding lost souls. And the literal spirit, actual ghost. Uh huh. They. Um. Yeah, they definitely have a dynamic. (This dynamic is the reason that I was convinced to add Spirit to my Cryptid Chain)

• A spirit is any soul without a body. A Poe specifically refers to a spirit that is lost. Hopeless. One who needs help. Wild is not a Poe. (Kind of)

• Spirit is like Time in the sense that he has not fully ascended, and won’t until his mortal lifespan is over. When he dies, he will continue to be a Reaper, but much more powerful as he will not be bound to a body. But that’s far, far off. He’s twelve, I won’t be cruel to him

• hehehehe

• He’s so incredibly good at playing the pan flute.

• Also this kid’s hilarious without even trying. (Spirit Tracks is the funniest Zelda game of all time)

• NERD. HE LOVES HIS TRAINS. HE IS IN PHYSICAL PAIN THAT NONE OF THE OTHER LINKS EVEN KNOW WHAT A TRAIN IS!!! SEND HELP!!! TELL HIM ABOUT YOUR FAVORITE TRAINS!!! HE MISSES HIS TRAIN!!!

• He has the unique ability to talk to Poes and Spirits directly, so he’s gonna be the best bet when it comes to translating for Wild. If Wild will let him come close, that is.

• “Don’t disturb me guys, I have some reaping to do,” he says, and then takes a nap. The others can’t tell.

• Or, mid battle, the decides they could really use a blast of spirit magic to aid them. So he just. Separates his soul from his body, as one does. Falls limply to the ground as the monsters they were fighting just suddenly all die. What just happened???

• Do monsters have souls? Do they become Poes? Thoughts that keep Spirit up at night.

[polysucks]

I've seen a bunch of your indigenous headcanons for Starks and I love them so. Do you think of all First Men that way or particularly northern First Men/Starks? Also I'm going feral over your idea for a wild west AU!

HI I LOVE YOU.

I will talk forever about indigenous Starks and Northmen.

yeah. I’m that bitch. I am the #1 Indigenous Stark Truther* (unproven claim) and I will happily die on this hill.

I’m answering all of this on mobile like 15 mins before I have to be in class so I have none of my research in front of me and no sources, so yall feel free to jump in the comments and the reblogs to compound or (CONSTRUCTIVELY) Correct me :)

As we know, the First Men are all over the place. I mean it’s been, what, twelve thousand years since they came over from Essos on the Dornish Landbridge? (Sound familiar, fellow US Public Education System Victims?) and maybe six thousand years since the Andals migrated, with all the interbreeding and the thousands of years of generational melding, there’s bound to be traces First Men blood all over the planet by now. Just like all indigenous peoples irl! Imma have to write a whole thing about the Westerosi equivalent to the Columbian Exchange now is not the time—

So like personally, I see Native American coding in the Northmen. And all I know is of the American Indigenous perspective (and not even a whole lot bc I wasn’t raised in the tribe. I was removed from the tribe via my grandparents who are both Blackfoot-Salish out of the PNW and victims of modern colonization but that’s another story for another time. It’s just to preface that I am no expert in Native American culture, and only know what I personally know. I got some baller resources if you’re super interested tho)

In my personal humble onion. There would be a high concentration of First Men blood (god I really hate using the term ‘blood’ bc of blood quantum and lineage politics but for the sake of brevity imma just use it) in the Northmen. To me it’s giving PNW and Inuit who pressed north after the Columbian invasion because they had the means to survive in the harsh lands, where the whites. Simply didn’t. And knowing Peepaw is American, like, I see the parallels.

The First Men lived in close harmony with the land, practicing a nature-based religion—the worship of the Old Gods—centered around weirwood trees, sacred groves, and the guidance of “greenseers” and “skinchangers.” (We don’t use the W word around here but do you smell what I’m stepping in?) Their way of life was deeply tied to the land and vaguely resembles that of indigenous spiritual beliefs about animism and ancestral wisdom.

After however long years of battling with the Children of the Forest, the First Men reached the pact, agreeing to honor the children’s sacred forests and worship their gods. This mirrors real-world treaties between indigenous peoples and settlers, which were often later broken or disregarded (to put it nicely). the pact was chill for thousands of years (I think like I say I got no refs in front of me we die like Icarus), leading to the Age of Heroes, in which the First Men formed their own kingdoms, including the foundation of House Stark.

Bro that. Is so ancient American history coded. Same shit different font.

There’s a large population of indigenous peoples in reservation-adjacent areas cherry picked all over the US. I mean, we’re everywhere. Don’t ever let terminal narratives win. We out here babyyyyyy but to me it makes sense that the highest population of indigenous peoples of Westeros would be on the lands that are least likely to be gentrified (wrong word but imma stick w it) as in. The North. I can’t source any quotes rn specifically but how often is it mentioned that the north is the biggest and the “emptiest” in all their seven kingdoms?

So excellent question! Yeah I think all the Northmen are indigenous coded! You can’t convince me that Lyanna Mormont isn’t some badass fuckin thicc warrior goddess coded. And the Greatjon??? My mans leanin and rockin w a bear pelt. That man kills bears with his fists (just ask him) and I could go on forever about how The Boltons in all their violence and the rumors surrounding all that they’re capable of is so so so sooooo Comanche Ute and Sioux coded. They were so shat in by westward expansionists and rumored to be barbaric and cannibalistic and fuuuuuuucked up—simply bc they fought back against the people who were raping, pillaging, and stealing from them. But that’s pure speculation and personal hot take on my part, and wildly incorrect bc the boltons really do be flaying people. While the Ute, Comanche and Sioux did not. In fact. Flay anyone. (Unless they deserved it :) )

Tl;dr

Yeah man I think all the Northmen are native coded (w some Viking and Norse imagery thrown in there bc this is fantasy. It’s not that serious.) but the Starks heavily so due to the hard focus on the animism, their honor, connection to the land, spiritual beliefs, dedication to family, and the fockin’ wolves bro. Natives do be really into wolves. (Wolves are cool as fuck dude)

Also I got three chapters of my Wild West au already written and so much art I haven’t posted. when I unlearn shame and finally post it all it’s over for you bitches

[pagan-stitches]

Saint Matthew’s Day (Folkloric Date — February 24)

Josef Lada

While today's Catholics celebrate the feast of Saint Matthew on May 14, before 1970 they commemorated this additional apostle on February 24. At that time, the Saint Matthew pilgrimages opened a new pilgrimage season and were also one of the harbingers of the coming spring.

In folk tradition, Saint Matthew was associated with the arrival of early spring. In the Chod region and South Moravia, it was said that sparrows had a wedding on this day. Farmers monitored the weather and, using the weather forecast, estimated how long the frosts would last and what the harvest would be that year. In the Beroun region, barley was sown in the morning, at noon and in the evening - the one that emerged the fastest was supposed to be the most suitable for sowing.

One of the widely spread auspicious rituals was also associated with the feast of St. Matthew. Before sunrise, people would go out into orchards and gardens, where they would shake trees, beat them with sticks and wooden spoons, and loudly invoke St. Matthew to protect the trees from frost and ensure a bountiful harvest of fruit. In some areas, adults also participated in these magical acts, but in most of our territory, this important task fell exclusively on the shoulders of children. Children would run around the orchard, barefoot and in thin shirts, or even completely naked, climbing trees, shaking their branches, and singing songs about all the types of fruit they would enjoy in the summer. Elsewhere, mothers would walk instead with small children tied in a scarf on their backs. Wherever St. Matthew's call reached, the trees were to be protected and fruitful. 
Sometimes this custom was also connected with a reward. In the Mnichovsko-Hradiště region, children found apples and dried fruit in orchards, which were given to them by Saint Matthew. In East Bohemia, this custom took the form of a girls' carol procession.

And in the evening? In the evening, people warmed themselves by the stove and also did a little fortune-telling. For example, using ivy leaves, which were placed in a bowl of water overnight. If any of them softened by morning, it was considered a harbinger of illness in the family.

The most famous are the St. Matthew's pilgrimages. The famous one – the one in Prague – has a very long history. The first written mention of it that has survived to us dates back to 1595. At that time, the pilgrimage was still held in Dejvice and its goal was the Hanspaul Church of St. Matthew, to which a twelve-station Station of the Cross led, starting at the place where today we can only find the Hradčanská metro station.


As this first spring pilgrimage in Prague (and some sources claim that even in the whole of Central Europe) gained in importance, its participants also increased. The area in front of the church was packed like a fair, not even a pin could have slipped in the crush. For these reasons, the pilgrimage was moved to Vítězné náměstí, where it continued to flourish and grow, so that during the First Republic its annual participation was as high as a quarter of a million people.


This exceptional tradition and annual event, of course, did not go unnoticed by Prague native and patriot Karel Hašler, who composed the song U svatého Matěje about it. It was also accompanied by a film in 1928, filmed by director Josef Kokeisl. Unfortunately, this film material is now lost forever, so let's remember the song at least as performed by Patrola Šlapeto.

Source

In the Old Bohemian calendars, the first day of spring was usually the feast of St. Matthew (February 24). Also, in the Old Bohemian division of the year into eight seasons, St. Matthew's Day was the first day of the so-called winter or early spring. The other seasons were: spring (Vesna), podletí, summer, flytí, podzimek (autumn), pre-winter and winter.

On that day, the harvest was predicted, as well as the success of the expected marriage. Saint Matthew is the patron saint of the harvest, but also of carpenters, butchers and craftsmen who handle axes. He is even invoked in cases of marital infertility and his intercession is said to bring luck in drawing lots

The wisdom of our wise grandmothers will tell you:

St. Matthew breaks the ice, if he can't, St. Joseph will help.

On St. Matthew's Day, a lark drinks from the dormitory.

If it rains on St. Matthew's Day, it will soon be sown.

Saint Matthew brings spring.

On St. Matthew's Day, the human heart will warm, the sun will devour the snowdrifts, and the lark will sing over the field.

St. Matthew is cutting ice, or just melting it before winter.

Source

On the eve of St. Matthew's Day, another interesting custom was observed in the villages. People would leave a rag hanging outside overnight and in the morning, from its condition, they would deduce what the end of winter would be like. If the towel was only wet, they believed that a warm spring would come. However, if it froze, winter had not yet given up its reign. The more the rag was frozen, the colder the spring would be and the longer the wait for it would be.

[moonlitenvyillust]

Epic characters with HSR character mechanisms because my day is not good and my month is gonna make it worse. Part one, the Ithacan royal family

-

Name: Odysseus of Ithaca

Rarity: five star, obviously

Path: I'm thinking either Erudition (because athena) or destruction. Imaginary for erudition and physical for destruction

Normal attack name: full speed ahead

Skill name: twelve axes, and a bow (gain one stack of "monster awakening")

Ult name: 600 strike

FuA, yes or no: yes. When reaching 6 stacks of "monster awakening", launches AoE FuA to all enemies. Stacs can be gained from skill, or ally FuA

E1: I'm coming home

E2: on my way

E3: what's with gods and ruining my life?

E4: where in Tartarus am I?

E5: comets become meteors

E6: the monster

-

Name: Penelope of Ithaca

Rarity: five star

Path: destruction wind (why not?)

Normal attack name: I order you as Queen

Skill name: before I am of Ithaca, I was of Sparta (reduces 5% hp. Attacks 3 enemies)

Ult name: I shall weave a tapestry (main source of damage)

FuA: yes. When ally or self breaks enemy weakness, launched FuA

E1: the shroud bluff

E2: I'm still waiting

E3: a queen can lead, even with no king

E4: tapestry of our love

E5: am I fit as a mother, or a monarch?

E6: you're always my husband.

-

Name: Telemachus of Ithaca

Rarity: five star

Path: Erudition ice (I have a vision... (His color is blue) or wind...

Normal attack name: try me!

Skill name: look at me, mother!

Ult name: even little wolves have bite (attacks all enemies, recovers 20% of all ally energy)

FuA: yes, launches FuA when ally uses ultimate (FuA name: I'll be legendary, you'll see!)

E1: stop nagging me

E2: I'm not a kid anymore

E3: me myself, and this paintbrush

E4: I'll dream of a different life

E5: father, will you ever return?

E6: will that life forever be a wonder?

I tried to make them all work together

@lenamiyabi

[headfullof-ideas]

Okay it took me all afternoon, but I finished the base doodles of my own version of @thedeepfanpage’s tangled AU, only because I’m obvious, I did it with Ant instead of Fontaine! And it’s a Tangled AU in that Tangled is sitting in the corner of the room. Its presence is there, but it’s not fully there, you know what I mean?

My idea was that, in this world, instead of the flower being from of drop from the sun, it was actually from a drop of Monumential blood, being blue rather than yellow. Almost the same powers, but a different color with a couple different extra things and rules. One, it’s not activated by singing, but by willpower. By need, by urgency. Adrenaline. Second, it can be placed into conduits, gems powered by the same magic from a dead Monumential thousands of years ago. Third, there’s more to it than healing. Surges of energy can be expelled, longevity can be bestowed upon something, light can be made. And fourth, there is a limited supply of it. Unless a source is fed externally from a sort of battery, its magic will die out. This magic is very fleeting and limited, and there isn’t much of it still around anymore. What there is, is stored away from a society dedicated to making sure this very power doesn’t end up in the wrong hands. However, that doesn’t mean people like Proteus still can’t make their way in and try to utilize it for bad.

Proteus learned along with Nereus that a person can actually have this power harnessed within themselves. Nereus tucked the information away as interesting to know, but Proteus immediately wanted to use it for himself. He wanted to live forever, so he could spend all the time he needed to learn to harness the full power of the dead Monumentials, and use it to gain control of the world. All attempts at giving himself powers with it failed, so he turned to a younger person, Alpheus, hoping to turn him into his very own conduit to leech off of. Alpheus was a little more susceptible to it than Proteus in his already old age had been, but it had only affected his physical appearance, changing the color of his eyes to a much brighter blue. No powers fell upon the unknowing Alpheus, and Proteus was at his wits end on how to make a person get powers.

With the Nektons, the King and Queen of present day Lemuria were expecting another child, but Kaiko was getting ill. Nereus had been keeping an eye on them at the request of Will’s late parents, and remembered the information about how the residual magic could be used to heal and rejuvenate. He helped the Nektons find just what they needed, telling them what he knew it could do, and Kaiko got better. When Ant was born, he had blue hair and blue eyes. Nereus said that with no outer conduit to latch on to him, and eventually using up what had been used to keep Kaiko alive, Ant’s hair and eyes would return to the color they were naturally supposed to be. Other than that, he was a healthy happy baby.

Proteus heard about the Nekton’s baby though, and found the answers to his dilemma. He hadn’t known that you needed to introduce the magic to a person while they were still developing in order for anything to stick. Proteus kidnapped Ant, having slipped amongst the Guardians who were now aware of his actual intentions. He made off with Ant, disappearing without a trace. The Nektons parents were devastated, and Nereus vowed to track down Proteus and find Ant and bring him home.

Twelve years later, Proteus had been keeping Ant in an underground Lemurian sanctuary, hidden away from the rest of the world and all the Guardians searching for Ant. Ant lived alone with just Proteus, away from any other person and unaware of what the outside world even looked like. Proteus had found a conduit, using it to feed magic to Ant, keeping the magic inside him alive, and also store magic from Ant, for Proteus to use.

Now, Proteus is not as sly as Mother Gothel, too impatient. The combined efforts of his own temper and Alpheus tracking him down to repeatedly fight and antagonize him and Ant over Proteus choosing Ant and abandoning Alpheus, led to Ant not being so fond of Proteus himself. He knows that Proteus isn’t a good person. However, with no knowledge of the outside world beyond Alpheus and Proteus, Ant is led to believe that even if Proteus isn’t a good person, Ant’s safer with him. Especially when Alpheus keeps making attempts at sucking the magic out of Ant to prove that he would have been better with it. Ant is also fed a fair number of lies in how his powers work. He knows what they’re capable of, but he thinks that they’re also the only thing keeping him alive. With no one to fact-check the lies Proteus feeds him, Ant is led to believe that his body naturally produces magic of its own. However, too much of it can kill him, meaning Ant has to put some of it into Proteus’s staff, powering it, to stay alive. But getting rid of all of it will kill him, meaning that Ant has to keep at least some of it. Ant stays with Proteus not just because he doesn’t know if or how he can leave, but he thinks that he’s safer with Proteus despite the fact he knows he’s not a good person, and that Proteus is the only person with the staff that can keep Ant ‘alive’. Ant doesn’t want to die, and doesn’t think he has anywhere or anyone else to go to, so he’s stuck with Proteus. Proteus is happy keeping Ant under his relative thumb, using the magic he leeches away from Ant with his stuff to prolong his lifespan and energy, with Ant none the wiser.

Every year, once a year, the dead Monumentials body releases a torrent of magic into the sea. It’s not magic that can really be harnessed, otherwise Proteus would have been stealing it years ago. It’s nothing more than lights, but they’re beautiful, lighting up the ocean and surrounding rivers and streams that it can reach. There’s an underground river that flows through the sanctuary that Ant is kept in, and he wants nothing more that to see the actual ocean that he reads about in the old books kept there, and he wants to see it lit up by the dead Monumential. Proteus won’t let him leave though, and Ant isn’t sure if he’d make it if he left the sanctuary and it’s natural magic and Proteus for too long.

Back with the Nektons, Fontaine is frustrated with her parents trying to keep an eye on her at all times. She knows that she had a baby brother who was stolen days after he was born, but she doesn’t know that he had blue hair and eyes because of Lemurian magic. Determined to prove that she won’t be in danger if she’s on her own, and that she can handle herself, she signs up to join the captains guard. On an excursion out into the woods for training, she comes across Alpheus, who was stealing something. What I don’t know, just that it was mildly important and maybe something that was Ant’s. I didn’t get that far, just that he stole something, and that Fontaine gave chase. Alpheus manages to lose her not far from where Ant is, Proteus out for a few days on his usual trips in search of Lemurian stuff, and Ant sees Fontaine lose Alpheus. She stumbles across him, and he hits her over the head with the mandatory frying pan in a panic.

Fontaine wakes up, and after a bit of bickering, Ant convinces her to take him to see the ocean in exchange for knowing where Alpheus is. Ant figures that if he has someone with him, he can be taken to and from the ocean in relative safety, back before Proteus knows what happened. Fontaine’s just wondering why there’s a weird kid with blue hair and weird blue eyes living underground. But, she’s willing to reluctantly play babysitter for this weird kid if it means she has a lead on that other weird, blue-haired guy.

Shenanigans are had for the next few days, with the Dark Orca pirates, Kaiko and Will, Nereus, Alpheus, eventually Proteus who figures out Ant left and immediately tries to re-kidnap him again, and an assortment of other incidents happening while Fontaine and Ant bicker, bond, freak out over the other freaking out over Ant’s powers, and eventually grow pretty close for knowing each other only a few days. Ant activates Fontaine’s sleeper big sister instincts, and Fontaine slowly gets Ant to realize that maybe Proteus was lying about a lot more than he initially thought. That the outside world wasn’t as dangerous as he made it out to be. That Proteus was worse than Ant believed. That maybe his parents didn’t abandon him because of his powers. Fontaine takes him to Lemuria where they do the whole Kingdom Dance scene, Fontaine avoiding her parents to the best of her ability because she is DEFINITELY grounded the moment they get their hands on her. After the scene on the ocean in the boat, Fontaine tries to pop the question of if Ant actually wants to go back to Proteus. Ant says he’d die if he stayed away too long, but Fontaine’s not sure that wasn’t just something else Proteus was lying about. Before they can finish talking about it though, Alpheus and Proteus find them. Both are trying to grab Ant for different yet very similar reasons. Proteus wants to take Ant back to the sanctuary so he can hide him even further away, never to see an ounce of light ever again. Alpheus wants to transfer Ant’s powers to himself for his own gains. Ant and Fontaine get separated, and while Fontaine gets back what Alpheus stole, Proteus gets away with Ant. The palace guards catch up. Alpheus is arrested and Fontaine is grounded for a very long time.

She’s determined to save Ant though, and breaks into the prison to get answers out of Alpheus. Alpheus tells her what exactly Proteus has been wanting with Ant, and what Ant’s powers can do. Fontaine steals a horse and rushes off to save Ant. Haven’t figured out the specifics of what happens next, but Proteus gets shoved off a cliff that leads into a deep chasm in the sanctuary, Fontaine get’s stabby-stabby’d, and the staff holding both what Proteus had been leeching off of Ant and the conduit feeding Ant’s magic gets shattered, leaving Ant with only whatever his own body had stored. Not in that order, but that’s the gist of what happens. At the end, Ant is panicking, because Fontaine is dying on the ground, and he doesn’t know what to do. He’s still not entirely sure that he won’t die if he uses up all the magic in his powers, but he decides to try and save Fontaine anyways. He ends up using every last ounce of it he had left in his body to bring her back, and his hair and eyes return to normal afterwards. Crying and happy tears and relief and did-we-just-kill-a-man happen, and Ant and Fontaine head back to her parents. Fontaine introduces him to them, and it’s only when it gets revealed that he used to have blue hair and eyes that anyone realizes who Ant actually is

This is a very janky explanation because A) I’m tired and B) I don’t have the most solid scene-by-scene description of my version of this AU. So it’s a little jankily worded and laid out. But I have drawings for it! And another one I’ll post after this because I didn’t have room here, and a few others I wanna do!

[the-shadowsingers-whore]

a court of wards and shadow

chapter twelve

series overview

summary: plagued by nightmares after her mission to the day court, aelis wanders the house of wind where she stumbles across azriel and learns some of his secrets

length: 3.1k

warnings: (18+ mdni) mentions of nightmares, hints to past trauma, azriel is vulnerable for once, kissing, idk what else, this chapter is just soft and sweet

disclaimer: this fic in no way represents any of sarah j. maas' work or ideas, it is for purely fictional/personal entertainment purposes

masterlist /// next chapter >>

author's note: surprise!!!! i'm back again with yet another random update after an eternity. i hope you enjoy!!

it’s tuesday. 

i’ve been back from my mission with azriel for a full two weeks now without any sign or word from him. it’s like he disappeared from the face of prythian the moment he left me in the house of wind after he winnowed us from the outskirts of the day court. i know it’s not his fault, there are greater forces at work and he is vital to preventing an attack, but i can’t help but miss him.

especially because i haven’t been able to sleep. 

my nightmares returned with a vengeance after our journey, the combination of those men attacking, the surprise run in with camden, and simply being in that place again absolutely wrecking the mental progress i have made since i arrived in the night court. it had been weeks since my last nightmare, but now they are back each and every night, and more violent than ever. i can’t recall a time they ever felt as vivid, as real, as they do right now. and maybe it’s because i’ve never truly had something to lose like i do now. i don’t know.

all i know is i spend my nights fighting sleep until i can’t possibly keep my eyes open for a moment longer and then jolting awake hours later, panting and sweaty, my heart racing and my body more tired than when i drifted off. and my days aren’t much better. i feel apprehensive and uneasy. i can’t even walk down the halls without checking around each corner and through every doorway. 

i returned to my training almost immediately, desperate for a sense of normalcy, but i’m not the same. i keep messing up basic footwork and simple moves and i can’t seem to focus. nesta and gwyn keep asking if i’m okay, but i just keep saying yes. because even though it’s obvious that something is wrong, how can i explain that while nothing actually changed in the few days i was gone, it feels like something within me broke during my time back in the day court.

so instead, i spend every day fumbling my way through my training and then sorting books in the recesses of the library where no one can find me. i’ve given up even trying to sleep at night, instead choosing to explore the house of wind once everyone has retired to their own rooms.

which is where i find myself again tonight, roaming the halls in my flimsy nightdress and wishing i had grabbed a coat or a blanket to wrap around myself when a chilly draft sweeps past me. i don’t know what i’m looking for, or if i’m even looking for anything at all. 

after an hour of aimless wandering, i slump against a random wall in a nameless corridor, feeling cold and more than a little bit insane. i slide slowly to the floor, a part of me wondering if i could just disappear here forever. the house of wind is so expansive and i’m no one of importance, it might be weeks before anyone found me here. the thought is strangely peaceful to me, but maybe that’s just the madness finally setting in.

i’m about to close my eyes and see if the nightmares will be able to find me on the floor of this dark hall when i hear a faint flutter of music echo down the empty corridor. i pause, wondering if i’m actually hearing it or if my mind is truly that far gone. when the noise persists i sit up straighter, and then stand, drawn by the music.

i make my way towards the sound, weaving my way through more unfamiliar halls, until i finally find the source of the music: an unassuming door in a long row of rooms i’ve never seen before, with the most hypnotic tune pouring out from within. 

i don’t know what i had planned to do when i found the source of the music, but i still surprise myself when i reach for the doorknob, not even pausing to consider who i might be disturbing. the music rapidly tapers off at the sound of the door creaking open and my eyes immediately meet azriel’s over the top of a piano, surprise awash his face.

“aelis, hello…, i uh…i was just….”

"was that you playing?" i question softly, saving him from his stumbling words. 

"yes," he replies sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "sometimes when i……when i need a space to think i'll come down here and play to calm my thoughts. it's far enough into the house that i don't wake anyone. or at least so i thought. i’m sorry i disturbed you." his voice drops off into a murmur at his final words, shame coating his tone.

“no, please don’t apologize, i was……ummm…i couldn’t sleep and figured i would explore a bit,” i reassure, hesitant to share the true reason i was still awake at this hour. "i would…. love to hear more.....,” i softly admit, “if you're willing that is." 

"really?" he asks, shock present in his voice. "you want to hear me play?" 

"yes, very much so actually. you were right about the music being calming. i think it might be just the thing to help my thought-raddled brain."

"well then, please join me." he moves to the side, gesturing to the empty space on the piano bench beside him. 

as i enter the room fully to head towards him, i pause, gasping slightly and then spinning in a slow circle to take it in. i find myself in the middle of a cozy little library. floor to ceiling bookshelves adorned with a sliding ladder make up one entire wall. opposite that, a plush window seat looks over the city with a small fireplace crackling on the third wall. a few mismatched chairs and a love seat take up part of the room with a gorgeous black piano taking up the remaining space. it might be the most beautiful room in the whole house. 

"wow," i breathe quietly, "i didn't even know this room existed."

"neither does anyone else," azriel admits. "and please don't tell the others, i like to use this as a sort of refuge when i need to escape. plus, they don't exactly know i play." 

i finally join him at the piano, sinking into the seat in pure awe.

"no one else knows?" i say, shocked that he has kept something from his closest friends.

"no one, except for you now."

"why not? i'm sorry, nevermind, ignore me. that's none of my business." cauldron, that was rude. here he is inviting me into his private sanctuary, offering to play for me, and i thank him by interrogating him. 

"no, you're alright. it's a fair question." he grows quiet and starts to softly play a lovely, tinkling melody. i close my eyes and sway softly to the tune. 

"my mother taught me to play……..when i was very young…….. before...." large pauses exist between his sentences, filled only with the sound of the piano and our soft breaths. "the memories of her teaching me are some of the only good ones from my childhood." 

my chest tightens painfully at his admission. 

he doesn't speak for so long after that i think he is finished. the haunting tune continues to flow from the piano and i let the music wrap around me, losing myself in it so deeply i almost miss the words when his quiet baritone rumbles next to me once more.

"i have nightmares like you." 

my aching heart shatters completely at the simple sentence. 

"on nights where they plague me i usually turn to training to battle them away. but, sometimes…. no amount of sweat and fighting can push them back. on those nights, i come here and play, sometimes sing. it doesn't stop the viscous replaying of my nightmares, but it reminds me of my mother. how, on the few rare moments when she was allowed to visit, she would hold my hands and tell me i was brave."

stunned and broken by his words, i remain silent, simply watching him. he continues playing, his face peaceful despite all that he openly admitted to me. 

"az," i choke out, my hand reaching softly towards his shoulder. he flinches slightly at my touch, but doesn't make a move to shrug me off. "i didn't--" 

"shhh," he quietly cuts in. "just listen." 

as he continues to play the music transforms into something even more magnificent, and then, all of sudden, he begins to sing. the hauntingly beautiful sound of his voice melds perfectly with the music. 

i do not move. i barely breathe. i simply watch his fingers flow across the keys and the way his lips dance as they sing. 

even after the song ends i remain motionless, completely transfixed by the magnificent male sitting next to me. 

he turns slightly to face me and concern crosses his face. "you're crying." 

i reach a hand to my face and find it wet, completely unaware of when i started crying. 

he reaches up slowly to my cheek, the rough pad of this thumb gently wiping away the tears. after a moment his thumb stills, but his hand remains, his face only a few inches from mine. silence settles across the room. i know i should pull away, that i should be respectful of his vulnerability and allow him to be alone, but all i manage to do is lose myself further in the warm pools of his hazel eyes. 

his hand slides slowly behind my neck, pulling me ever so slightly closer. my throat goes dry and my tongue darts out to wet my lips. azriel narrows in on the movement, his gaze dropping to my mouth. 

"aelis….i--”

before i have a moment to think, a moment to second guess myself, i silence him with a soft, "shhhhh." and then i close the small gap between us. 

i swear i hear music when our lips meet, a beautiful melody surrounding us as our lips twine together. the kiss is slow, and deep, and full of all of the pain we have shared with each other. and when his tongue parts the seam of my lips to brush against mine, i lose myself in him.

a quiet gasp slips from my mouth and my hands grasp the front of the soft sweater he’s wearing. at the sound, one of his hands drops to my waist, dragging me close to him on the bench. he holds me there, my body almost flush with his as he devours me, every stroke of his lips and brush of his tongue pushing him deeper into my heart and soul.

too soon he’s pulling away, his forehead dropping to mine as we both struggle to catch our breath. we stay like that for a while, his arms still wrapped tightly around me, my hands still fisted in his sweater. eventually, i relax my hands and move my head to lay against his chest. i feel him rest his cheek against the top of my head as he continues to hold me and i feel a faint smile play across my lips as my eyes start to droop shut, the warmth and safety of his body pulling me towards the sleep that has evaded me these past two weeks.

“gods, i wish i didn’t have to leave,” he murmurs and i pull back suddenly, shock coursing through me and pulling me out of the comforting daze i had slipped into.

“you’re leaving?”

i don’t miss the slight grimace that crosses his face as he turns away from me slightly. “i have to go south. i need to be in position by dawn in order to stay hidden.”

“but you only just got back.” i try and fail to mask the quiver in my voice.

“i know, and i’m….” he turns back to me, grasping my hands between his, his eyes full of emotion as he looks at me. “aelis, i’m so sorry i haven’t been here since our return from the day court. i know it’s been hard for you. never before have i wanted to tell rhys no or wished that anyone else could do what i can, but that’s all i’ve thought for the last two weeks. mother damn me, it’s been killing me to leave you after everything i have put you through. aelis, i need you to believe me when i tell you that if there was any other way, i would take it. gods, would i take it.”

the passion in his words and the raw emotion awash his face threatens to bring me to tears.“i believe you,” i manage to whisper in response, not trusting myself to say anything further. a hint of relief passes through his expression before he pulls me tightly against his chest for a moment.

he plants a gentle kiss to the crown of my head before pulling away. standing, he reaches his hand down to help me up from the bench. “i still have a bit of time before i leave. i would like to see you safely asleep before i go, if you’ll allow it.”

for a moment, my heart swells at his sweet offering. but, realization hits and terror grips me. he would make sure i was asleep and then he would leave. and i would be asleep and alone. where my nightmares would find me.

“no that’s okay, i…uh…” i rush out, my mind spinning as i try to think of an excuse to deny him. “i think i’ll stay here for a while to read by the fire. if you don’t mind me invading your secret space that is.” i stare at the ground, unable to meet his gaze.

“of course,” he begins slowly. “you’re welcome here anytime you wish. but…..” his hand gently brushes my cheek and my eyes flick up to his. “aelis, i know you haven’t been sleeping. even if nesta hadn’t told me her suspicions, i can see it plainly all over your face, you��re exhausted.”

i feel my cheeks flush beneath his gaze, ashamed by how affected i am from a simple mission. “hey, it’s okay.” he reassures, as if he could see the thoughts tumbling through my head. his thumb begins to stroke my cheek softly as he continues. “it’s just that…..it’s already tearing me apart that i have to leave you, that i can’t help you through all of this. i don’t know how i will ever be able to focus on what i need to do if i know you aren’t sleeping. and i know that makes me a selfish bastard, but please, aelis, will you at least try? for me?”

my heart aches at his words, full in a way i don’t think it ever has been. i offer him a small smile and nod, determined to try to sleep each and every night no matter how many nightmares come as long as it brings him a bit of peace.

his eyes brighten slightly at my response and he dips his head to press a soft, feather-light kiss to my lips before grabbing my hand and guiding me from the room. 

i follow him through the maze of hallways, not really paying attention to where we are going until he stops and releases my hand to unlock a door i don’t recognize.

“az, where are we? this isn’t my room.”

“i know,” he says not glancing back at me as he opens the door and heads inside. “it’s mine.”

shock freezes me in place for a moment before i follow him. my eyes dart around quickly taking in everything from the very large, but simple bed, the few pieces of basic, functional furniture, and the wide assortment of weapons organized neatly along the wall. 

“what….” my words die off, my mind unable to process why he brought me here.

azriel moves to one the dressers and starts pulling out stacks of leathers and other clothes, one set of which he packs into a satchel as he speaks. “i figured it might help if you slept here. i know it won’t stop the nightmares, i’m assuming they are why you haven’t been able to sleep, but i thought it might help you feel comfortable enough to return to sleep after they plague you. the room is warded against anyone but those i allow in to enter. cassian and nesta’s room is at the other end of the hall and there are plenty of weapons around  and,” he pauses to run his fingers through his hair. he doesn’t turn back towards me, but i don’t miss the way the tips of his ears start to redden, as though embarrassed. 

my surprise at the thoughtful gesture renders me speechless and when i don’t reply he turns around, not meeting my eyes as he fumbles for more words.

“i should have asked, i’m sorry. you’re probably more comfortable in your own room. i just thought that maybe--”

“thank you,” i interrupt softly, finally finding my voice again. “i don’t know what else to say besides thank you, this might be the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.”

he dips his head in response and then clears his throat, his eyes meeting my gaze for a moment before darting away. i don’t know if i’ve ever seen him look so nervous before.

“well, umm…i should get ready. please, make yourself comfortable.” he says nothing more before grabbing the other stack of leathers from his dresser and slipping into the small washroom.

i smile to myself as i cross the room and crawl into his huge bed. the scent of fresh rain and a hint of something so uniquely azriel washes over me as i pull the covers over my shoulders and settle onto the pillows.

a few moments later he re-enters the room and pauses for a moment to stare at where i’m now curled up in his bed. he quickly shakes himself loose of whatever thoughts momentarily gripped him and crosses the room where he lights a candle on the small table before sitting on the edge of the bed. “so you don’t wake in the dark,” he murmurs, brushing a few strands of hair out of my face.

he begins humming a low melody as he continues running his fingers lightly through my hair and my eyes grow heavy as the soothing sounds of his voice lull me to sleep.

i don’t wake until the sun is high in the sky the following day, with only dreams of gentle rainstorms and soft melodies having visited me during the night.

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