#to do one tenth of what my YOUNGER brother who laid in bed all day could do

[almonddirge]

This vessel of mine fails to serve even one of my purposes for if it was able I’d be too powerful

[ally22042000]

Linked by fate

Shifting

Werewolf AU

Fluff, Angst

OT7 x Reader

Pack Alpha: Namjoon Alpha: Hoseok, Jimin, Jungkook Beta: Seokjin, Yoongi, Taehyung Omega: Y/N

Wordcount: 1.7K

Commenting and rebloging is always appreciated.

A/N: Hey, guys. I hope you are going to like this chapter. I was thinking about creating little mood boards, so you have an overview of their fur colour, etcetera. Let me know what you think about that. -Ally

It was in elementary when your animal instincts slowly started to make their appearances. While the position a wolf had was clear from birth, their natural behaviours didn’t start to show until later into their upbringings. Unhurriedly the process begins during childhood and steadily takes over more of their senses. The stronger instincts like the alpha’s power to force others to follow any of their command or heats and ruts, didn’t begin until the late teenage years. To ensure the safety of everyone and the capability for beta and omega parents to raise alpha children.

Another feature that slowly starts is the ability to turn into your wolf form. Namjoon was the first of our pack to shift. The calling to protect his younger to strong. It took over his body and made him show his true power as the pack alpha he was born to be. His parents were immensely proud, thankful that he wasn’t a late shifter. Wolfs that didn’t turn before their fourteenth birthday were often frowned upon and seen as a lacking member of the clan.

Next in line was Hobi. He had always had a strong connection to his basic instincts. Having been trained to fight from a young age and coming from a strong lineage of worriers, nobody was surprise that he shifted shortly after he turned nine. Since than he often favoured to walk around in is furred form. It felt more like himself, is what he said whenever someone asked.

Jungkook shift was a surprise to everyone. It was rare for someone, who didn’t come from a strong blood line to turn before their tenth birthday but like always the golden boy defeated any standards and turned on his eight birthday. All of you had gathered in his small living room. With his parents both being omegas they weren’t able to afford much. Most jobs, especially the ones who help authority, where given to alphas or betas. Omegas were regarded as to much of a push over to stand their ground when needed. That lead to them having a smaller income than the other to wolf species. But disregarding the financial consequences and the fact they wouldn’t be able to have a child with each other, they stayed together; their love too strong to break. Considering the impossibility of them having a child together, Jungkook knew from a young age, that he was adopted. A fact that never bothered him. Something his parents were eternally grateful for.

His mother brought in the cake and set it down in front of the little boy. Everyone around him was singing, while he closed his eyes and made a wish. Desiring that this moment would never fade, him surrounded by the people he cared deeply for. Everyone healthy and a smile painting their lips while they celebrated his birthday. He filled his lungs with air and looked at the eight little flames in front of him. But instead of the sound of rushing air and cheering, the ripping of cloth was heard, and a little black wolf was sat on the stool in lieu.

The room went silent everyone staring at the puppy with the big eyes. Slowly similes formed on their faces, happy that a new wolf found its fur. Cheers and clapping filled the room. Congratulations came flying Jungkook’s way, little hands stretching and shoving to touch his fur. His father returning with a camera and capturing the scene. His mother wiping away a stray tear of happiness. Glad she was able to witness that new chapter in her son’s live. Meanwhile Jin watched the situation from his chair unmoving and having eyes for one thing and one thing only: “Yeah, that’s really great but can we eat cake now.”

Jin and Tae funnily shifted at the same time. It was a sunny Sunday afternoon and all of you with the exception of Namjoon and Hoseok, who were attending a pack meeting in request of their parents, were playing in Yoongi’s backyard. Both his parents were gone one a hunting trip for a few days, like they often were, leaving Yoongi and his brother on their own. The beta was in his wolf form, having turned a few weeks ago while turning on the shower and the water having been too cold. His brown fur with a read hint feeling silky as you braided it. When you stared, he let out a little huff, showing annoyance at your antics, but being too lazy to move he let you do your thing. You smirked to yourself, knowing that he actually enjoyed the feeling of your finger running through his fur.

Jimin and Jungkook were training on one side of the huge yard. Both of them started taking a liking to taekwondo. Meanwhile the other two troublemakers were playing a game of badminton on the other side of the field. A loud yell was heard, when Jin lost another point to the younger, the wind’s fault of course.

After two more failed attempts the oldest threw down his racked in anger and started chasing the dark haired. Laughter filled the air as Tae took off. The feel of the chase awoke something primal in Jin and before he knew it a new sensation washed over his skin and he suddenly chased Tae on four legs instead of the usual two. The youngers instincts were triggered by the older wolf chasing him and his own first shift took place. Tae had a soft looking, sand coloured fur, while Jin was another brown one but with more of an ashy touch.

The rest of the afternoon the both of them explored their new ability alongside Jungkook. Jimin had taken residency behind you, back hugging you while watching the others. Although you couldn’t see his face, you felt the wave of sadness that washed over him. The both of you were the only ones who hadn’t turned yet. You were only twelve so you still had enough time before it would be considered abnormal, but the pressure lingered.

Jimin didn’t turn until he was seventeen, a fact which cost him a lot of fights with his parents and multiple appointments with his doctor. Countless nights spent in your bed, crying into your pillow, screaming because of the pain this was causing him. With him being the alpha, he was expected to be this strong wolf that no one stood a chance against, but here he was not able to do the simplest thing known to your beings.

When he did turn his wolf was coated in a beautiful fur of the purest white you had ever laid eyes upon. His animal form as elegant as his human. His parents were proud and from there perspective Jimin’s flaw had faded just like their problems, but in reality, their relationship never went back to the way it was. He wasn’t the kid that ran home from school because he missed his mother anymore. Or the one that would tremble on his feet at his first dance performance, until he saw his fathers encouraging smile, which could wash away any problem, and let him be the beautiful swan he was.

You had turned a day after Jimin, had cried yourself to sleep the night before at the fact that you were the only one of your group that hadn’t turned yet. You were happy for Jimin when he called you and told you about the great news; genuinely. But the fear and self-hatred crawled up on you at night. Reminding you of your duty, as an omega and as a wolf, to your pack and your incapability of living up to it.

The following day you felt nauseous and empty, but still your parents forced you to attend school. As a senior it was important to be present as often as possible and to learn until your brain smoked to insure you could attend the collage of your choosing. You made it to two lessons, before the sick feeling in your stomach won the upper hand and you ran to the bathroom. Having arrived at the stall and preparing yourself to let out your small breakfast, a warmth like never before overcame you. You let out a pained breath as you felt your body expand and your cloth rip. And then you stood there, grey fur covering your body as you saw yourself in the bathroom mirror.

Your ears flexed at every sound that could be heard from outside. The footsteps of a person running somewhere; probably late for class. The uncomfortable squeaking of a chalk on a black board. Then a waft of a delicious smell slipped through the opening beneath the door. The cafeteria ladies had started cooking lunch. Hamburgers and fries how it seemed. And then you could smell a familiar scent, one that you would be able to pick up anywhere. Clumsily you were able to open the door with your bowl sized paws. You hurried down the hallway, slipping a few times on the freshly cleaned tiles.

You almost ran Namjoon over when you saw him. Standing before his locker, he was grabbing a history book for his next lesson, when you bumped into him. At first, he was simply shocked, pondering why a stranger would run into him like that. But then he picked up on your sent slowly, his olfactory sense not having fully developed yet, it took him awhile to realise who was standing in front of him.

A lazy grin covered his face as realisation hit him. Slowly he got down on his knees and warped his arms around your neck: “Hello my pretty omega, welcome to your true form.”

The others were ecstatic when they heard the good news. Happy that all of their group members had been blessed with the ability to shift, knowing of the horrific outcome the situation could have had, had you not turned before your eighteenth birthday. When every wolf was fully developed, and alphas gained the capability of forming their pack and gifting their mark.

Your pack was safe, healthy, and happy, and that was all that concerned you for now.

[ibijau]

Deathbed Wedding pt 10

Lan Xichen learns a little more about his family, and preparations for the wedding begin (also on AO3)

News travelled fast inside Lotus Pier. Upon hearing about what had been decided, Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng rushed to see Lan Xichen, curious to get more details. All three boys were clearly in great distress over what had happened. Jiang Cheng in particular felt intense guilt, since he confessed that it was while protecting him that Nie Huaisang had been fatally wounded. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji also insisted on taking their share of the blame.

The two of them had ended up trapped in that cave after everyone had escaped, they explained, forced to kill on their own the monster living there. They hadn’t thought to check whether Nie Huaisang was dead or alive until they were rescued, when they insisted his body needed to be brought home. Because of his injuries they had simply assumed the worst right away, and now felt that if they had noticed earlier that he was alive, they might have tried to heal him somehow.

Lan Xichen, at first, was angry over that mistake. Then, realising the scope of Nie Huaisang’s wounds, seeing what state the two other boys were in even after being cared for, hearing how Jiang Cheng had rushed to Lotus Pier to get help, he decided it would be unfair to blame them. They had done the best they could.

When he returned from his negotiations with Qingheng-Jun, Nie Mingjue agreed with that sentiment. He placed the blame on Qingheng-Jun for lying about the chance of changing his mind, and on Wen Chao for his badly organised hunt. The three younger boys seemed somewhat relieved to hear that, though they also did not seem to fully believe him. When Yu Ziyuan ordered Jiang Cheng to go in town and help Nie Mingjue find a pair of wedding robes and a paper effigy to take Nie Huaisang's place in the wedding, her son did not look particularly at ease. He still obeyed without questions, but seemed very nervous as he left with Nie Mingjue.

In fact, as Yu Ziyuan gave orders to everyone to hurriedly prepare for a wedding the next day, nobody dared object to anything. They all dashed away to do whatever task she’d given them, until only she and Lan Xichen, still kneeling by the bed, remained in the room where Nie Huaisang laid. Now that they were alone she looked somewhat less terrifying, and Lan Xichen thought there might even be pity in her eyes as she watched him and Nie Huaisang.

“Yu-furen, I am deeply grateful for your kindness today,” he said, letting go a moment of Nie Huaisang’s hand to bow to her. “I realise what trouble this must be causing you, and I am sorry. Whatever happens in the future, I am in your debt for what you have done. I will work hard so this doesn’t negatively impact the relationship between our sects.”

“Your father doesn’t have a tenth of the influence on Gusu Lan’s life that he thinks he has,” Yu Ziyuan retorted indifferently. “I know who really rules your sect, and after this I am still in good terms with your uncle. Qingheng-Jun’s opinion is nothing to me, or to my husband. In fact, I did this more to annoy him than to help you, boy.”

Lan Xichen couldn’t help a small gasp, which made her laugh.

“Are you really surprised?” she asked, walking closer to the bed. “I might not have been on very good terms with Yu Chenxi when we were young, and I don’t agree with what she’s done, but she still deserved better than to be locked up and forced to marry a man she didn’t like.”

Politely, Lan Xichen smiled at her, unsure what she was talking about. This, in turn, made her frown.

“You do know that your mother was from Meishan Yu, don’t you?” Yi Ziyuan asked, eliciting another gasp from him. “Pah. I shouldn’t be surprised. Your father is an idiot, your uncle holds a grudge like nobody, and you were young when she died. She’d left our sect anyway, over a disagreement that blew out of proportion. Her temper was always bad.”

Lan Xichen gaped at her. His mother was never a topic for conversation at home, and all he knew of her were those precious few moments when his brother and him were allowed to visit her. She had never spoken of her past during those visits, and Lan Xichen had never heard anyone call her anything but Madam Lan. Even her grave did not bear her name, and she had been denied a tablet in the ancestral hall out of deference for the elder she had murdered who was already honoured there. Qingheng-Jun, ashamed of an impulsive marriage that had brought him no joy, had done his best to erase his wife from everyone's memory.

Feeling tears coming again, Lan Xichen bowed once more before Madam Yu, lower than before.

“I did not know this. Thank you Yu-furen for sharing this information, I am now doubly grateful to you. I hope in the future, you will allow me to ask you about… about Yu Chenxi, if that is not too unpleasant to you.”

“Rise up, boy,” Yu Ziyuan ordered impatiently. “This isn’t some great favour I’d be doing you. But if you want to know so badly, I will tell my mother to write to you. As I’ve said I wasn’t very close to Yu Chenxi, but I can at least help you find people who were.”

Ignoring her order, Lan Xichen was about to bow again when there was a knock on the door, followed by Meng Yao coming in with a bowl on a tray. He appeared surprised to find Lan Xichen still there, and exchanged a look with Yu Ziyuan who shrugged and motioned for him to come closer to the bed.

Meng Yao obeyed, putting the tray down on the nightstand next to the bed, then taking the bowl and slowly coaxing the unconscious Nie Huaisang to drink the dark liquid inside, one spoonful at a time. Lan Xichen looked on with curiosity.

“Medicine?”

“Hm. To help with the current situation,” Meng Yao cautiously explained.

“May I… may I give it to him? I feel so useless, everyone is doing something now, while I’m just staying here. I… I want to help him.”

Meng Yao hesitated, and glanced at Yu Ziyuan who shrugged again.

“You can help him when you’re married to him,” she decided. "For now, he is still the responsibility of Qinghe Nie, so it's normal for one of its disciples to care for him."

Meng Yao relaxed and continued his task, while Lan Xichen, disappointed and unsure what else to do, took again Nie Huaisang’s hand. 

"You're not wrong about being useless," Yu Ziyuan remarked. "If you want to help this badly, go see if the kitchens need anything. They're always short on people, and I'm sure they'll find you something to do other than mope around like this." 

Although cooking wasn't something he was proficient at in any way, Lan Xichen still felt grateful to be given a task at last. He rose up and made to leave, only to change his mind and quickly come press a kiss to Nie Huaisang’s forehead. 

"I'll be back, A-Sang," he promised. "And tomorrow we'll get married."

"You certainly will," Yu Ziyuan agreed with a smirk. "And I've checked already: it'll be an auspicious day for it." 

-

There was plenty of work to be done in the kitchen, just as Yu Ziyuan had predicted, and some of it could be done even by someone as unskilled as Lan Xichen. He was given a knife, a pile of vegetables to peel, and asked to do his best if he wanted a decent wedding feast. Food was not particularly on his mind at the moment, but having something to do with his hands, and an unusual task at that, forced him to focus on what he was doing instead of worrying about what was to come. All of his anger and grief were taken out on those unfortunate vegetables.

Whenever he took a break, Lan Xichen found himself watching Jiang Yanli give orders and handle everything, helping the cooks when needed. She seemed perfectly at ease doing this, a stark contrast to the meek young woman he’d occasionally spotted during conferences, and who upon learning they might get engaged had shyly said she was sorry they were pushed together when neither of them wanted this. Lan Xichen felt deeply sorry as well that she would not get a better husband, and wondered how odd this situation might be for her, helping prepared a feast to marry her suitor to a dying person.

He must have looked at her too often. After their eyes met a few times, Jiang Yanli came to see him and asked how he was handling things.

“I fear I’m not very good at peeling carrots,” he confessed. “But I’ll continue trying, since it’s the only thing I can do.”

“You’re better at it than my brothers,” she assured him. “But I was asking more about… about this situation. I cannot imagine what this must be like.”

“I imagine your position is unpleasant as well. I am sorry that you and your family have gotten mixed up into our affairs this way.”

Jiang Yanli smiled. “If your father and my mother have their way, it seems your family affairs will be my family affairs someday. And even if that doesn’t happen, Nie gongzi protected my brother, so this concerns us, in a way. I am so glad Jiang Cheng made such a good friend.”

Lan Xichen nodded, his eyes falling to the pile of badly peeled vegetables in front of him. 

He should have been glad, perhaps, that people suddenly were taking notice of Nie Huaisang, but he couldn’t help being upset. Mostly, because apparently Nie Huaisang had had to get himself nearly killed to be really appreciated. In Lan Xichen's opinion, Nie Huaisang should have been noticed for his other qualities, the ones that were truly a part of him, rather than this recklessness he had only acquired when forced to. Lan Xichen had come to love and respect Nie Huaisang for his cleverness, his artistic skill, his good understanding of how people thought, and he wished others would have respected him for the same reasons.

“I’m sorry, I did not mean to upset you,” Jiang Yanli said. “I will leave you alone. There’s a lot to be done before tomorrow, and it’s already late.”

“It is, and I am grateful for your efforts, Jiang-guniang.”

Jiang Yanli turned away, ready to go help some more.

“Jiang-guniang, wait,” Lan Xichen called. “I… I have to say something more.”

She stopped, and smiled at him with such sincere concern it almost hurt.

“I’m listening.”

Lan Xichen took a deep breath to centre himself.

“Jiang-guniang, if it does come to a marriage between us when this is over, I will do my best to be a good husband. I know you do not want me as your husband, and I am sorry you might be forced into this anyway. And so I will endeavour to make sure you are happy, as much as it is in my power to do so. I have little to offer you, except my friendship and respect, but I will gladly give you both.”

“That is more than my last fiancé was willing to give me,” Jiang Yanli replied with a strained smile. “More than many women get. I am a reasonable person, Lan gongzi, and I will satisfy myself with that, if this does happen.”

She went back to work then, leaving Lan Xichen alone with his pile of miserable carrots, to go with his miserable mood. 

He stared for a while at the vegetables, then at the knife in his hand, wondering if any of this even had a point. Rage built up within him, turned against his father who had caused such suffering around him, against his mother for starting this whole chain of event, against Nie Huaisang for not seeing that Qingheng-Jun had set him on an impossible quest. Above all, he felt a burning rage against himself for being so weak and obedient that he hadn’t seized any of the chances offered to him to set things right before it was too late.

Had he been alone, Lan Xichen might have broken into tears, or screamed, or unsheathed his sword and turned it against the room around him, just to feel in control of something.

But he was not alone, and there was much to be done.

So he picked another carrot from the pile and started peeling it.

-

When morning came, Lan Xichen had not slept. 

Even after being kicked out of the kitchen when there was no longer anything for him to do, he simply had not been able to rest. He tried to go see Nie Huaisang, but his uncle caught him on the way there and told him it would be bad luck to see his fiancé before the ceremony.

The idea that their luck could be anything but bad anyway made Lan Xichen laugh and laugh, until he ended up crying against his uncle’s shoulder. Lan Qiren allowed it for a long while, then took him to the room that had been given to Lan Wangji where a mattress had been hurriedly added for him. Yu Ziyuan had offered to give Lan Xichen his own room, but Lan Qiren had insisted such an arrangement would be better.

For this, Lan Xichen was grateful. Even though his brother was not a very talkative person, nor a very demonstrative one, his company was still appreciated. Lan Wangji, who always fell asleep at the same hour, made the effort of staying awake alongside his brother and, at Lan Xichen’s request, told him the full story of what had happened in that cave. He tried to feel proud of his lover, but above all he felt once again bitter that Nie Huaisang had thought he needed to go to such lengths.

Eventually, Lan Wangji gave in to sleep, and Lan Xichen remained alone. He tried to sleep as well, guessing the day to come would be long. He had little success in doing so, too many thoughts running through his mind. When that failed, he tried to meditate instead, with little more success. So instead he resolved to simply wait until morning, and left the room as soon as the first hints of dawn appeared in the sky.

Unsure how much he would be allowed to wander, Lan Xichen went to walk by the piers, hoping the lake would bring him some peace. All it did, though, was deepen his sorrows as he found himself thinking that Nie Huaisang would have loved the way this scenery looked in the golden light of dawn, how pleasant it would have been to watch the sun rise together. They'd done it in the Cloud Recesses sometimes, on those few times they'd had a chance to spend the night chatting together. Lan Xichen remembered those as the most colourful sunrises of his life. He wondered how dull dawn would feel in the future, without Nie Huaisang to share it with. 

His mood darkened further when, as he walked back toward the buildings of Lotus Pier, Lan Xichen found himself face to face with his father who was also out for a morning stroll. Barely keeping his anger in check, Lan Xichen tried to pass by him without acknowledging him, only for Qingheng-Jun to grab his wrist.

“You will regret this,” his father warned. “It is morbid and will bring you bad luck.”

With more force than he would have allowed himself normally, Lan Xichen pulled his wrist free and glared at his father.

“I might regret it,” he conceded. “I also might not. Right now, I think it is the right thing to do. And didn’t Yu-furen say that she checked, that today is the most auspicious day possible for a wedding?”

“Yu Ziyuan is not kind enough to help others so easily. If she’s doing this, then she must have reasons of her own.”

Lan Xichen almost smiled, remembering Yu Ziyuan stating that her motivation wasn't kindness indeed, and more of a personal dislike against Qingheng-Jun. Growing up, Lan Xichen had sometimes felt guilty for holding a grudge against his absent father. There was a certain comfort to be found in discovering that others disliked him as well.

“I don’t think you have any right to judge others’ motivations, father,” Lan Xichen calmly retorted. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must get ready for my wedding. My husband is waiting.”

“Don’t come crying to me when this goes wrong!” Qingheng-Jun warned.

Lan Xichen stared at him in shock. Then, too exhausted to keep himself in check, he laughed.

“Not once in my life have I ever looked to you for comfort. Why would I start now?”

Before his father could scold him for being insolent and unfilial, Lan Xichen left. He had better things to worry about than his father's offended pride.

After all, it was his wedding day. 

[fic-ify]

Pocket Beel! (part 2 of 2)

Welcome back! Here continues the dorkiness of my OC Max while trying to keep an eye on miniaturized Beel. Big thank you again to @boxbusiness for inspiring this fic and @thatfanfictionchick for hyping me to write it.

Warnings: none, it’s fluff

She was warm, very warm, and there was a weird pressure against the base of her throat that she couldn’t identify in her half-sleep. A low grumble escaped her before a yawn pressed against her lips and escaped. She blinked sleepy eyes open, slowly focusing on Belphie’s sleeping face in front of her and finally noticing the arm wrapped over her waist.

A soft huff left her as she raised a hand and ran her fingers through her bed invader’s hair, briefly wondering how he’d made it through the locked door. A matter she wasn’t entirely surprised over if she thought about it. One sleep hazed eye opened to look at her, watching her smile in greeting. That gaze flickered down and the soft grunt of discontent he gave made her glance down as well.

“Cheeky.” She chuckled as she looked down at Beel where his head was poking out the neck of her sweatshirt, the rest of him hidden under the fabric against her chest. In his sleep he looked so happy and peaceful she couldn’t be mad. She was just glad he wasn’t in his demon form. Even at this size, his horns would be a pain against the sensitive skin of her neck.

“Asmo figured out a trick for his clothes.” Belphie’s low voice said to her, his arm tightening around her and drawing her attention back to him. “Not sure we can get them back to normal, but at least he’ll be comfy.”

“Thank you Belphie.” She gave him a chaste peck against his lips. To which he frowned, looking for all the world like she’d flicked him in the forehead instead.

“Kiss me properly.”

“Why don’t you do it yourself?” She giggled, earning a playful growl before he leaned forward to do just so. His lips captured hers fully as his hand guided her onto her back so he could lean over her. She hummed against his mouth, opening for him to let his tongue lazily explore her own.

“Oi! No lip mackin’ on the human’s bed!” The door slammed open, barely preceding Mammon’s shouting. Belphie pulled away lazily and glared over his shoulder at his brother. “Get yer butts outta bed. Dinner’s almost done.” Though the message the second born had been given had been delivered, he refused to leave the doorway, glaring back at his youngest brother with his arms crossed.

“Alright alright, we’re up.” She shoved lightly against Belphie, rolling him off her so she could sit up. She looked down at Beel, still dozing in her shirt. “Beel baby, time to wake up. Dinner is ready.” Ignoring Mammon’s indignant squawk and stammering at seeing the little demon in her clothing, she watched Beel wake up slowly. His eyes brightened at the recognition of talk of food.

“Here.” A small bundle landed on her lap from Belphie while Beel climbed out of her top. She looked down to see what looked to be shrunken versions of Beel’s casual clothing. The little demon hopped down onto her lap and grabbed them before ducking behind her for some attempt at privacy. Not that his she or his twin hadn’t seen him in much less, but with Mammon still playing watchdog and the already present humiliation of his size, he clearly wanted a moment.

“Ready!” He popped back out, dressed up in his sweatpants and t-shirt looking much more comfortable. Belphie lowered a hand to him before raising him and sliding him into his breast pocket on his jacket. Max giggled at the sight of Beel’s head and arms hanging out of the pocket, perfectly content in his spot.

Dinner passed without too much fuss that evening, or at least no more than usual. Beel stood anywhere from his plate to various spots on the table, sneaking bite-sized servings from the dishes. Levi and Asmo took various pictures and recordings of the whole ordeal, the latter making cooing and squealing noises at the cuteness of his little brother. Mammon moaned and griped about how it wasn’t a big deal and ‘how could someone so small be more interesting than THE Great Mammon?’ Or at least he did until he talked himself into the idea of either selling Beel or selling pictures of him. Both ideas were shot down immediately by Belphie and Max.

Eventually, Beel hopped down into Max’s lap and snuggled down to take what seemed to be a food-induced nap. It was the first time in weeks that they had plenty of leftovers to get them each through lunch the next day if they wanted. Lucifer and Satan both dismissed themselves as the table was being cleared, not surprising anyone since they had been the least involved in the dinner antics. With Beel slipped into her sweatshirt pocket, Max followed Belphie and Levi into the kitchen with the intent of finding some dessert.

“Movie night?” Her question was answered by a grunt from where Belphie had hunched over the table to sleep, and an affirmative from Levi washing the dishes. She set about making popcorn and snacks, giggling a bit when Beel flew from her sweatshirt and out onto the counter to pilfer through said snacks. The mood was comfortable between the four of them, rather, three and a tenth of them. She and Levi discussed the possible movie options, eventually narrowing it down to a psychological thriller from the human realm. When she turned back around to check on Beel and the snacks, she could have cried.

“He may be the size of a sulfur rat but he still eats like a boar,” Belphie commented as he spoonfed his twin pudding. Two empty pudding cups sat beside them on the table and the one they were working on was about half empty. The spoon was nearly the size of Beel’s face, but he didn’t seem to mind as he gobbled it down happily. “I’m never going to let you live this down.” He told Beel, who very much ignored him in favor of another mouthful. Levi and Max exchanged a glance before whipping out their D.D.Ds and snapping a photo of the pair.

“Alright! Movie time!” She announced, gathering the bowls of popcorn and several bags of snacks in her arms. Levi led the way and Belphie trailed with Beel once again in the breast pocket of his jacket. The two of them were discussing something but their voices were too low for her to make out. Not that she needed to listen, she was just curious.

By the time they had settled in in the movie room, Mammon and Satan had both joined. The former talking himself up to show that he wasn’t scared even as he insisted on sitting next to Max on the couch. The latter settled into an armchair a little behind the rest with a book, but she had a feeling he would end up paying attention to the movie in the end. Belphie laid across the rest of the couch with his head in her lap and Levi made himself comfortable on the floor with some pillows. The last one to get settled was Beel, who dove quite literally into the bowl of popcorn in her hands and vanished amongst the kernels.

“Have you seen this already Max?” Satan asked while the movie started and trailers rolled.

“I saw the original when I was younger, my dad was big into suspense and action movies.” She laughed a little as a thought came to mind. “That honestly explains a lot about myself now.” The comment earned her a few chuckles before they settled down.

Levi and Satan were both quickly enthralled, Belphie had fallen asleep and she wondered if he had been awake at all since he’d laid down. Mammon was trying very hard not to seem like he was curling into her side but she could tell by his fidgeting feet and grip on her arm that he wasn’t doing so hot with the movie. To better anchor and distract him she pulled her arm free from his grasp and wrapped it behind him around his waist. The touch seemed to do the trick when he relaxed into it and his feet stopped moving.

“Beel you have butter and salt in your hair.” She whispered when the little redhead poked his head out of the popcorn again. He grinned up at her playfully, shoving an entire piece into his mouth instead of replying. She just shook her head and smiled in return before focusing again on the movie, vaguely aware of the soft crunches coming from the snack in her hands.

-

“Max, sleep!” Beel’s tiny voice called out to her from his spot on Belphie’s head as they walked from the movie room to their respective bedrooms. When she looked up at him and raised an eyebrow, he pointed to the bedroom door they were now in front of. It was the twin’s room.

“He wants you to spend the night with us.” Belphie translated for her. She hesitated for a moment, thinking of the homework she wanted to get a head start on that was waiting for her in her room. When the twins didn’t immediately receive an answer, Beel turned on his stupid puppy dog pout that, at any other time was already effective. At his current size, it was practically fatal.

“Fine, fine! Let me just go change and I’ll come over.” Both looked ready to insist she could wear some of their clothes to sleep but she was already walking away to her room. At least this way she could take care of her nightly routine before being commandeered away in their room. She just hoped Belphie would let her get out of bed at a reasonable time this time.

“Where’s Beel at?” Max asked curiously when she walked into the twins’ room twenty minutes later. Belphie was laid flat on his stomach on his bed but the smaller brother was nowhere to be seen.

“Bath,” He snorted at her utterly horrified look. “He’s in the sink, don't worry. I’m not too fond of drowning my brother. Not terribly satisfying when he’s so small.” While he might have had a point there, it didn’t mean she was overly fond of it. Instead of responding she walked over to the bathroom door and gave it a light knock.

“You doin’ okay in there Babs?” She listened carefully and relaxed when she heard an ‘I’m okay!’ in affirmation. A huff from Belphie alerted her to the youngest brother’s discontent. Though if it was due to her disbelief in his honesty or the fact that she still hadn’t cuddled up to him, she wasn’t quite sure.

“I’m going to fall asleep without you if you don’t hurry up.” Belphie threatened, rolling onto his side to face and glare at her.

“You’d do that no matter what pace I moved at.” She pointed out but yielded by approaching his bed anyway. She slid in under the covers and under his offered arm, settling in in front of him with a warm smile. “There, happy now? Needy demon boy.” That earned her a playfully light bite to the tip of her nose before he used his arm around her waist to draw her closer. Before he could start anymore mischief that would end in a much longer night than she needed at the moment, she turned onto her other side, forcing him to be her big spoon.

A low growl was muffled into the back of her neck when he begrudgingly pulled her close against him. It was a noise that said he knew what she was doing and a change of positions wasn’t going to stop him. She knew it wouldn’t but it would give Beel more time to leave the bathroom. And about a minute later, as the sloth demon’s hands had started to caress and wander, the bathroom door finally opened.

Pocket demon-form Beel hovered out of the doorway and across the room to them eagerly. His hair was still a little damp but was clearly much cleaner from his adventures in the popcorn bowl. She blew on his head gently, causing him to squawk indignantly and giggle before attempting to hide under the pillow.

“You’re both disgusting.” Belphie said, his tone displaying the eye roll she was sure was occurring at the back of her head. She ignored him in favor of reaching for Beel and coaxing him out to nestle against her neck under her chin. A happy hum escaped him, sounding much like what she remembered a kitten’s purr to be like.

“Night you two.”

“Night! Love you Max!” Beel called out, breaking off with a yawn before going silent again. Belphie echoed him though his words were lost as a mumble as he fell asleep quickly before either of them. Not that she was far behind him, she noted as her eyes drew heavy and her body finally relaxed after the long day.

-

For the first time in a while, the overbearing heat of a demon body beside her was not the source to wake her up. Nor was the monstrous growling that seemed to reverberate through her bones. Rather it was the fact that she was currently being suffocated beneath whatever, or whoever, was the cause of those two factors.

“Beel!” She squealed, wiggling under the once again fully grown gluttony demon to no avail, no matter how much she jabbed at him with her fingers. “Beeeeeel! You’re crushing me Babs.” Finally she felt him stirring, a heavy sigh focused on the crook of her neck that caused her to shudder, and his arms further wrapping around her.

“You’re pokey.” He complained, rolling over onto his back and effectively pulling her on top of him. This she could handle. “Five more minutes.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the Avatar of Sloth.” A second voice teased with a sleep filled voice. A third arm wrapped around her where Beel’s arms didn’t cover as Belphie snuggled into his brother’s side and half splayed his limbs over her.

Sloth indeed. She thought affectionately, relaxing into their cuddles once again to drift back asleep. She could enjoy Beel being fully grown later, for now it seemed she was being held hostage in the bed once again.

Not that she was complaining.

[caribouwritings]

Sub-Zero

           I was only three when my older brother Eddie died. He had a brain tumor; he died a couple weeks after my birthday and a couple weeks before his.

          He did just as he told our mom when he said, “I stay four.”

          On June 27th, my big brother was gone at age four.

***

           My parents tried to give me a happy life. They gave me privileges that some kids are not as lucky enough to have (such as a vacation almost every year). Despite what the therapist had said when the event happened, I was damaged and it was only a matter of time before it would all show in forms that got glossed over repeatedly.

I didn’t just lose my brother, I lost my best friend, my protector, my guide… I lost my Eddie.

           Although I can now say it and not think much of it, I still cry at the thought I was cheated out of a big brother to teach me the ropes and take my hand when I was scared.

           Senior year of high school was the hardest. I was graduating (on that day fifteen years later) and my brother did not even make it to kindergarten, which he was so excited for because he’d get to ride a bus; His favorite thing in life besides me, our family, Scooby-Doo, and Donald Duck was anything with an engine.

           I outlived my brother who knew what he wanted (it could’ve changed in time, but it would still involve cars and trucks), and I had panicked. I believed people when they told me I would be a great English teacher. I wanted to be a writer, but everyone kept saying I am a teacher at heart. There was just a couple teeny tiny (major) problems:  I hate school (and still do), I am very selective with what I choose to read, and I don’t talk unless I want to or need to.

            Kudos to those who teach, but I’d rather not go back. School for me was where I had my individuality constantly beaten out of me, I was bullied by other students for who I was, have been accused and associated with things I am not, and my mental health got worse.

           However, being non-confrontational, I just nodded my head and let myself be pushed to a major I did not want and watched as I slowly went downhill, and crossed paths with someone a little bit before graduation who is just like me… sort of.

           I was looking for some new games to play that are like Street Fighter II. While watching a Top Ten Best Fighting Games of All Time video on YouTube, the channel (Watchmojo) ranked a video game called Mortal Kombat (2011) at number two, right next to Street Fighter II which placed number one. When I saw the game on clearance at Walmart, I put it in the cart with the plan to take over the unused Xbox 360 in the living room bought by my parents’ for the Kinect feature. My mom did not care anymore, she was just grateful that the expensive gaming system collecting dust under the TV stand was finally being used.

           I played through several kombatants (yes, with a ‘K’, most ‘C’ starting words are replaced with a ‘K’) in the Ladder Fights and Test Your Luck challenges for hours enjoying the blood and gruesome moves.

            I oddly kept finding myself drawn to Sub-Zero, the blue ice assassin (don’t call them ninjas, they find it highly insulting). I didn’t know why though; I couldn’t figure out why I thought the man with ice powers was intriguing. Curious by nature, I did what I do with everything else I found fascinating, I dug for all the information I could find. It didn’t matter how useless and random, I wanted to know everything about the world of Mortal Kombat, and I now know a huge chunk of it.

           Sub-Zero’s real name is Kuai Liang, and he was originally called Tundra. He is the younger brother of Bi-Han, the first Sub-Zero in the series, and Kuai Liang took the name Sub-Zero after his brother’s death to honor him. That was the only similarity I thought we had, but I was so wrong… I was so wrong.

           Mortal Kombat is super violent. The two ice powered brothers are best known for a fatality where they rip the head and spine out of their enemy opponent, both parts still attached together like a twisted party trick (and this is also the main origin to the ERSP rating system in video games). I am not even strong enough to lift a twenty pound puppy without nearly dropping the stubborn Shepard Labrador mix back on the ground with a thump. Plus there’s the other stuff on the surface:  blonde Caucasian female with an olive shade of green eyes, a bubbly persona and pink girly appearance, versus a dark haired Chinese American male with icy blue eyes, a cold persona and super violent history.

           “He is just a video game character, he is not real. You don’t need to care this much for this fictional character.”

           I know that. Kuai Liang is not real, but his story is real to me.

           Kuai Liang went through hell. Everything bad that could have happened, did happen to him. He lost his brother when Scorpion—the wraith of the NetherRealm (and the franchise’s fan favorite character)—killed him in retaliation for killing the whole Shirai Ryu clan, his kind-hearted wife, and innocent baby boy (spoiler alert, it wasn’t Bi-Han at all! Scorpion was tricked into killing an innocent man!). Wanting to avenge his brother’s death, and avoid the Lin Kuei’s new cyber-initiative their Grandmaster was keen on, Kuai Liang and his best friend, Smoke, ran away to find the answers to what happened to Bi-Han. Right when our new Sub-Zero nearly has his revenge and is to kill Scorpion, he is stopped and surrounded by members of his former clan who have been converted from human to cyborg; despite the robotic outsides and still human insides, they are brainwashed to obey like full-fledged robots. He is taken back to the clan and suffers the same fate of being turned into a cyborg and is renamed LK-520, then sent after Smoke who managed to get away. Lucky for both of them, cyber-Sub-Zero is knocked unconscious and Smoke gets help from his new allies to reset Kuai Liang, but although he gets his control back, he is now stuck as a mashup of man and machine. Until (in a rushed scene of the game) he is killed and his soul is sent to the Netherrealm where he is rebuilt from what is left of his remaining bits of human organs and bone inside his robotic shell. Although human again, he is now under the mind control of the sorcerer, Quan Chi (spoiler alert! He’s the real person behind Scorpion’s suffering!), and is now working alongside both the man who framed his brother and the man who murdered his brother, along with several of his new allies that died as well. In the tenth game, he is freed from Quan Chi’s control by being in the right place at the right time (and by also being a fan favorite character too).

           That should be the end of it, but it’s not. This is right before I realized how perfectly Kuai Liang’s life parallels mine. This is before I read the comics.  

           Like I said, I get invested in stories to the point I want to find out everything I can. When I found all three volumes of the comic series on Amazon, I couldn’t resist and I bought all three.

           When UPS came to deliver the package, I brought it straight to my room plopping the brown cardboard box on my bed, and cut the tape open with a pink mechanical pencil. I didn’t care for the other two books I bought (except enough to hide the one I bought for my little sister’s birthday in the closet) because there they were. Volumes one, two, and three were at the bottom of the box under giant green bags of air that are satisfying to stomp on and give unsuspecting siblings heart attacks, but that was unimportant in this moment. I took the three volume books out and spread them on my bed, and dived right into the unknown; into the rebuild of the Shirai Ryu, the second generation of klassic characters, and what happened to those who lived or were brought back like Sub-Zero.

           Sub-Zero, at this point, was my favorite character. In volume two, however, there was a shift in my view of him. In that shift, he became my number one favorite character ever and sealed his place into that spot permanently.

           Kuai Liang had become possessed by a cursed dagger in the previous volume, and it continued into volume two. Scorpion (he is a good guy now… sort of) and his apprentice, Takeda, go after him and get the dangerous dagger back, but the curse makes it hard for Scorpion to reason with Kuai Liang. Scorpion becomes frustrated and the two fight to what they believe to be the death, until Takeda manages to get the dagger away. Kuai Liang exhausts out all the remaining evil within him, and then is left standing there perplexed by why he is there and what is going on. It doesn’t matter to Scorpion though, he still beats the bewildered young Sub-Zero to a bloody pulp and leaves him to die.

           Kuai Liang rethinks his life as he lays their bleeding out, so when Bo’ Rai Cho (ew, trust me on this one, just ew) comes to him to help him get back on his feet, he asks him, “you haven’t figured out what all these events mean? Why I’m here?”

           Kuai Liang’s answer is, “I must commit hara kiri…”

           There. There it is. Right there. That is the line that made me see I am more like Sub-Zero than I thought I was.

           We lost our older brothers, we lost our individuality, we were beaten, we were bullied, we were brainwashed, we took orders, we went down wrong paths, we battled the world, we battled ourselves, and we took so much of a beaten that we laid in our own blood, sweat, and tears thinking “I must commit hara kiri…”

           What is hara kiri? To simplify, it is suicide.

           I remember putting the comic down on my stuff animal infested bed and staring at the lavender colored walls, looking at the big picture. Sub-Zero is a strong warrior with ice powers, and he hit rock bottom. He may be physically stronger than me, but he is just as broken and weak as me on the inside. He put up a shield, hiding behind his anger just like I hid behind my smile.

           I picked up the comic again, and skipped frantically through the pages of volume three just to get to Kuai Liang and find the answers. What did he do and how did he survive to be in the next game?

           It is complicated and complex, but the answer is different based on how you interpret his story. I obviously interpreted it well, because I am here. I am okay.

[lemonyellowlogic]

the harder the rain, the sweeter the sun: chapter one

summary: Prince Roman Sanders of the Sanders Kingdom lived his entire life desiring more than just becoming king, he wanted to actually live, explore the world. When his jealous younger brother plots to kill him, he escapes across the border into Alimagia, a realm of magic users who his father tried to destroy, and is found by a group of Alimagians.

Roman hides his identity from them, living peacefully until neighboring villages are beginning to be attacked by the kingdom for the first time in decades. Roman has to figure out a way to save his kingdom and Alimagia with the help of the people his kingdom attempted to erase, but can he do that while still managing to hide the secrets he holds buried deep down?

-o-

masterlist

-o-

chapter one: the beginning

“My son, long ago, in this world, there was a kingdom ruled by men, named the Sanders Kingdom. This kingdom ruled over all of the humans, the purest of the races.

But, across the border lay the realm of Alimagia, where the wicked magic creatures lived and plotted. Years and years ago, they had free reign over all of the world, but a single man refused to bow down to their evil. 

He gathered an army, and defeated the wicked Alimagians, pushing them behind the border and allowing the humans to be free. This man was named Thomas Sanders, and it was him that the kingdom was named after. He ruled for the rest of his life as a kind, just leader, and it is him that the kings have always looked up to.

You, my son, are the descendant of the great King Thomas, and one day, it will be you who will be the kind and just king our people need.”

The young prince looked up to his father with bright eyes, a wide smile on his face.

“I will, papa! I’ll defeat the evil Ali...Alimag…”

His mother helped him, “Alimagians, dear.” as she played with his little brother, Remus, near the king and prince.

“Yeah, I'll defeat them, mama! I’ll make sure you never get hurt!!”

The queen chuckled, but her smile didn't reach her eyes as she held her child close to her breast, “Alright, Roman. Alright.”

--

Roman sat, his back completely straight as he listened to the court talk about new taxes and what have you. The prince didn’t care much for such meetings, but, if he was to be king one day, it was important he learned of every aspect that there was to ruling the beautiful kingdom of Sanders.

However, his mind loved to wander during them, and so off it went, imagining a world of fun and freedom. Roman wished that he could just hop onto a horse and ride into the sunset, but he couldn’t. He had his people to think of, and his father and brother to worry about. He’d love to at least know what was beyond the forest that grew wild on their northern border, because at least then the people wouldn’t have to be afraid of it. Alimagia was a dangerous place, but how dangerous could it-

“Roman!” The king barked, and the prince jumped, his mind clearing and returning back to his head. The court all stared at him, awaiting his response, most relaxed but some annoyed.

Roma sheepishly grinned, “I apologize, what was the question at hand?”

His father took a deep breath, pinching his brow, “The court asked if you had any other idea of what the increase on the people’s income tax should be or how it should be announced.”

Roman’s hand went to his chin, his thumb sweeping across his lips as he thought. 

The court liked him enough. It was a mixture of people, one leader representing each village in the kingdom, some poor and some filthy rich. Roman, as a prince, would consider himself to be wealthy, but he was born into wealth and had done nothing to gain it. He had spoken with the poorest villages of the castle’s adjoining town and he wanted to speak for their plight, because Roman knew that they needed the loudest voices to speak for them.

“Well, it shouldn’t be one general number. The very poor shouldn’t pay the same as the very richest. One-tenth of everyone’s income if their income passes…” Roman hummed, “Let’s say fifty-thousand gold per year should probably be enough to sustain our kingdom comfortably if everyone does their share.”

His father nodded, many representatives smiling gratefully at him while others scowled. 

“I see your point, my son. We will continue to speak on the subject another day, however, as this day’s time has almost run out.”

The king stood, “This meeting is adjourned,” and the representatives filed out of the door one by one and continued out of sight down the halls. Roman planned on following them out the door and talking to Elliott, the youngest representative and elected leader of the village Beania. However, he was stopped by someone forcefully grabbing the back of his tunic, pulling him back. 

He jumped in surprise, but his face quickly settled as he stared at his younger brother, Remus.

Rolling his eyes, he asked, “What is it, Remus?”

“What, I can’t just ask my big brother how the meeting went? Wow, how cruel of you. I’m hurt.”

Roman pushes the man off him, straightening his tunic as he glared back at him.

“Name one time you ever actually asked about my day.”

Remus looked back at his, his brow furrowing. Roman continued, “Anyways, it was fine. We got things done and I believe the people will be pleased. Is that all?”

“Ooh, pleased. What does that mean? You gonna give them prostitutes?”

Roman’s face contorted and he brushed an imaginary piece of dust off of his shoulder, “No, you dimwit. The tax will be equal throughout all of the people past a certain point.”

“Uh oh, I dunno if people will be happy with that, especially people who’ve been at our father’s side the longest. You prepared for them to leave you, to leave us?”

Roman sighed, “You have nothing to do with this, Remus, and those people were at our father’s side for the wrong reason, but of course you wouldn’t know. Have you ever taken a simple class on civics?”

Remus’ face reddened, “Well, no, but that doesn’t matter!” 

He spat, “I’ve learned more from being at our fathers side throughout the years then you’ve learned in some dumb class. I should be king!”

Roman rolled his eyes, “Stop making a scene, Remus.”

“A scene! I-You!”

Remus glanced around and saw most of the nobles and leaders eyes on his, confused and annoyed at his yelling. He growled, pushing Roman back and running out the hallway. 

Roman sighed, straightening his tunic as he turned to look at Elliott, who rolled their eyes and clapped Roman’s arm as they walked up to him.

“Sorry about your brother, do you know what’s going on with him?”

Roman chuckled as the two continued walking, “This is normal, he’s usually like this.”

“What’d you mean?”

“He always starts idiotic arguments in an attept to humiliate me, but he always ends up making a fool of himself instead. I don't know why he dislikes me so, but it’s just a fact of life.”

“Is he jealous of the throne?”

“Possibly. However, that doesn’t matter. How is your village?”

“We are...alright. We’re running a bit low on seeds for our crops as multiple of our farmers had some thieves during the summer who stole some supplies.”

“How many do you need?”

“Ehh, a few pounds for each farmer, if that is alright?”

“I’ll talk to my father about it, but I think that is definitely doable.”

“Truly? Oh, thank you, Roman.”

“It’s nothing, Elliott.”

The prince yawned as they walked, and Elliott smiled at him. He smiled back sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he cracked it, “Apologies, my good friend, but I’m truly exhausted after today. I’ve got to head to sleep, but I will see you tomorrow.”

“Alright, goodbye!”

Roman waved them goodbye as he walked to his bedroom, sighing as he closed his door. Sitting on his bed, he pinched his brow. He laid back, staring at his ceiling, the stars painted by his mother shimmering with the setting sun's light.

Roman often wonders how different his life would've been if he was born to a common family. He would be able to have friends outside of politics, maybe even jousting or becoming a knight, but no. Roman was to become king, and though politics were not something he loved, he had to allow it to become his life and his passion to help his country.

Maybe Roman could've even found love. But no, his love had to be political, choosing from one of the nobles’ or chiefs’ daughters to wed instead of finding it naturally. He wasn’t even sure if he liked women at all, but that doesn’t matter, it’s his job to be king and to have a successor. He wasn’t allowed to love someone who couldn’t help him be king, so he wasn’t allowed to make his own choices.

It made him sad. He wanted to be his own person, to be free, but he isn’t allowed.

Looking out of his window, Roman saw that it was almost completely night, and so he got ready for sleep. Roman shrugged off his tunic and slacks, throwing them into a hamper the maids would pick up the next morning. He tiredly put on some sleeping clothes before falling into his bed, leaving his candle lit as he wrapped himself into a tight cocoon of warmth and passed out.

--

Remus grumbled to himself as he stalked through the hallways, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. It wasn’t fair. Roman was the worst person for king, but only because he was born first, he got to rule. Sure, Remus may not know as much politics as his brother, but he is still educated on the subject, he is, after all, second in line.

A thought seemed to fall into Remus’ head, and he froze where he stood. If Roman were dead, Remus would be the only candidate for king. But, Roman wouldn’t just die out of nowhere and Remus couldn’t do that to his brother, he’d look like a monster if he was caught. He has to make a plan. As he walked by Roman’s slightly ajar door, he peeked in, and a grin split upon his face upon the sight of his brother in bed. Perfect.

-o-

next

[chrysalispen]

xxi. on us the doors are closed

GARLEMALD, 6AE 1565

The storm's fury had not lessened in severity with nightfall. Ice spattered in fits and starts like grain scattered over stone, lashing against tempered glass and reinforced steel as the wind whistled around eaves and the sharp edges of decorative iron contrivance.

To have heard her uncle tell it, this was merely the first blizzard of the season; there would be many more to come. Winters in this part of Ilsabard lingered far into the spring months.

Aurelia bas Laskaris opened her eyes to stare at the patterns imprinted into the tin-plated ceiling for what must have been the tenth time in the past quarter-hour. This guest room her aunt had set aside for her - austere by the standards of the rest of the family villa - was despite its modest status still lavish, still enormous, and it made her home in the Administrative District of Ala Mhigo seem positively rustic by comparison. The canopied four-poster bed in which she lay, with its fine weighted sheets and soft down pillows, was large enough for three people. It was the softest, most comfortable bed she’d ever laid in.

She couldn’t sleep.

She flung aside the blankets in one motion to push herself upright- and immediately had cause to regret the impulse. A bone-numbing chill, one that made the bitterest Gyr Abanian winter seem but a balmy spring breeze, prickled its way over her skin until her entire body was as one giant patch of gooseflesh.

Shivering violently, she yanked one of the heavy quilts from the massive bed and drew it around her shoulders, then paused to allow herself a glance through the large window with its decorative panes. Earlier in the day as the transport had entered the capitol’s airspace, the city had still been visible, if only just. Falling snow had shrouded the massive sprawl of steel and stone, all of it backlit dimly by the magitek lamps on every street corner and the running lights that marked the outline of the imperial palace grounds: cold and alien and forboding.

Even that had vanished once night had fallen. She could hear and see naught now save screaming wind and wicked white.

Aurelia chewed on her lip for a moment before sliding her feet out into the cold air and over the lip of the mattress, onto the stepping stool and down to the plush throw rug where a pair of hastily appropriated house-shoes sat waiting. If anyone asks, I just want some tea. Or warm milk. Something to cut this godsdamned chill.

She cast a furtive glance over one shoulder, as if L’haiya lurked in the shadows to chastise her for her unseemly language even in the relative sanctity of her own mind. But the room sat as empty as it had before. Save for the soft rhythmic ticking of the ceruleum-powered radiator’s valiant efforts to warm the room despite all odds - and the sound of falling sleet - all was silent.

The girl opened the door as quietly as she could manage and let herself into the hallway, padding along the cold floorboards on cotton-clad feet as she made her way towards the balcony that overlooked the main entrance. Black crepe draped in graceful loops over the banisters and the curtain rods: all done upon her aunt’s orders, preparations for her father’s burial tomorrow afternoon.

In the downstairs drawing-room, she knew, there sat an aged daguerreotype of her father. She hadn’t recognized him when she first laid eyes upon the picture until she had asked her uncle, for that picture was not of the aging tribunus militum of the XIVth that Aurelia recalled. The picture she’d seen boasted the grimly determined visage of a much younger man, freshly graduated from the military school both he and his brother were made to attend when they were of a suitable age.

Looking upon that face, a man who was her father but one she had never seen in her life- that had brought with it a queer sense of displacement, the nagging sensation that she stood at the intersection and within the twin shadows of two entirely separate lives that could not be reconciled. As if by will alone the family patriarch had found a way to turn back time and ensure the last epoch had never transpired, that Julian rem Laskaris had never met his wife upon the player’s stage, had never fallen in love with her, had never married, had never left Garlemald for the distant provinces of the south.

To ensure that Aurelia herself had never been born at all.

You don’t belong here, that picture said. You are a blemish upon their perfect order.  

Her fingers twitched upon the railing.

Pulling the edges of the quilt taut about her slim shoulders, she made to descend the carpeted stairs while trying to remember the layout her aunt had briefly shown her earlier that day - if the kitchen entrance was on the far side of the courtyard peristyle then she would have to go without. If her luck held then perhaps she could simply help herself to a warm drink and slip back into her room and no one would be the wiser. She’d managed it countless times over the years, after all.

Aurelia had barely taken two steps down the stairs when the sound of familiar voices caused her to freeze in place. A man and a woman, somewhere not too distant; the sound of it echoed strident and angry from the bowels of the foyer.

Arguing about something. Arguing about her.

“It’s criminal,” her aunt’s voice had lost its delicate fluted tones now that there was no need for a public show of ladylike charm, “absolutely and utterly unconscionable. I cannot imagine what your brother could have been thinking to deny his own child the fundamentals of a proper upbringing, let alone one that would befit a young lady of her station.”

“It is not within my power to gainsay His Radiance. Well do you know that.”

“You should have petitioned the courts to grant us custody of the girl years ago.”

“If my brother was already granted permission-”

“Julian has done that poor child no favors,” came the hissed response. Aurelia could imagine her aunt: pacing to and fro just out of sight, her carefully coiffed blonde hair slowly coming unfurled from its confines. “None whatsoever.”

“Keep your voice down, woman! Do you want to wake her?”

“I just can’t fathom it! All those years letting her play in the dirt and doing as she pleases? She can’t sing, she can’t draw, she can’t arrange the flowers she grows, can’t make polite conversation, her penmanship is barely passable.”

“Marcella-”

“Dare I even make mention of her speech? She sounds like one of those dreadful Ala Mhigan savages every time she opens her mouth-”

“The girl is clever enough, Marcella. She can easily be rehabilitated with proper oversight.” Her uncle’s voice was a deep and forceful rumble that reminded her of summer thunderstorms over Loch Seld, the ones that had scared her when she was small. “Lord van Baelsar confirmed that she has qualified to sit the entrance exams to the Academy’s Valetudinarium, and that is no mean feat for a lass with no formal education.”

“And if she doesn’t pass the exams?”

“Then the army will sort her out as we agreed,” Janus van Laskaris snapped, growing irritation with his wife’s questioning laid bare. “You worry far too much. Given time and training she will be as polished as any of her peers.”

“That girl is not suited for a military career, and you know it as well as I do. The one hope she has is to marry well, and that is easier said than done when-” 

The voices retreated down the long downstairs hallway, towards the master’s bedchambers. Aurelia didn’t even try to listen to the rest of their argument, the cadence of it becoming little more than background noise as she tried to breathe. 

She felt as though someone had punched her in the chest.

Welcome home, her Aunt Marcella had said. But this wasn’t home. Home was zelkova trees under an endless expanse of starlit sky, the sounds of roosting water birds on the lochs, the Althyk lavender in her little garden, the cardamom and rose-hip scent of L’haiya’s hands as they brushed out her hair until it shone like gold in the lamplight.

Home was not Garlemald; it was Ala Mhigo. L’haiya. Sazha. Even her father. She wanted to go home, wanted it so desperately the desire for comfort left her chest aching. Sixteen winters old, and Aurelia slept alone in a bed she didn't know in a house that wasn’t hers, legally the property of a family that saw naught of value in her. Only a wild animal in need of their taming touch.

Home was--

Home was an impossible dream and her father was dead.

The harsh truth of it shook her to her core, and at long last, the grief she’d so carefully set aside for later consideration found its opportunity. Anguish reached its icy fingers through the dull, cottony veil she’d drawn about her mind for protection, grasped her by the back of her neck, and seemed to squeeze until her breath would not come and her stomach turned. She slid down the wall with its flocked scarlet paper until she was sitting in the stairwell and drew her knees up to her chest, pulled her stolen blanket over her head.

In the close darkness, once she was certain her tears could not be heard, she gave voice to her grief in earnest. 

Without her uncle’s villa the storm raged on.

~*~

Gridania was long behind them.

All around the path upon which the flightless bird ran, the South Shroud was a blur of white and stark grey, the bare branches of the trees like bony fingers in the pall of the overcast afternoon sky. A handful still bore browned leaves, clinging stubbornly to the branches in the last throes of the winter before spring’s green sent them to their final resting place.

Slowly Aurelia righted herself in the saddle, realizing she’d fallen asleep: lulled into lassitude by the still, cold air and the monotony of the road’s scenery. She lay half-draped over Keveh’to’s back as though he were a giant yellow bedroll. At her stirring her companion’s ears flickered, swiveling briefly in her direction.

“Rise and shine,” he said with a note of false cheerfulness. “Did you know that you snore?”

“Mmf,” was all she could muster. She sat up a bit straighter and had to catch herself before she fell off the chocobo’s back; she’d drifted off to one side as she dozed. “Are we close?”

“Went through the Druthers and turned off the main roads not quite a half-bell past. I’d say we should be close, aye.”

With some effort Aurelia shook herself out of the remainder of her doze and craned her neck upwards. They were in a much deeper, darker part of the Twelveswood. The trees here were far taller and far older: cloistering the land beneath their boughs and largely away from the sun save for the odd patch of filtered late afternoon light that descended upon snow and bare earth.

“This place is strange,” she said softly, eyes fixed upon the interlaced branches of the canopy overhead. “It feels… I don’t know. Untouched, somehow.”

“Untouched? Well, could be you’re right. They say some of the trees in the deeper reaches of the Twelveswood were ancient back in the time of Amdapor, though who knows how true that is. Still- folk don’t venture far off the paths out here, and for good reason.” Keveh’to’s gaze followed hers upward. “You’ll find the depths and fringes of the wood very different from Gridania.”

She felt a sharp chill prickle the length of her spine, and shuddered. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his chin tilt.

“Thought you said the cold didn’t bother you?”

“It’s not the cold.”

“Are you feeling poorly?”

They were being watched, she thought. It was little more than a gut feeling, a disconcerting something on the far edge of her own perception, but she could feel the hackles raised upon the back of her neck nonetheless.

“No, it’s- … no. I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

He looked as if he wanted to press her, but seemed to think better of it, and shrugged. “...Might want to see to yourself, then, if you’re awake enough to manage it. That eye of yours needs to be covered before we’re too close.”

“Would anyone in such a remote place have any idea-”

“No idea if this lot has ever seen one of your kind before if that’s what you mean, but I’d rather not take the chance. We’ve little recourse if things go poorly with the locals as it is.”

Aurelia bit her lower lip and busied herself with covering her brow. It seemed imprudent to raise the alarum over something that could be easily attributed to her own anxiety. Still, it wasn’t until the crudely fashioned curve of a watchtower spire peeked through the foliage ahead that she could allow herself to relax. Almost at once, the sensation of eyes boring into her back disappeared, and she felt a palpable sense of relief.

She had just finished raking her fingers through her tangled locks to confirm that her third eye was hidden, when the settlement came fully into view.

At first glance there was little to distinguish it from the more densely populated townships she’d seen on her jaunts through the forest with E-Sumi-Yan and the other novice conjurers. A simple wall of wood and stone framed the perimeter, meant to deter bandits and beastmen from any notions of raiding the settlement. It appeared surprisingly old, the bulk of it a mossy white marble that could not have come from anywhere local- salvaged from ruins, perhaps.

A small handful of men and women in worn gambesons and leathers stood watch atop the length of the wall with bows drawn and arrows nocked, observing the two newcomers with watchful eyes and grimly set mouths - some of them wore the ubiquitous half-masks of the Wood Wailers, but some few did not. None of them looked particularly well-fed, and the shabby state of their armor and their cloaks bespoke a similar hardship as that which had beset Gridania in the wake of the crimson moon’s fall.

“Halt,” one of the Wailers barked, the note of command unmistakable. Keveh’to hastily drew in the reins and Aurelia kept her head bowed and eyes downcast as the chocobo’s pace slowed to a stop. “What business do two outsiders have here?”

“Hardly a warm welcome,” her minder muttered, in a voice clearly meant for her ears only. “Not that I’d expected one. Stay here and let me do the talking.”

He swung one leg out of the chocobo’s saddle and dropped to the ground with a lash of his tail to correct his balance, offering a hand to Aurelia without a glance in her direction. She could see his sour mood in the flat swivel of his ears, accepted his gesture in silence and managed to slide out of the saddle with something approaching grace.

“Well met,” he said, with the selfsame note of false cheer she had heard before. “I am come on behalf of the Twin Adder, along with my companion here, at the request of your Hearer. Is he about?”

“That information is-”

“I'll take matters from here, Lieutenant.” A stooped old man in purple robes and a wide-brimmed felt hat shuffled forward, the gathering of armed villagers parting to let him pass. He leaned heavily upon the gnarled and well-worn length of his rosewood staff, the expression on his age-seamed face utterly neutral. “You and your lady friend must be Brother E-Sumi-Yan’s promised assistance.”

“Brother Ewain,” Keveh’to said, his tone almost painfully polite.

Hearer Ewain was the oldest man she had ever seen. What little she could see of his hair glistened silver and white in the diffuse daylight, like new-fallen snow upon the forest floor. He smiled, but there was a shrewd sharpness in his faded blue eyes Aurelia did not miss. “That's Hearer to you, though you have my thanks for your timely arrival. And you are called…?”

“Sergeant Keveh’to Epocan. I represent the Order of the Twin Adder, Gridania’s Grand Company.” His hand fell upon Aurelia’s shoulder and squeezed, even as he nudged her forward.” This is my charge, Miss Aurelia Laskaris, a novitiate sent to you by the Con-”

“I know who she is,” the Hearer said coolly. “We can talk at further length in private. Come with me.”

“Hearer,” the Wailer began, “you know we have to search-”

“I'll vouch for them, Lieutenant. Let them pass, if you would, pray.”

For a moment he did not seem as if he meant to respond. The wooden mask was so unbending and the man’s eyes so deep-set that Aurelia could see no reaction in them, but after a heartbeat she spied the slight relaxation of his fingers in the fletching of the arrow. His lips pursed in a sort of displeased acquiescence, and he turned towards the figures standing ready upon the wall.

“Let them in,” he shouted. “Open the gate.”

Trying to ignore the suspicious stares boring into them as they passed through the open gates, Aurelia turned her attention instead to their fortifications. She couldn’t help but notice how much of the south wall had been recently replaced: there were visible seams where char met fresh-cut yew and salvaged stone and new mortar. Burnt timbers thrust upwards through the scaffolding in places like broken bones that could not be properly set.

There was no stone set into the ground here as there was in Gridania. All of the paths that meandered through the town were dirt, long since turned to frigid slush and thick mud from ice and snowmelt. Her toes felt numb with cold even through the protection of the boots and hempen stockings she wore.

The houses were wooden, their roof mostly made of thatched river-reeds or cut cedar shingles, and it was impossible not to notice the holes in the rows of houses like missing teeth.

“Dalamud’s fall reached even in this place,” she muttered. “Your people have rebuilt quickly.”

“We were given little choice. Most fled to Quarrymill, then to Gridania when Quarrymill would not have them.” The old man coughed, turned his head, and spat into a nearby puddle. “This way.”

The house was a modest affair, large by the village’s standards, half-cloistered from the main road down a path into a small ring of trees. A large grey dog lay in a listless doze upon the rickety front porch, paws twitching. Its ears, white-tipped like snow-dusted mountains, flickered at the sound and smell of the intruders but rather than growl or move at all, it cringed away making querulous and uneasy whining sounds at the newcomers - until their host gently nudged the animal’s flank with his staff.

“Get on with you, Aubin,” he said gruffly. “They’re with me.”

Aurelia squinted. ‘Aubin’ looked rather suspiciously like-- “Is that a wolf?”

“Aye, but he’s meek as a lamb. He’s just a weary old man like his caretaker.”

“There were some animals sheltered in the Fane, but most have been released back into the woods. Can he not survive on his own?”

“Might could be, but it’s doubtful. He barely survived the fires, and with those injuries, his hunting days are past him. He’s too feeble, wouldn’t last long in the Twelveswood without someone to feed him. So I’ve been caring for him instead.”

“I thought you had-”

“An apprentice? I do. He’s making the rounds as we speak. Here, you- what was your name again?” he asked her minder, who stiffened visibly.

“Sergeant Epocan.”

“...If you want to stand on ceremony, I suppose that’s your call. Hold the door so the lady and the old man can enter, would you, there’s a lad.”

Grumbling, he caught the door as the man carelessly worked the latch and flung it open, crossing the threshold without even a cursory glance to make sure he was being followed. The interior of the cottage was a single large space, with bedrolls tucked into one corner of the cabin and cabinets of food and medicines in another. A simple wooden tub clearly meant for washing stood on the far side, half-hidden behind hemp cloth draped over rope to make a crude partition.

The corner just north of it was fully enclosed behind a partition of its own. “You’ll be in that back area over there,” Hearer Ewain said with a jerk of his chin. “It’s neither pretty nor large but it’s adequate.”

Aurelia and Keveh’to exchanged doubtful glances.

“Not you, Sergeant. I know what you sorts get up to after dark and I’ll have none of it under my roof,” the old Hearer snorted. “The lady gets the guest bed. Now go and get yourselves situated and once you’re ready we can have a talk about what to expect. There’s a pot of stew on and I’ve got tea.”

Too uncomfortable now to spare another look at her minder, she made her way towards the worn cloth and tugged it open. Ewain hadn’t exaggerated: there was enough space for her, a cot with a thin straw mattress and homespun blanket, and one small cabinet and that was all.

She opened it and tucked her field kit within, then sat down on the lumpy mattress. The enclosure made by the curtain didn’t even have a window, just an old wood-plank wall, stained with age. The arrangement made her simple room at the Canopy look like a luxury suite, and she realized just as she began to remove her muddy shoes that the floor was… well, there wasn’t one. The floor was dirt, and it was very cold.

Shivering, Aurelia changed into a fresh robe and stockings, wondering what to do with her soiled clothing before giving up and setting them on top of the cabinet next to the earthen washbasin, then stepping out into the common area once again. Her new mentor was pouring hot water into a tin cup.

Keveh’to (likewise very carefully not looking at her) was rolling out a pallet next to the other two in the opposite corner of the cottage. His yellow hat and coat both hung on two pegs near the tiny window, and his dirty boots sat by the door.

“Not used to the way we savages live, are you, Garlean?” Ewain said bluntly, watching her pick her way across the room in stocking feet. “Your imperial capitol had big houses with heated floors and such, and fancy machina that did all of the washing for you too, no doubt- oh, don’t give me that doe-in-lights look, girl. You can cover that third eye of yours all you like, I already know what you are. Heard all the talk about your kind from the lads that make their patrols. I’m old, not ignorant. Now go get that wet cloak and them muddy shoes you came in with and you put ‘em by the godsdamned door where they bloody well belong.”

Flushing and embarrassed, Aurelia stammered, “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t think-”

“Aye, you didn’t think, that much is obvious. The floor may be dirt but that’s no call for either of us to be slovenly. I’ll not have you tracking mud about my house- such as it is.”

Quickly she did as she was told, placing her boots alongside Keveh’to’s and grimacing at the chill that fair radiated from between the gaps in the wooden door. It was the damp sort of cold that quickly sank into the skin, and she realized as she hung her cloak on an empty peg that she was shivering.

“Much better. Now come sit and have some tea, lass. The fire will keep your toes plenty warm.”

A cup was shoved into her hands almost as soon as her rear sank into the well-worn dip of the wicker seat. Chamomile, and weak at that. She sipped it anyway, thankful for the heat.

There was no conversation, not even to ask about their journey, just the old man drinking his tea and periodically hobbling over to the pot over the fire to poke and mutter at its contents. After some indeterminable amount of time had passed she felt a rough tap on her shoulder as Keveh’to pushed a wooden trencher into her hands.

“Now that’s my granddaddy’s recipe,” Ewain said. “Antelope stew. Not much other than meat in it this time of year, and I had to cook it down to get the meat tender enough. But something to fill the belly is better than nothing. You eat, I’ll talk.”

“Don’t you want to wait for-”

“He’ll be in when he’s in, girl. I told you he’s on his rounds. Won’t be back until late probably and you’ll go hungry waiting for him just to be polite. Eat.”

She looked down at the contents of the trencher in her hands. The stew didn’t look all that appetizing but it smelled wonderful after so many weeks on bare rations, and soon enough she found herself eating ravenously. Some of the broth burned her tongue but that wasn’t enough to deter her. Nor Keveh’to, if the way the man helped himself to a second bowl was any indication.

“Right,” Ewain grunted as he reached across the table to set the teapot back upon its crocheted trivet, “well, I suppose I might as well get to the point. I don’t particularly want you. Naught against you, mind. The Guildmaster talked you up but good before telling me he was sending you over, and he’s a good judge of character so I know that for a Garlean you’re like as not to be perfectly lovely. But being a conjurer’s more than just tending the needs of the forest. Being able to minister to the everyday needs of the people is just as important. For you to even start to do that part of the job properly, your flock has to know they can trust you.”

“You think she isn’t suited for the position,” Keveh’to said, his voice flat. “Say what you mean and have done with it, oldtimer.”

Unimpressed, Ewain responded with a derisive snort.

“Think you’ll shame me into softening the blow, Sergeant Epocan? Well, you’ll not. I don’t want you here and I don’t want her here, and that’s as plain as I can say it. An untested novice from the city is a poor enough choice, a foreigner who’s got little knowledge of magic and even less understanding of our people is a worse one. That may sound harsh, but it’s how I feel.”

Aurelia stared into her trencher as if she found the remnants of her stew fascinating.

“But what I feel is beside the point,” the Hearer continued. “Fact is, you’re what I have rather than what I want, girl, and that’s where matters stand. So first things first. You’re going to settle in here, and then starting tomorrow I’m sending you on rounds with the lad, and you’re going to be meeting every bloody man, woman, and child in Willowsbend, and after that I’m sending you out to the Druthers.”

“But-”

“No buts. Not the village folk nor the Wailers are going to want to work with some foreigner they’ve never met. That’s just how things are done about these parts.” Ewain coughed and spat again, this time into the fire, which flared briefly at the spittle before subsiding once more. “Strongarm knows the score and he has his way of watching out for outliers like us that the city don’t care about unless it has to, so it’s important you earn his trust too.”

Abruptly she stood, her spoon rattling in its trencher. “I think I need some air,” she said. “Will your dog-”

“Wolf. Aubin.”

“Yes, wolf, sorry. Will Aubin be all right if I step outside for a moment?”

“Should be. Though he might think you’re there to feed him- in fact, let’s make that your first task, lass.” Ewain pointed with a gnarled hand towards the cabinetry with its hanging root vegetables and preserved leaves. “I usually have my apprentice give him his meal every night. The coney’s over there, or what’s left of it. You can just give him the bowl and take the other from him, he’ll not take your hand off while he’s occupied.”

She shuffled towards the corner and picked up the bowl full of bones and offal.

“Aurelia, never you mind,” Keveh’to began, setting his own trencher aside. “That’s no work for-”

“Sit down and let her be,” Ewain snapped, startling the Miqo’te. “Under my roof she’s a conjurer first and a lady second. If she can’t make friends with an animal there’s no way she’ll be fit for this work. Leave your trencher here and bring back the bowl, novice. Your friend here can make himself useful and do the washing.”

Barely heeding her minder’s protests, she stuck her feet back into the boots and threw her cloak back on, then let herself outside. The cold struck her cheeks as she’d expected but this time the shock of it jolted her back into a sense of immediacy.

Not moving for a moment, Aurelia stared dully down at the bowl in her hands until the whine from the far corner of the porch caught her attention.

“Hello, boy,” she said awkwardly. “Hungry?”

The response was a flicker of the ears, a smack of the bottle-brush tail, a lick of the lips.

He continued to whine as she approached but didn’t run away. She set the bowl of scraps down on the wooden planks and true to her mentor’s word, the wolf’s muzzle was almost immediately buried in it. Careful not to distract him, she reached to his other side and retrieved the bowl, then took a few steps away to give him space.

On her way back to the door Aurelia decided she didn’t want to go inside just yet, and so she did what she’d have done as a child: she dawdled instead.

There was a railing built along the length of the porch steps, and rather than return inside she leaned on it and stared up at the clusters of stars in the night sky, a small stray breeze ruffling her fringe. With the house far enough removed from the road that someone would have to make their presence known before they approached, she wasn’t worried about her third eye giving her away. She could hear dogs barking and someone up on the wall singing tonelessly, see the flicker of spaced torches, but otherwise all was quiet.

She stared at the empty vessel in her hands and tried, not for the first time in the last few months, to figure out just how the twists and turns of circumstance had put her here.

A year ago she’d been ensconced comfortably in the Castrum Novum infirmary, a junior medicus, just one of the rank-and-file organizing potions and treating mild ailments and assisting in the surgery. Secretly wishing her superiors would loosen the reins and give her an opportunity to lead instead of assist, show her mettle and skill as a chirurgeon.

Anything to break the monotony of her life as an enlisted recruit in the imperial war machine. And now-

“Should have been careful what you bloody well wished for, Laskaris,” she whispered to herself, and had to fight back the angry laughter that threatened to escape her lips.

The stars overhead, distant and impersonal, held no answers. She hadn’t expected one, and this was far from the first time she had felt alone and desperately homesick. Even the formal, chilly stateliness of her uncle’s villa would have been a welcome sight, and that was now beyond her too. No use wishing for things she couldn’t have.

Suddenly she wanted to weep.

“None of that,” she muttered to herself even as her vision blurred. No crying. She refused to cry. She’d shed enough tears, wallowed in enough self-pity. Tomorrow would be better, she told herself. Morning would bring with it clarity and a sense of purpose, or at least the promise of a new routine. She was simply fatigued from travel and stung by Ewain’s open dismissal, that was all. She’d simply do what she’d done in Gridania, and forge a place for herself, and prove she had a right to be here no matter what anyone thought.

She was well accustomed to being unwanted, after all.

Resolutely she turned her back on the stars and went inside to face her new reality.

[amintyworld]

Brothers - Sanders Sides Oneshot

Characters: Remus, Deceit (Daniel), Roman, Virgil, Logan, and Patton.

Summary: After Roman and Remus are separated, they find each other again.

TW: Seperation, overworking, self - worth/ self - esteem issues, bullying, slight trauma, sympathetic Remus, sympathetic Deceit

Hope you enjoy! I'm making a tag list so let me now if you'd like to be tagged and what for. Love you guys! -Minty

"No! No, don't take him!" Remus cried as a caretaker held him back tightly. "Please, don't take him away!"

"He wasn't adopted sweetie, I'm sorry."

"I'm not leaving without him!" Roman cried as he pushed off the caretaker and ran to his brother. Remus was stiff, tears going down his cheeks. Roman wiped them away, hugging him tightly.

"I love you, brother."

The caretaker grumbled. "I don't have time for this." She tightly grabbed his arm, and Roman was dragged away, crying.

That was the last time Remus had ever seen his brother. They were only four years old when Roman was adopted. For some reason, they didn't want him. It didn't seem like anybody did.

Remus bounced from Foster Home to Foster Home, leaving a trail of trouble behind him. Was it really his fault that Ms. Ruby didn't like spiders? Or that he thought rat poison would add a tangy flavor to soup? 

Even though he kept trying to be a good kid, everyone told him he was anything but. He supposed that was why his brother was adopted. He wasn't such a troublemaker like him. He realized he'd never be good, so he stopped trying. What was the point if he'd always end up causing trouble?

That was until Daniel.

He was a kind man who never settled down, but always wanted kids. He had a birthmark that covered half his face, which always gave him quite the stares when he was out and about. He was a magician at the local club, as well as a waitress and plumber to get extra cash.

He'd already adopted a son - Virgil, and was looking for one more addition for their family to be complete.

Remus had already known how it was gonna go - he'd mess up so badly he'd be gone within a week or so, back on the road to find a home that didn't exist.

But that didn't happen.

He had wanted to make a cake for Virgil's birthday was coming up. Virgil was really nice to him, though he was mostly an anxious ball of energy about anything and everything, staying in his room most of the time.

When he was out running a small errand, Remus knew it was the perfect opportunity he needed. He put all the ingredients in the mixer and started it, when he saw the speed dial on the side. He thought if he could turn it up, he'd get the cake done faster! He turned it up to the highest setting, sending batter flying through the entire kitchen, covering everything.

"Remus, I said I'd help you bake the cake in a minute-" Daniel walked in and immediately looked around in shock.

"I'm sorry, I...I didn't mean to!" Remus sputtered, knowing his time with them was over. He expected him to storm off, or yell at him, but he didn't. He smiled.

"It's okay, Remus. Let me get the mop, we'll clean this up together and bake another cake. Sound good?"

Remus was adopted by Daniel a few months later, on his tenth birthday. It was the perfect birthday gift.

Remus, being a year older than Virgil, was awfully protective of his younger brother. When middle school bullies were messing with him, you better believe Remus gave them more than trouble for messing with his little brother. 

When high school rolled around, Remus was your typical high school basket case - as he always said, 'I'm me, where else would I fit in?'

It was a typical Friday at Sanders High, Remus walking toward his locker after science class, where he mixed two chemicals together, out of curiosity, that emitted a stinky smell that drove the teacher half-mad. He laughed, remembering her putting on three fans and opening all the windows to find that the smell was still strong. He apologized of course, but he could tell Ms. Norris was still angry. 

Angry enough to dish out detention, apparently.

He unlocked his locker and punched it open, knowing it was always stuck. He practically threw the binders inside, grabbing his lunch money and inspecting his reflection in the broken magnetic mirror on his locker door. His green fingerless leather gloves and spiked choker accessorized the rather drab ripped T-Shirt, jean shorts, and tights that were following the dress code. Students passing by gave him a look or two as his brother Virgil walked up to him. Remus turned to face him. "What's up, Virge?"

"Nothing much, Rem. Detention, as per usual today?" Virgil smiled in his patchwork hoodie, his eyeshadow covering the real bags under his eyes.

"You know it." Remus smiled.

"Just wanted to say I have tutoring, so I'll have to meet you at home." Virgil said.

"Oooh, who's the lucky guy?" Remus said, raising his eyebrows. Virgil scoffed.

"It's just some transfer, Rem. It's not a date, I barely know him!" Virgil said defensively.

"Alright, alright." Remus said. The bell rang loudly, ringing throughout the halls.

"I better go." Virgil said quickly, turning to run.

As he sped off, Remus called after him: "Tell Ms. Norris I said 'Hi!'"

_________________

"Now, I hope you all have learned your lesson for today, and become model citizens moving forward." Assistant Principal Kingsley stated as he stood up. "Have a good day, and I'll see all of you Monday morning."

Student quickly filed out as Remus shouldered his bag. He smiled at the Principal as he walked out. "Nice hanging with you again, Kingsley! We should do this another time!"

Principal Kingsley sighed. "You gotta be more careful, Remus. This is the third time this week.

"I...I know." Remus said, leaning on the doorframe with a sad sigh before turning and walking home.

His keys clinked as he unlocked the door, entering the small house. He heard laughing from the second floor, his father napping on his chair. He must've gotten home from his second job. He sighed as he grabbed the blanket laid over the couch and draped it over his snoring father. He smiled at him with love.

He walked up the stairs, slowly to Virgil's room, he popped into the doorway. "Virge, I'm-"

The giggling stopped as Remus felt a stare bore into him as he entered the room. Virgil turned to Remus with a small grin. "Roman, this is my brother-"

"Remus…?" 

The transfer was tall, with a ruby red knitted beanie as well as a simple T-Shirt and blue jeans like Remus. He noticed a gleaming yellow crown pin on his beanie, and smiled at that. He knew how to accessorize.

"Yes…? How do you know my name?" Remus asked nervously. "Did they tell you my famous rumors?" Remus laughed.

"Remus, you don't remember me? It's me, Roman."

Virgil looked back and forth between the two. "What's going on…?"

Roman. Why was that name sound so familiar? 

"I've never seen you before in my life, sorry buddy." Remus said. 

Roman looked at him. "I'd know that white streak anywhere, brother."

Remus looked at him, eyes narrowed. "Wait…"

Remus hid in their bedroom, pulling the covers up to hide himself. Roman could never find him now! He'll win hide and seek this time for sure!

The door creaked open and Remus covered his mouth before a giggle could escape.

Roman looked around the room, a grin spreading across his face as he noticed a small clump of white hair above a flat lump on the bed. He jumped on top of his brother. "Found you!"

Remus frowned as he sat up on the bed. "How?"

Roman smiled. "I'd recognize that white streak anywhere!" Roman laughed.

"R-roman?!" Remus exclaimed, taken aback. "A-after all these years...you...you're HERE."

"Remus?! Explain, please?!" Virgil exclaimed, thoroughly confused at this entire situation.

"Virgil, Roman's my twin brother. Back from the orphanage." Remus said. Virgil looked back and forth between the both of them. They seemed so different, but now that he was looking at them, they looked extremely similar. 

"You never told me." Virgil said.

Remus rubbed the back of his neck. "I...I guess it slipped my mind. The orphanage...it was forever ago. It...it's sometimes something I want to forget."

Virgil hugged Remus tightly. "Guess we'll have to pick up fractals next Friday, then. I'll...I'll give you guys some space." Virgil left, closing the door behind him.

They talked for hours, about everything that happened in the past 12 years. Roman was adopted by Patton and Logan Sanders, who could only afford one kid to adopt. They had no idea they split the twins, and when Patton went back to adopt the other with the money they'd saved, Remus was gone. They didn't have many details, but they knew he either got adopted, or...he died.

Roman grow up in the town just next door to Sandersville, Greensburg. They were so close, yet so far away from each other. When Logan got a promotion for his job and they had to move, they moved close enough so he could attend Sanders High.

Roman said that the day they were separated never left his mind. He promised himself if Remus was still alive, he'd find him. Someway, somehow, he would. 

Roman held out his arms and Remus rushed in for the hug, tears flowing down his face. "I...I thought I'd never see you again." Roman said. "I was so scared that something happened to you, Rem, I...I'm so happy you're okay. I love you, Rem."

Remus smiled as Roman's warm hug wrapped around him. "I love you too, Ro."

[nochuobsessed]

Bite Me || Pt 08

Bite Me Masterlist

Word Count: 3.4k

Groups: BTS, Got7, NCT, Twice, Red Velvet

Au: Supernatural

Pairing: Werewolf!Yoongi x Vampire!Reader

Genre: Angst | Fluff | Smut | Au

Warnings: Gore, Smut, Supernatural Creatures, aggressive older brother namjoon

“Yoongi, when’s Y/N coming back?”

Yoongi groaned after hearing the question for what seemed like the tenth time that day. You had left yesterday, and there had only been texts between the two of you so far.

“Later,” Yoongi answered, the hopeful look on the maknae’s face falling, “Yugyeom, you’ve grown quite attached to Y/N already.”

Yugyeom shrugged, “She’s the alpha’s mate. We all want what’s best for her, if she’s carrying your pups.”

Jungkook bounced into the room, leaning on the back of a chair, “Who would’ve thought, Min Yoongi, fucking his mate twice and getting her pregnant-“

“Three times,” Yoongi corrected, winking at the two younger wolves. They laughed in response, continuing their conversation.

“You have heard from her, right?” Yugyeom asked, looking to the alpha in concern.

Yoongi rolled his eyes, stifling a laugh, “Do you think I would be standing here if I hadn’t? She’s fine. She says she has a surprise for me when she comes over later.”

“A surprise? Is she gonna propose?” Jungkook jested, waggling his eyebrows.

Yoongi thought about the beta’s words, and smiled. “We haven’t known each other long enough. But I guess the fact that we’re soulmates and there’s a baby in the picture, I wouldn’t mind getting married.”

Yugyeom and Jungkook looked to each other in amusement, “Whatever you say hyung,” Yugyeom said.

Yoongi watched as the two wolves left the room, sighing and checking his phone, smiling to himself as he realized he received a text from you.

Y/N

I’ll be over soon. I’m out buying something with Wendy. We’ll be quick.

Yoongi

Everyone’s waiting for you to come back… Hurry sweetheart.

He chuckled as he put away his phone, not ignoring the aching feeling in his heart from being away from you.

Jimin ran through the door, panting as he caught his breath.

“Any news?” Yoongi asked. It had been Jimin’s turn to go on patrol. With no recent activity from the Celestial house, one could only assume they were planning something.

“Y/N left the house with the witch,” Jimin said, “They told me they’ll be over in about five minutes.”

Yoongi smiled, “Finally. It feels like it’s been a lifetime since I last saw her.”

Jimin smiled sadly at his Alpha’s words. Jimin wished he had the same relationship with Taehyung. Taehyung didn’t love him, he knew that. Sirens don’t mate, they kill. Taehyung only spoke to him because he didn’t want the wolf to die. Jimin didn’t shift into a wolf anymore, which meant he would age like a human would. Shifting kept him from aging, meaning that he would have to endure the pain of being rejected for longer.

He envied Yoongi. He found his mate, he has a realistic life with them. Not to mention they had a child coming. How much more perfect could the Alpha’s life get?

“I’m going to my room,” Jimin said, wiping the sweat off his forehead, “I need to shower.”

Yoongi watched the younger wolf carefully, feeling bad for the member of his pack. He wanted everyone to be happy, but that was not always ideal.

His ears perked up, realizing that there was a presence outside his door.

You.

He ran to the door, opening it and bringing you into his arms, your scent enveloping him.

“I missed you,” He whispered against your lips, planting them against them firmly. You hummed in acknowledgement, your fingers playing with the back of his hair.

“I have your surprise,” You said, smiling excitedly, “I know you’re going to love it.”

“Is it in the bag?” Yoongi asked, motioning towards your handbag. You nodded in response, being lead inside of the house.

You smiled, taking Yoongi’s hand as you lead him to the kitchen.

Namjoon was confused. Very confused. During his 67 years on the earth, one thing he was proud of was his ability to read you like a book. But lately, the only thing he knew, was that you smelt like wolf.

Which confused him even more, seeing as he had always been firm in reminding you about the foul beasts that were the werewolves. Perhaps his teachings went unnoticed.

You were sick, and then you were fine. Namjoon liked to think of himself as a rather smart Vampire, but nothing you were doing made sense.

But as you left the manor with Wendy, he called for another meeting. He had a great need to know everything going on in your life, and now that he didn’t know, he felt helpless.

“Another meeting, Namjoon?” Seokjin sighed, sitting down next to Momo. Momo was against whatever Namjoon was planning, thinking that his love for violence and stupid ideas needed to stop.

“You’ve gone crazy,” Hoseok said, rolling his eyes as he sat down.

“I’m not crazy-“

“Namjoon,” Yeri said firmly, capturing everyones attention, “Y/N is a person. You can’t keep her locked up.”

“I’m not keeping her locked up, she’s barely been home the past three days!” Namjoon shouted, looking to the others for back up, but no one came to his aid, “Somethings going on, and I, as the coven leader, need to know! My baby sister-“

“She’s old enough to have grandkids,” Yeri cut in, getting annoyed with her husband, “She’s not a baby. Maybe she’s met someone that makes her happy, unlike you who makes her feel like an animal at the zoo.”

“I am doing what’s best for her!” Namjoon said, astonished that his own wife would go against him, “She was spotted going to Greyrose, our enemies!”

“Your, enemies,” Momo said, finally speaking up. She stood up, her hands held in front of her elegantly, “You started this. Y/N is happier than she’s ever been. She has a purpose. She’s finally not just a pretty thing to look at.”

Namjoon kept his anger back, taking a deep breath, “Who knows what’s going on?”

Hoseok stood up, tilting his head intimidatingly, “I know. She found her Bloodsinger. She wants to make it work but she’s so terrified you’ll kill them both that she doesn’t want to tell you.”

Namjoon froze, “Bloodsinger?”

“Finally!” Yeri said, a big smile on her face, “She was beginning to think she didn’t have a soulmate. Who is it?”

Hoseok looked down, and that was all he needed to do.

“Yoongi,” Namjoon said, putting all the pieces together, “It’s Yoongi, isn’t it.”

Hoseok didn’t say anything, but he placed a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder, “The wolves can’t hurt us, it’s a part of their rules. A mates family, nor the mate, cannot be hurt, but protected.”

Yeri nodded, “Our rules, bloodsingers are a part of the Coven, vampire or not. You can’t legally do anything. If you break the rules, Wendy’s spell will turn you to stone for ten years.”

“Ten years,” Namjoon scoffed, “A blink in the eye for a vampire. I’m going to kill him.”

As Namjoon stood up, his eyes turned black, his fangs retracting. Hoseok and Seokjin sped towards him, grabbing him by the arms.

“Let me go!” He roared, thrashing around in their hold, “He can’t have my sister.”

“She’s not yours anymore!” Yeri yelled out, making everyone go quiet. She slowly walked towards her husband, and placed a hand on his cheek, “She never was. The universe wants them together for a reason. Just like they wanted us together. You’re not her person, you’re her big brother. Look out for her, but don’t hold her back.”

“I am looking out for her!” Namjoon yelled, making Yeri flinch and step back, “He doesn’t deserve her.”

“And right now you don’t deserve me. I thought I was your person, but turns out you don’t care,” Yeri said, her face contorted in sadness. She shook her head as she left the room, Momo standing up and speeding towards her.

“Great job,” Hoseok said, patting him on the back, “You’ve managed to upset Yeri now. Sometimes I wonder if you view your sister in a way you shouldn’t-“

Namjoon finally shrugged the two off, storming away in the direction of the wine cellar.

“Y/N deserves to be happy more than any of us,” Hoseok said, sighing sadly, “It’s not fair for Namjoon to ruin that. We only get one soulmate, we have to cherish them.”

Seokjin smiled sadly, “Hoseok, I’m sure one day you’ll find someone again.”

Hoseok shook his head, “I don’t want anyone but Julia. I still love her, no matter how long it’s been since she died.”

“What’s the surprise, I’ve been sitting here for an hour-“

You stepped out from the other room, turning on your side, wearing tight clothing instead of your normal baggy clothing. You looked down, showing him the bump that had finally appeared.

“So big already,” Yoongi said, smiling as he walked towards you, placing his hands on the small, but not small bump.

“That’s not the surprise,” You said, smiling widely. You quietly laughed to yourself as you walked over to the table, getting out two items from your bag.

You laid them on the table, motioning for Yoongi to come over.

It was two baby jumpsuits, one pink, saying double, and one blue, saying trouble.

“Double trouble?” Yoongi said, looking to you with his jaw dropped, “Twins?”

“One boy, one girl,” You announced, “Two Vampire-Werewolf hybrids.”

You sat up on the bed, looking confusingly at Wendy, “What won’t I believe? Is the baby okay?”

Wendy’s smile grew bigger, “Babies. There’s two.”

You looked shocked for a moment, before bursting into happy tears, your hands rubbing your small bump, “Twins? A-are they okay?”

“They’re perfectly healthy,” Wendy said, smiling widely, “Half Vampire, half Werewolf. One boy, and one girl.”

You sighed happily, “Thank you.”

Yoongi stepped towards you, unexpectedly picking you up and spinning you around, kissing you passionately.

“That’s amazing. You’re amazing! Two pups? That’s amazing!” He laughed, pressing kisses all over your face, making you giggle.

You smiled into the kiss, sighing when you pulled away, “Wendy will be coming over later. She said she feels like somethings wrong at the house, so she’ll find out what’s happening and report back.”

“You can live here for as long as you need,” Yoongi said, his smile the widest you’d ever seen, “We’re going to be parents to two pups! I can’t believe how lucky I am!”

“Pups? You asked, laughing lightly, “Your werewolf terminology is adorable.”

Yoongi pouted, pulling you into his chest, “Only for you.”

You hummed, enjoying the warmth you felt when you were with him, “Wendy will explain more of what we have to do, going forward with this. For example, I have to drink more blood.”

Yoongi kissed the top of your head, lingering for a few moments, “Is that a bad thing?”

You pull away from him, “It’s complicated. Sometimes I’ll feed and be fine for weeks, especially if it’s directly from the vein. Blood packs are good for daily use, but I don’t really do blood packs. Wendy said I have to feed everyday.”

“Then that’s what we will do,” Yoongi said, letting go of you and pulling out his phone, “I’ll call- who do I call for blood bags?”

You sat down on one of the dining room chairs, reaching out and grabbing onto the blue baby onesie, smiling to yourself, before remembering Yoongi’s question, “I’ll ask Wendy to bring some. Hoseok doesn’t drink anything but blood bags, so he’ll know where to get them.”

Yoongi walked back over to you, getting down on his knees, and taking your hands in his, “I only want the best for you, and the babies. You guys are my main focus, your health, your safety, your happiness.”

You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his as your hand leaned on his shoulder, “Thank you.”

Yoongi smiled at you, pressing a kiss to your stomach, before laying his head on your thighs, “I promise I’ll give you and our pups the best life, no matter what anyone says.”

You blushed, looking down at the father of your children, an easy decision made in your head, “Yoongi.”

He brought his head up to look at you, “Yes, sweetheart?”

“I want you to mark me.”

The look on Yoongi’s face was priceless. He was happy, and shocked at the same time.

“You want me to mark you?”

You nodded, biting your lip, “I was thinking, I’m 7 weeks pregnant now. The bump isn’t that big yet, and we both know how… rough, we are. And I don’t really see any reason not to.”

Yoongi caressed your cheek, kissing you softly, “When do you want to do it?”

You poked your tongue out to wet your lips, “Now. I want you now. I want to mark you as mine and I want you to mark me as yours. I want to be yours, fully. I want our children to grow up, knowing that their parents, are as dedicated to each other as they are to them.”

Yoongi smirked, tugging on your hand so that you would stand up. He pulled you gently towards him, kissing you slowly. You returned it, your hands holding onto his shirt as his hands found your hips. He massaged them gently as you melted into him. Yoongi moved his hands lower, hooking underneath your ass and lifting you up. You cupped his face, and wrapped your legs around his waist. He walked you up the stairs slowly, not wanting to hurt you, no matter how good your supernatural healing was.

He opened the door to his bedroom, closing it behind him before he placed you down on the bed carefully. He pulled off his shirt, and carefully hovered above you.

“Are you sure you want this?” Yoongi said, his arms either side of you, “Once I mark- once we mark each other, there’s no turning back. You and I will be bonded forever. Forever for us, is a long time.”

Your arms wrapped around his neck pulling yourself up and kissing him, “I want this more than anything.”

Yoongi smiled, before connecting your lips once more. He was ever so careful with you, knowing the precious carriage you both created laid inside of you.

He sat you up, pulling off your jacket, and then your top. You undid the buttons on your jeans, allowing Yoongi to pull them off, leaving you in your underwear.

He nibbled at your neck, as you took off his belt and undid his jeans. Yoongi stepped back, pulling them off and adding them to the ever growing pile of clothes you had created.

“You’re so beautiful,” Yoongi murmured against your skin, his hands roaming your body. You hummed in response, feeling up his slightly toned torso.

“Your wolf tattoo,” You said, tracing your hand over the inked skin, “Does everyone have it?”

Yoongi chuckled, moving his hands up and down your stomach, “Everyone’s is different, mine is the mark of an alpha. It appears naturally when you begin to reach wolf maturity.”

“You’ve reached wolf maturity,” You smirked, slightly palming his semi-hard member, “How else would you have gotten this big.”

Yoongi grinded his hips down on you, a cocky smile gracing his pale face, “I’m getting harder by the second, sweetheart. We’re gonna have to do something.”

You unclipped your bra, slipping it off your arms. Yoongi massaged them, letting go when you let out a strangled moan.

“They’re sensitive,” you confessed, tilting your head slightly, “Pregnancy thing, I did research-“

Yoongi wasted no time lapping at the small bud. You let out a cry, panting heavily as waves of pleasure hit you.

“Yoongi,” You cried, grinding your clothed hips upwards, “Stop stalling-”

Yoongi nodded, pulling down your red laced panties, and slipping out of his boxers. You pulled the werewolf towards you, your bodies pressed closely together as you hungrily kissed him, his hands sneaking around your waist and squeezing your ass. You moaned into his mouth, feeling his fully erect member poke your thigh.

“I’m done waiting,” Yoongi said, pushing you back slowly, so th you laid on the bed. He placed a pillow underneath your back, and another one behind your head.

“Baby,” You said, trying out a pet name for your bloodsinger, “I’m a vampire, I’m not going to break.”

“You have precious cargo,” Yoongi said, placing kisses on your rounded stomach.

You smiled warmly, running a hand through his hair, “My cargo is half vampire, and half wolf.”

“I won’t go as hard as usual,” He said, wetting his dick with your arousal, and aligning himself with your core.

You nodded, breathing out harshly as he entered you slowly. He moved slowly, each time going deeper and deeper. You lightly clenched around him, emitting a groan from the werewolf.

He took ahold of your leg, hooking it over his shoulder, “You ready sweetheart, marking is gonna hurt-”

“And so will mine,” you interjected, enjoying the slow thrusts Yoongi had gone back to, “I can take it, I promise.”

Yoongi wet his lips, and his grip on your leg grew tighter as his thrusts sped up. Your head rolled back, enjoying the stretch from your leg and the pleasure your mate was giving you. He groaned, watching you squirm on the bed, your toes curling. You began to moan his name, but all he heard were the high pitched rasps of breath. Your body was on fire, and your mind was going crazy, watching the wolf as beads of sweat began to form.

“You always feel so good,” Yoongi groaned, going the smallest bit faster, still being cautious with you. You whimpered at the lack of roughness, though understanding that it was most likely for the best.

“We’re soulmates, our bodies were made for each other. It will- always feel better than anything else,” You said, whimpering as Yoongi let go of your leg, moving in between them and pressing his lips to yours roughly.

You clung to his body, your body jolting with every thrust he made. You felt the pressure build, the excitement building in the pits of your stomach, “Yoongi, I’m close.”

“Hold on just a bit longer sweetheart,” He said lowly, his thrusts becoming more animalistic, “At the same time, okay?”

You nodded, feeling Yoongi’s cock pulse within you, his seed beginning to empty inside of you. Your eyes flickered black as Yoongi’s turned red, both your teeth baring.

“-now.”

Your orgasm began to hit you, and you sank your teeth into Yoongi’s neck, as he did the same to you. It was excruciating, and yet it brought you the most pleasure you had ever felt. You sucked on his neck, drawing out the blood and letting the sweet taste slip down your throat. Yoongi’s fangs were injecting his venom into you, burning whatever blood was left inside of you.

You stayed like that for a little over a minute, before both your eyes flashed silver, signifying that it was finished.

Yoongi pulled out of you, having not rutted this time. He watched his cum slowly leak out of you, not caring to push it back in as he had already impregnated you. He lifted up his hand, touching the mark that you had made, wincing, before letting out a happy sigh.

He looked to your neck, looking at his own bite mark. You laying there, body covered in sweat, his cum leaking out of you, slight pregnant belly and marked, was better than any piece of art he had ever seen.

“You are so beautiful,” He mumbled, lying down next to you and kissing you softly, “So, so beautiful.”

You smiled, kissing his nose playfully, “You always say that.”

Yoongi hummed, “Because it’s always true.”

You giggled lightly, standing up and walking to the bathroom, quickly cleaning yourself up and throwing a towel to Yoongi.

“I don’t want to sleep feeling dirty,” You said when he had asked why you were so set on cleaning.

“You’re always dirty, sweetheart,” Yoongi said, stroking your cheek, “You get horny from one look-“

“I’m pregnant, that’s normal,” You pouted, stretching your neck out sub-consciously. Yoongi went silent, admiring his bite. “What is it?” You asked.

“You’re finally mine,” Yoongi said, beaming widely, “Mind, body, and soul. We have forever together from now on.”

“You’re forgetting that you too are mine,” You teased, cupping his face, “My alpha, my wolf, my baby daddy.”

“I like the sound of that,” Yoongi said, pulling you into his chest, “Sleep sweetheart, I lo-“

You waited for him to finish the sentence, but he never did. Not in that night, at least.

[geminimoonbeamx]

Sugar Rush: Part One

A/N: So I’ve kind of been dying to write any kind of Sub!Sebastian story for ages. Just because I’m obsessed with reading Stucky stories(porn) and more often then not he’s a bottom and I live for that shit. So I thought I’d try my hand at writing some real kinky shit. Also if you guys haven’t read Suga Mama by Emotchalla, please fucking do. Her story along with the massive amount of Sugar baby Stucky fics are why this idea has seeded itself into my brain and wont go away.

Also- I don’t have time to be writing another 25 chapter story lol. So this fic is going to be paced kind of fast, and at some points be one shots that are barley connected. Kind of just a way to get out my fantasies- no novels here.

Word Count: 4k+

Warnings: As with all of my stories there’s a permanent warning of cursing. I have a mouth like a sailor and express myself through the word fuck.

Summary: Bucky is a College student in his early twenties who seems to be drowning in the struggle of adulthood. When he meets Y/N, a well off Magazine CEO and gets the proposition of a lifetime, he takes on a title he never even could have imagined. Sugar Baby.

Bucky Barnes was no stranger to hard work. To the struggles of life.

He, along with his little sister Rebecca, had been in and out of the system up until he was nine; group homes and foster care were things that he was familiarized with at a young age. But so were heroine needles and that look that junkies get in there eye when the were high- he’d take sleeping in a clean bed in orphanage over listening to his mother tweak in the next room any day. He’d been adopted by George and Winifred Barnes two months shy of his tenth birthday, and they were the best people he’d ever met. Kind, and loving. He truly believes that they were heaven sent(if you tasted Winnie Barnes’ country fried steak, you’d think the same) but it’s not as though his life was suddenly a cake walk. He grew up the eldest of five- four younger sisters.

Yeah, if that sounds a little hellish, that’s because it was. He loved those little brats with all his heart, but damn, had they forced him into the “mature older brother” role.

He’d done well in High School- both athletically and academically. Played Varsity baseball and stayed on the honor roll all four years. Was it hard? Balancing the two along with his flourishing social life(because everyone love Bucky, that’s just how it went)? Yeah, maybe. But he did it.

…The hardest, most unexpected endeavor that he’d ever have to face came when he was eighteen- the car accident. The one that had left him mangled and broken. So fucked up- no one ever knew if he’d be able to recover-

But guess what? He had.

He liked to think his best personality trait was resilience. Throw anything at him. Any-fucking-thing. And he’d endure it, and bounce back.

But being a college student, living in New York City? Now this was some rough shit. If he wasn’t working at one of his two jobs, the ones that barley covered his rent, phone bill and tuition payments- he was in school. Studying his ass off, desperately attempting to get his degree. He barley had money for food most of the time. Thank fuck that he and his roomates had a “grocery jar” that they all contributed too- or else he surely would have starved. His diet consisted mostly of frozen foods and PBJ’s

He was living that early twenties struggle. The one that he knew everyone had to go through- to build character and all that. But fuck, was it killing him.

He was running on fumes, which wasn’t out of the norm, but still was starting to take it’s toll as he shook a bag of Cheddar Ruffles into his mouth. Breakfast of champions. He was listening to his roomates as he clambered around the kitchen, only having five or so minutes to spare before he had to go catch the subway and get to school.

It was a discussion they’d been stressing over heavily as of late.

Steve had moved out a month prior, finally taking the next step with his long time boyfriend, Sam- and Bucky was happy for him.

“Finally, punk” He’d grinned and slapped the back of his friends head. would he miss him? Yeah, he would. Bucky had a lot of friends- but Steve was his best friend. His first friend. But times changed, and they were getting older and Steve still lived in Brooklyn, so there really wasn’t nothing to spill tears over.

Except for the fact that now, they had to figure out how to cover that missing gap of rent.

There was still him, Scott and Clint- and now he had his own room(which he’d won fair and square in an arm wrestle, thank you very fuckin’ much) but making the nearly two thousand dollar rent payment every month was going to be harder. And it had them all on edge.

“I’ll pick up some more shifts at the café” Bucky deducts, chugging down the rest of his coffee.

“And how are you gonna’ do that? And go to school? What are you gonna’ do? Astral Project?” Clint gave him a dead pan look and Bucky shrugged. He’d do what he had to.

“How fucking cool would that be though? If you could really, you know, like astral project…why are you guys looking at me like that?” Scott ended his sentence defensively as both Bucky and Clint stared at him pointedly. Bucky with a hint of amusement, and Clint with his arms folded across his chest.

Scott was most definitely the child of the group. The one that you found passed out in the bushes at parties…which was why when they’d found out his ex girlfriend was pregnant a few years ago- they’d all, to be frankly honest, had been fucking terrified for him. He was actually a pretty decent father though. His daughter spent one weekend a month with them, and Bucky thought she was just about the cutest thing ever.

“Can you take this seriously for a second, man” Clint stressed and Bucky just sighed and grabbed his back pack. He really couldn’t handle anymore stress at the moment and he was kind of happy he had to be at his 9 o'clock lecture. At least he could escape this conversation.

“It’ll be fine, okay guys? We’ll figure it out. Don’t stress it so bad” He soothes as he walks past them, giving them each a pat on the shoulder.

“We’re going to have to become strippers! You do realize that, right?” Clint calls to him as he’s half way out of the door and he chuckles.

“Well I do have the ass for it” is Bucky’s parting statement.

The trek across the city, to NYU was as it always was. He spent it on the subway, his head phones blaring in his ears as he went over his homework and got a little more studying in, even though his eyes kept crossing from exhaustion.

He really was considering Clint’s suggestion- stripping didn’t sound so bad right now. If not for his scarred up arm, he probably would have done it ages ago. Because Bucky wasn’t a judgmental prick, and he considered strippers and sex workers as just that- workers. People trying to get by. He didn’t really care how people got their money.

He rushed across campus and managed to make it to his Poly Sci class not only on time, but early. He knew it’d earn him some brownie points with Professor Xavier. He was unpacking his laptop- which was horribly outdated, and his text books when you walked in. He’d been looking up at someone passing by his desk when he’d first laid eyes on you. It wasn’t the way you looked, although he cant deny, you looked damn good. With your sleek black pant suit that clings to your curves(and you’re nothing but curves) and bag hanging on your arm. Your makeup done impeccably and your hair shiny- you looked expensive. Well manicured. You looked like money.

No; it was more the way you carried yourself. The confidence in your strut. The way that you held your chin high, and not in a douche arrogant way…but more in an elegant self assured way. He cant help but watch you, the way that you smile brightly and give Professor X a warm hand shake, squeezing his with both of yours. When you’re introduced to the class as the guest speaker the professor had invited, Bucky grins.

“This is Y/N Y/L/N, a former pupil of mine. Former writer for the New York Post and current Editor and Chief of S.H.I.E.L.D Magazine”

Ahh, so you didn’t just look like money. You were made of it.

S.H.I.E.L.D was a global Magazine- a household name. One that covered most everything; entertainment. Fashion. Politics. He found himself flipping through one almost every day at work.

Listening to your speech was almost hypnotic. You were humble, and yet commanded the room. He learned that at the ripe age of 32, you were the magazines youngest ever Editor and that you’d worked tooth and nail to get there. You talked about the importance of public relations, and knowing what was going on in the world- no matter what subject one might go into. Covered the best ways to get into any business-

“Persistence!” You’d encouraged with a smile “I mean excuse my French, but annoy the shit out of them! Make yourselves memorable. Don’t be afraid to break away from the norm, because the most special parts of you- the ones that will get you places- are buried under your insecurities”

It was honestly one of the most interesting, engaging classes Bucky had ever sat in. You gave real tips, talked about real life in a way that was so blunt; it was refreshing. At the end, right before you were set to end your discussion, you took questions.

You were answering a girl who sat next to his question about you’re travels while writing when you catch him staring at you.

It’s a hot gaze. A heavy one. His gunpowder eyes seem to…look deep into you. Set you alight from the inside out. When you meet the gaze, boldly meeting his eyes its like…

Fuck.

It’s like nothing Bucky has ever experienced. He wants to crawl out of his skin, wants to crawl to you. Wants to taste what that gaze promises. It feels like it lasts an eternity, but really its only a few fleeting moments, before you break the stare. He feels like something inside of him breaks too, as you look away. As he packs his things back up into his book bag. As the bell chimes singling the end of the period and he leaves the classroom room.

He knows he’ll probably never see you again and that thought alone upsets him way more then it should. He hadn’t even said a word to you. Why was he such a fucking idiot? He should have asked a question- or something. As he goes on with the rest of the day, he finds himself unable to keep you out of his mind. You keep popping up. You’re pearly smile. You’re E/C eyes, and those lush lashes that framed them. He’s drifting into the thought of you as he works; making coffee for teachers and students alike.

He works at one of the many campus cafes’ part time, and today he’s behind the coffee bar. He doesn’t mind it, he actually likes barista-ing. The business of it makes time go by faster. Because everyone needs their caffeine fix, there’s never really a slow moment. He’s always busy. Which is why he doesn’t notice you when you walk in. Doesn’t even realize you’re there until you’re right in front of him, next in line.

He almost chokes on his fucking tongue.

“Um- Hey. Hi” Smooth, Bucky- he hisses at himself in his mind.

Your lips widen, grinning in recognition and his stomach flip flops.

“Hello again” You greet him, trying to reel in your own shock. What kind of fucking serendipity was this? After the entire day of giving your guest speech to class after class- you couldn’t get the stormy eyes out of your head. And now here he was. About to make your coffee. “Fancy meeting you here-” your eyes peel for his name tag.

“Bucky” He inturupts with a nervous little smile.

“Bucky? Hmm” You roll his name over in your mouth. Tasting it. He watches his name slip from between your lips and he can feel a twitch in his black work slacks.

“I like it” you decide and he chuckles and thanks you, telling you he was pretty fond of it himself.

“Well, what can I get you?”

“A large, iced skinny white chocolate mocha with extra whip, please- And what’s good to snack on here?” your eyes scan the large, clear display box full of goodies an Bucky’s more then happy to help you. Anything- to keep talking to you. You end up on a ham and cheddar bagel- he says he can testify to their delicacy. He ate two every day-

“You’re in pretty good shape for treating bagels like their own food group” You teased, but only party. He was gorgeously built- not “body builder bulky” but tall and broad shouldered, his biceps prominent under the long sleeves he wore. You wanted to bite them.

“I work at a gym part time” He chuckles back as he runs your platinum card “Gotta at least try to look the part”

He obviously misses your ogling as you give a relaxed hum in response, taking your purchases and shooting him one last heart stopping smile and goodbye as you retreat. Everything inside of him screams in fear, and its so confusing. Because he had just met you, had maybe said a dozen words to you, and yet he’s terrified of you walking out of the door and him never seeing you again. It’s that same alarm going off on his head as earlier after class. He’s relieved when you choose, instead of leaving, to take a table in the back corner of the café.

“Okay, who the fuck is that? And why did she make you react like a twelve year old boy?” Darcy, one of his co-workers, asks. Her thin, dark brow raised and her pouty lips pulled into a shit eating grin.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”- he almost face palms at that. At how childish and unbelievable he sounds.

“Um H-H-Hey. Hi. Hello” She snarks, teasing on the way that he had greeted you and he bumps his shoulder to hers lightly, telling her to fuck off under his breath as he goes onto another costumer. Happy for the distraction.

You sit in that little café for far too long. Sipping on your iced coffee until it’s nothing but ice. Nibbling on the ham and cheese bagel- he was right it’s delicious. You pull out your tablet and get some work done- making sure that everything’s going smoothly. Checking in with your assistant. You sit there for almost an hour before you’re forced to leave and you cant help but feel a little huffy. Why hadn’t he come up to you? You can feel that intense stare of his on you. You don’t have the time to wait for him- and yet the idea of never seeing his handsome face is not something you’re willing to face. So you reach into your bag, and pull out one of your business cards and a pen.

Bucky cant seen to take his eyes off you for more then a few minutes at a time- its like you’re magnetic. The way your hair falls around your face, the way you cross your thick thighs. He adverts his eyes every time he feels like he’s about to get caught though. Darcy’s right. He’s being a twelve year old boy.

When you walk over to him, your red bottomed heels clicking, his head snaps up.

“Thanks for the bagel. It was delicious” You grin as you slide a bill and a card across the counter to him. His eyebrows pull together.

“What’s this?”

“A tip” You shrug…“It was really nice to meet you, Bucky” You purr, looking at him pointedly before you’re walking out of the door. He’s glued to the sight of your wide ass in those tailored pants for a moment- before he’s looking down at the paper in his hands.

His eyes widen, to an almost comical degree as he takes in the cash. You’d left him a two hundred dollar tip! Two fucking hundred dollar pills, crisp and neat sit under your business card. Which has your name and number printed on it in elegant scroll. He flips it over and is surprised to see there’s more.

-I know how hard tuition can get and working two jobs cant be easy.

I’d love to help, handsome. Give me a call sometime- xoxo, Y/N-

He cant believe what he’s looking at, he cant seem to draw air into his lungs to clear his head as he stares at your loopy, cursive hand writing. We’re you insinuating what he thought you were?

“Oh my god, you lucky bitch” Darcy’s voice comes from over his shoulder as she also stares down at what he’d been left “If you don’t call her, give me her number so I can!”

The first person Bucky actually does call, once he’s home and in the sanctuary of his room is Steve. Because Steve is his best friend, and Steve will know what to do with this information.

Of course, the asshole laughs at him for the first five minutes of the conversation. Until Bucky is huffing and threatening to hang up.

“I’m sorry, Buck. It just reminds me of when Mrs. Levinstien used to only pay you to mow her lawn. That dirty old lady had the hots for you so bad” Steve chuckles in defensive and Bucky grimaces at the memory.

“She’s not like that, though, Steve. She’s- she’s fucking beautiful, and successful and sexy. You should have seen her man” Bucky trails a hand through his hair as he thinks back at his interactions with you, and the mark your presence had left on him.

“Then what’s the problem?” That’s Sam who replies and Bucky rolls his eyes. Of course Steve would have him on speaker phone. Him and same we’re like connected by the tip of their dicks, so he was used to it.

“The problem with him pimping himself out?” Steve’s voice came out incredulous over the receiver.

“I mean, he already seems to like this girl. So he get to be with her and be paid for it? That doesn’t sound like a bad deal to me” Sam argues and they’re just making Bucky’s tired head ache.

“All I’m saying is that working those two jobs obviously aint cutting for you man. Call her. What’s the worst that could happen? You get to see a girl who you obviously have the hots for again? If you’re not into it, just leave. Its that simple” And when Sam say’s it like that, it really does click into place. It really does seem that simple. Even with Steve insisting that she could be a serial killer.

Bucky takes the night to sleep on it. He dreams of your lips, dreams of fucking that pretty mouth that seemed to spew nothing but charm of intelligence. Dreams of you sucking and sucking until he’s screaming. He hasn’t come so hard in his pants since he ACTUALLY was twelve. He wakes up to stickiness in his boxers and his cock pulsating and he knows he has to call you.

Why he’s so nervous? He doesn’t know…he keeps making excuses. Maybe you’d changed your mind over night? Maybe you we’re too busy to take his call…he finally musters up the balls after he’s getting off of his job at the gym a few days later, the sun setting on the city. It only rings twice before you pick up and he’s greeted with your bell chim like voice.

“Hello, this is Y/N speaking”

“Hey” His voice is too deep, gravely, but he cant help it. He’s nervous “This is Bucky- from school. I mean from the university- that you lectured at the other day-”

Why? Why does all cognitive thought leave him when he attempts to talk to you?

“Bucky, huh? I was starting to think you we’re going to call me” You tease him, but he can hear the smile in your voice.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I’ve been really busy” He lies- he’d just been a chicken shit.

“Mmhm” You don’t sound amused by that “We’re all busy people, and time is of the essence. I knew I should have gotten your number”

He chuckles at your directness “Now you have it”

“So I do. What should I do with it, hmm?”

“I don’t know… You tell me” He feels a little idiotic saying it, but he’s truly curious to what happens next.

“Why don’t you let me take you to dinner?” You’re nearly purring again and Bucky has to bite his lip to keep himself at bay. You were so straight forward, so unlike any of the girls he’d ever come into contact with in the past.

“Really?” He’s never let any one take him out to dinner. He was always the one to ask, to lead. But he had all of twenty dollars in his bank account(that two hundred you’d given him had gone to his part of the utility bill) and honestly, he wasn’t sure how he was going to stretch it til’ his next paycheck. Even if he wanted to be the one to take you out, to wine and dine you, he couldn’t.

“Mmhmm, really. Are you free Friday- at eight?”

“Um yeah, that could work” He was supposed to be working at the café that night, but he’d have someone cover him.

“Alright. Do you like Cajun food, there’s a new restaurant that opened in SOHO that I’ve been meaning to check out”

He liked any food that didn’t come out of his freezer, and so he agrees eagerly. You tell him to send you his address so that you can send for him, and he only faintly tries to protest, you reassure him that it would really be no problem.

“‘Kay then, it’s a date. I’ll see you then”

“I can’t wait” He’s overly eager, he can hear it in his own tone but the giggle you let out is warm and seeps into his bones instead of embarrassing him.

“Me neither. Have a good rest of your day, Bucky” and then you click end and he stands in the middle of the busy side walk, his phone still pressed against his ear. He feels hot all, the butterflies ricocheting in his stomach. He swallows it, pushes it down, feeling ridiculous and “unmanly” for the affect you have on him as he pushes on down the street.

Yeah, Bucky’s struggled.

But things seem like they may just be looking up.

@buchonians @papi-chulo-bucky @geekyweed @4theluvofall @peacefulwriter88 @missrobyn81 @prettybubblesintheair @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @papi-chulo-seb @shayla-markele @thatawkwardtinyperson @docharleythegeekqueen 

Okay ya’ll let me warn you now this one is going to be KINKY as a motherfucker. Prepare yourselves. And let me know if you’d like to be tagged for this little series!

[evanismfic]

half  - agony. chapter one.

              第一章  .                                          BACOPA  (  假馬齒莧  )

summary: when you last set foot inside the palace seven years ago, your heart was shattered into a thousand pieces. now, after the dowager empress’s death, you find that you still cannot even dare to hope.

pairing: yanjun x f!reader

genre: historical, royals au

word count: 6855

a/n: please expect a lot of artistic license in terms of historical accuracy and medicine i am neither a doctor nor an expert on the song dynasty :’)

                     [ prev. ] | [ 2. ]

     YOU HAD ALL THE MAKINGS of a rags-to-riches story.

     Born a month and a day before the summer solstice, the town shaman told your father –– a man of science who made this augury his one exception –– that you would bring great change. As you grew older, her prediction became less and less likely. Your father once muttered that he should’ve known better than to put stock in “that hogwash.”

     Your family was poor, relying on both your parents to make ends meet. Your mother died not long after you were born, leaving you in the care of your father. He was well-meaning but lacked the emotional competence to navigate raising a child, precocious as you were, alone. More instructional than nurturing, you grew to maturity spending half of your life helping him in his shop. Your father was confident that you would follow in his footsteps and become a healer. That was his anchor.

     You spent the other half of your childhood frolicking by the stream on the outskirts of town. In those nearby woods dwelled the boy you loved. You first met him when you were but four years old, washing bloodied linens from an operation the day before. He peered at you from between the trees. When you first noticed him, he fled.

     There are a great many places where your life would’ve been better had things just ended there. This was one of them.

     But the boy came back a week later.

     Bolder, he came to a stop beside you and asked what you were doing. Your father told you once never to speak to strangers. He also saw no problem, however, allowing a small child to travel all the way across town to do laundry, so you can somewhat blame him for your lack of prudence. You can still remember the boy –– “Yanjun,” he introduced himself, chest puffed outward in pride –– and his tone. Painfully posh, he didn’t hold a lick of the drawl you became accustomed to from your small town. He spoke like the people from the capital, and you were instantly entranced. You had never met a child from Lin’an before. You decided you liked Yanjun very much. If your father noticed that you stayed out longer to play with the boy by the river, he never commented on it. After all, he was just a child. It took you six years to find out who Yanjun really was.

     Given that he only spent summers in the so-named palace –– a sprawling villa on the hill that overlooked your hometown –– you hadn’t really known him for all that long. For roughly three months of every year, the two of you (Yanjun, mostly) would get in as much trouble as you possibly could. From playing in the river to snatching low-hanging apples from a nearby (privately owned) orchard, the two of you were nearly inseparable. On the days where Yanjun didn’t come to play, you were miserable. And it wasn’t until your tenth year that you learned just why he was sometimes nowhere to be found.

     It had been twenty-four days since you two last met before your father was summoned to the Summer Palace. He brought you along on a whim, not knowing how long he would be gone and reluctant to leave you in the care of your gossipy neighbors. He did not expect your gasp of recognition when you laid eyes on the frightfully pale Crown Prince lying in his bed. His younger brother Chaoze sat by his side and shook him awake. When your eyes met, you felt your stomach drop.

     You had spent your summers for the past six years befriending the future Emperor. And his illness, a cold from too many hours spent in the stream, was your fault. Perhaps this was when his mother started to hate you.

     You thought that compromising his health would have you forbidden from ever seeing him again, but he sought you out the moment he recovered. He told you that he never meant to lie to you –– and he didn’t, really, only by omission –– and that nothing had changed. “I hope we can still be friends,” Yanjun said, earnestly taking your hand.

     But things had changed, although you couldn’t be sure if it was for better or for worse.

     When puberty hit, things only got more confusing.

     In your current opinion, at all of twenty-five years old, it’s when everything started to go downhill.

     You always liked Yanjun. He was funny, smart, and cultured. He would tell you about Lin’an and, after you discovered his identity, he would relay funny anecdotes about his tutors and the goings on of the Imperial Court. As he got older and his voice deepened, he suddenly became more interesting to listen to. And while Yanjun had always been good looking, he was especially handsome when the baby fat left his face and granted him those killer cheekbones portraits still fail to replicate. In a year, you had begun staring at his plump lips more and more.

     You didn’t miss the way he’d been looking at you too.

     He first held your hand when you were thirteen, shyly brushing his thumb across your knuckles, and you pressed your lips to his cheek in return. He kissed you on the lips at fifteen, and you told him that you loved him the next year. At eighteen, his father died, and you held him in your arms as he cried. A week later, his mother declared that Yanjun needed to marry in order to inherit the throne, and he asked you to come back with him to Lin’an.

      Saying yes was one of the worst decisions you ever made.

      Somehow, you’re back here seven years later, staring at the palace gates as your luggage is wheeled in behind you. Your father had succumbed to cancer just as spring began to wane into summer, so you have nothing keeping you in Changqi. Not long after his death, you received a letter with the imperial seal requesting that you take on the now vacant role of the royal doctor, as well as requesting that you work on a cure for one of the nation’s deadliest plagues. Imperial patronage was a stunning offer few could even dare to deny. But you still have to wonder why you would return when you had tried so hard to run away after a short five months within the palace walls.

     The answer is rather simple: because Yanjun asked you to.

     On a broader scale, it was easier to provide excuses. No one in their right mind refuses the Emperor. There is a vacancy in the staff. The Court is in need of a healer, and you earned yourself quite the reputation for your innovative herbal remedies. Only the best of the best can serve the Emperor, and you more than enough deserve that title. It has nothing to do with the fact that Yanjun once loved you and that you loved him just as much.

     That time is long gone, and nothing displays that more than how much the palace has changed since you left it.

     It’s certainly livelier, more colorful than it was when you departed. Having come when it was in a period of mourning, though, that is to be expected. Observing servants as they move pots and crates around, you presume Yanjun is doing a bit of remodeling as well. It’s a bold choice for an emperor whose nation is currently at war.

     “There’s no view quite as magnificent is there?” Honglin, the page sent to fetch and safely deliver you to the palace, hands the reigns of his steed over to a stable boy. The fortnight of travel didn’t afford you an extraordinarily close friendship with the young man, but he was currently the only friend you had in Lin’an. You know that he is mixed, his father being a Jurchen defector and his mother a Han woman. Honglin is incredibly proud of his heritage, bearing a zealousness you find endearing. That’s about all that you know about him. “I came here with my father when I was seven and I’m still in awe every time I return.”

     You don’t have the heart to tell him that you have very few memories of the palace to look fondly upon. You smile instead. “Indeed. It’s a testament to our great nation.”

      Honglin seems pleased by your response. He gestures toward the Western Wing, which houses most of the residences of the staff. You’re surprised that your brain has retained that information, considering how you tried to forget everything that you could. “I’ll direct you to your rooms, let you get settled in before I bring you to meet His Majesty. Would you like me to do anything with your supplies?”

      “No,” you say, shaking your head and following Honglin as he starts down the palace’s winding halls. “Just leave them in their crates in the infirmary. I’ll organize them myself tomorrow.”

      “As you wish.”

     Honglin deposits you in front of a bedchamber only marginally smaller than the one from nearly a decade ago. How interesting it is that the quarters of the presumed future empress were roughly the same size as the royal healer’s –– or, rather, how interesting it was that the Dowager Empress thought to give her successor such lackluster accommodations. Both rooms are just as lifeless and empty. Only a desk, a table with which you could receive visitors and dine, a bed, and one of the trunks containing your clothing served as furnishing. They couldn’t even afford you a wardrobe. Honglin chirps that he’ll be around and that you only need to holler for him to come running. He leaves you to decompress, and you collapse on your bed the moment he shuts the doors behind him.

     You don’t plan to lay there longer than twenty minutes, but you’re exhausted. You know that coming to Lin’an was for a good cause. Aside from the honor of being the royal family’s sole physician, imperial support allowed your research to flourish. The royal summons didn’t mention how much of it Yanjun was willing to finance, only that he would give as much as it took to eradicate tianxing illness. You also knew that anything was better than your lack of funds back at home.

     You wonder if the ladies of the court are still here. At least one of your tormentors is gone. Though you feel terrible for being relieved that the Dowager Empress is dead, you still find yourself consoled by the fact that you don’t have to deal with her. You’re terrible, and you have to force yourself to fight the instinct. Horrible to you she might have been, she was still Yanjun’s mother and is apparently the current reason you are employed by the court. Your hopes that the volatile atmosphere of the palace had vanished were dashed by the rumor that your predecessor killed himself for failing to cure the Dowager Empress of her ailment. Is Yanjun really that foul-tempered now? Perhaps this is what his mother was trying to save you from.

     “This is no place for a commoner,” she had said when Yanjun first announced his intention to take you to wife. You wanted to protest at first. You loved Yanjun and Yanjun loved you ––  surely such a fairytale romance would triumph over all else, wouldn’t it? You weren’t in control of the circumstances of your birth. It wasn’t like you chose to be born beneath Yanjun’s station. You were naïve to think that the strength of your character would prove you worthy of the role of empress, particularly because you weren’t as strong as you thought.

     You could stand ridicule from one person. Yanjun, young and headstrong, had a rebellious streak that reinforced his insistence that you disregard his mother’s protests, that you two were soulmates and nothing could come between that. However, you weren’t prepared for the near-ubiquitous vitriol and abuse sent your way. You expected jealousy. You weren’t a fool. The Crown Prince was going to be sought after no matter who he was. To marry the future emperor was the easiest way to secure one’s future. In some respects, you could understand the utter incredulity that a random girl from the country managed to snatch Yanjun away from the noblewomen who knew him all their lives. That didn’t justify their cruel words, though. Of how you didn’t belong, of how Yanjun deserved someone of higher status who wouldn’t pollute the royal bloodline. Of how he was making a terrible mistake by choosing you and how he would come to regret this decision for the rest of his life. Of how you would be an unfit mother to his children, passing on both stupidity and inferiority to his heirs.

     You thought yourself a strong girl. But there was only so much even the strongest could take.

     At least now, you’re not a threat. You don’t mean anything to Yanjun anymore. They have no reason to snap at you, broad as his harem is.

     You spend so long in your miserable reminiscence that you don’t realize how much time has passed. Honglin has to knock on your door and snap you out of your self-pity. “Just a moment!” you shout, scrambling to your trunk and throwing on your nicest gown. You comb your hair as quickly as you can and hope that minimal makeup will be enough. Honglin smiles and tells you that you look nice when you open the door. You slip your hand into the crook of his elbow when he offers his arm, taking a deep breath.

     Chuckling, Honglin begins to guide you toward the Great Hall. “You don’t need to look so nervous,” he tells you, patting your hand gently. “His Majesty isn’t going to rip your head off for being late. His meeting with the Ministers of Defense ran a little long, so I doubt he’s noticed anyway. Between them and the men of the Inner Court, I’d be surprised if he actually gets a word in beyond granting or denying their absurd requests.”

     “Is he really so busy?”

      “Oh, of course. The nation is on the brink of war at all times, miss, no matter what harebrained but effective schemes General Cai has up his sleeve. Invasion is a constant possibility. The Jurchens simply refuse to let up.”

      You pretend to know what he’s talking about. “Right.”

     “Well, whatever the case, I’m glad we have Yanjun leading us. With him, I feel as though victory is just around the corner.”

     “I see,” you murmur. You hadn’t thought much of public opinion on the current administration. Politics were less your forte. You simply followed your moral compass, bureaucracy be damned. Honglin might be a little biased, but you still find yourself fascinated by the open admiration in his tone. It seems Yanjun is the great leader you always thought he’d be, bringing to life the praise you’d whisper to him late at night as he laid his head in your lap and voiced his doubts. “You think very highly of him.”

     “He deserves it.” Those three words settle the matter.

     After what seems like an eternity navigating the palace’s endless corridors, Honglin stops in front of the large crimson doors of the Great Hall. Covered in gold decorations, it’s even more ornate than you remember. The phoenixes and floral imagery are new, somewhat clashing with the preexisting spiraling dragons and flamboyant clouds. Somehow, though, the doors seem smaller than you remember them last. Perhaps you’re no longer as intimidated by them and the secrets they hold. You know what type of vipers dwell within. There’s only the one on the dais that you’re still apprehensive of. There is still the slight chance that Yanjun is still as harmless as a garter snake. In your infinite maturity, though, you know better than to hope.

     “Are you ready?” Honglin asks. You don’t give yourself room to hesitate. At your nod, he smiles encouragingly and pushes the great doors open. Voice booming, he calls out your presence. “This humble servant presents the new imperial healer to His Majesty the Emperor, Son of Heaven and Ruler of the Earth, He of Ten Thousand Years.” Bent at the waist, he shuffles forward. You follow him, head bowed and hands folded in your sleeves.

     Yanjun says your name when he tells you to rise. As you obey, you force yourself to suppress a shudder. If even such a short vocalization can send shivers down your spine, you can’t imagine what a full sentence will be like. “Look at us,” Yanjun says. A rustle of silk indicates he beckoned you with a finger. You raise your head to fully look at Yanjun –– Emperor Qiànzо̄ng, you remind yourself –– for the first time in seven years.

     He’s just as beautiful as he was back then. No longer boyish, he’s replaced that youthful charm with a regal and dignified demeanor. His hair is longer and spills over his shoulders, flesh paler presumably from years indoors. He waves at you almost teasingly, fingers still slim and pretty. It’s a wonder he can still move with the heaps of fabric atop him. He’s always been scrawny, but you see that he’s filled out his robes. The rich silks are adorned with golden embroidery depicting his family crest, the Phoenix –– so, it was his addition to the doors after all –– along with, you notice on his sleeves, tangerine and citrus trees. To reflect the flourishing growth brought about by his reign, you suppose. He truly is an emperor now.

     “It’s good to have you back,” Yanjun says. For all the refinement in his dress, he still slouches a little, shoulders raised as he cants a hip to the side –– the way he used to when the two of you were still kids. He’s twenty-five now. Handsome as ever. Voice still rich and soft and tender when addressing you. One would think that his father-in-law isn’t standing less than a foot from him. For all your avoidance of all things imperial, you can remember the beady eyes of Lady Pingting’s father easily. The emperor’s Right Hand eyes you with obvious distaste, sleeve already raised to his mouth as if he is mere seconds away from whispering disparaging comments about you into Yanjun’s ear. You have no doubt that he will as soon as you are out of sight. Seven years have brought very little change to Lin’an.

     In the wake of your silence, the emperor looks at you expectantly. You have to remind yourself that this isn’t the little boy who used to fish your ribbons out of the river for you, who would stand on his tiptoes to pick the ripest fruits to share. You doubt he is still the same man that you loved. He is a man of power, now. He is atop the world’s finest nation. He is expected to lead it in war, to reclaim the lost North. “This humble servant thanks the crown,” you tell him, lowering yourself to your knees. Gripping the insides of your sleeves so tightly you dig crescents into the fabric, you bow once more and press your forehead into the velvet carpet so hard you think it may leave marks. “It is an honor to serve the great Dragon Emperor.” When you dare to meet Yanjun’s eyes, his mouth is drawn into a tight line. Perhaps that was the wrong thing to say.

     For a long, tense minute, neither of you speak. Honglin looks nervous on your behalf

      Yanjun’s gaze switches to something akin to… disappointment. Something else you can’t name flutters in your stomach. You’ve felt it before when looking at him, you just refuse to acknowledge it as affection. You like Yanjun. But you don’t love him anymore. You can’t. So, while you can care and fret over why he seems disappointed in you, you are not allowed to bend over backward to try and please him. That’s not your job anymore, assuming it ever was.

     The emperor clears his throat, snapping you back into reality. “How do you feel, coming back to the capital after all this time?” He pauses. “We’re sure you must’ve had some reservations, clean and… succinct as your parting was.”

     If you were more naïve, you might dare to presume that there’s a hint of regret in his tone. Yanjun as a prince was sentimental. Soft. As an emperor, he is not allowed to have such unnecessary inclinations. And you, though not quite the commoner girl you once were, are still light years beneath him. You are a healer, not the daughter of a nobleman or a foreign princess or his empress. You have a place –– one that is not with him. “Not at all,” you say, feigning ignorance to the way he leans forward in interest. “Whatever my previous feelings for the palace were, I have grown in the past seven years. And I would be foolish to disregard a royal summons. I thank Your Majesty for your generous offer. I know that with imperial support, I will be able to complete my research and create a better standard of living for our people. Improving the health of our citizens is my greatest priority and I am grateful that Your Majesty has deigned to allot such a great sum to such a wonderful cause.”

     You’re suddenly made aware of the dozens of pairs of eyes on you. Though the throne beside Yanjun is empty, his many advisors are all around him, among other members of his staff like scribes and entertainers. To say nothing, as well, of the diplomats and bureaucrats from afar. How many of them know who you are and what you once meant to him? How many are willing to use that and this lackluster reception against you?

     Yanjun blinks. “We… see.” He opens his mouth to speak further, but his Right Hand cuts him off as the old man lunges forward to whisper in his ear. Nodding, Yanjun waves him back with an arm. “We are terribly sorry to curtail this… long-awaited reunion, but we have some business to take care of.” Glancing at Honglin, Yanjun dips his head. “If you would be so kind as to escort the lady healer back to her quarters. General Zhu and his retinue will be here shortly.”

     And just like that, you are dismissed and his attention is elsewhere. You and Honglin bow before you depart, but Yanjun hardly seems to notice as he unfurls a scroll in his lap and listens to the rambling of his ministers. It’s probably for the best.

     When the doors of the Great Hall shut behind him completely, Honglin throws you a smile. “That wasn’t so terrible, was it? He’s still fond of you!” It seems he does remember you were betrothed to the emperor. Prior to this, he hadn’t mentioned anything of the sort. Maybe his memory was jogged by Yanjun’s words. Regardless, you appreciate the attempt at levity. “I told you he’s a good man. You had nothing to be worried about.”

     He’s right, in a way. You didn’t know why you were so worked up over a conversation that took less than ten minutes. What were you expecting? For Yanjun to beg you to love him again, for him to confront you over breaking his heart? Clearly, it wasn’t very broken in the first place, considering the fact that he married Pingting not long after you left and gained a reputation of being something of a womanizer. Not that anyone would ever accuse an emperor of debauchery to his face.

     “Would you like to go back to your room, or are there other matters you would like to take care of?”

     “Actually,” you say, “do you mind taking me to the infirmary? I think I’d like to begin unpacking.” It’d take your mind off of things, at the very least. And you’d like to get your practice off the ground as soon as possible. Momentarily forgetting about Yanjun is just a bonus.

     Honglin eyes your robes with an arched brow, but when you look at him expectantly, he shrugs and grins. “As you wish. Follow me!”

     By the time you’re finished with unpacking most of your surgical equipment and organizing your anesthetics, you are sweaty, your hair has come undone, and your arms are sore. Just thinking about having to put away everything else has you sighing in exhaustion. You’re only about halfway done, and remembering that you still have to take inventory of all of your herbs makes you want to quit even before you’ve started, but you grit your teeth and decide to have everything finished by the next evening. The sun has long since set, and the palace has fallen into relative silence. Having removed your shirt jacket for ease of movement, you have to slink back to your rooms with it draped over your shoulders, hoping no one sees you in a state of moderate undress. You breathe a sigh of relief as you successfully make it back to your room without being spotted. Only to scream –– thankfully short and quiet enough not to cause a large commotion –– when you see the scene laid out before you, of course.

     Lin Yanjun and an extravagant dinner are at your table, and he looks moderately amused by the sight of your surprise and messy attire. His mother ambushed you similarly seven years ago, but you were wearing more clothes then. You doubt he is aware of how much he takes after her. “Sit,” Yanjun says, sounding more like he’s suggesting rather than ordering. “I wanted to speak with you in a less ostentatious setting.”

     And the candles, golden cutlery, and huge roast duck definitely serve to create a more minimalist, humble atmosphere.

     Biting back the quip, you do as he says and take a seat across from him. When you dined with his mother (whom you can see in him so clearly with the way the shadows dance across his face), you were expecting an apology. She did a good job of maintaining the impression of civil conversation, though its content was anything but civil.

      Without a hint of aggression, she told you, “You must know that you are no good for him.”

      You tried to protest, only to get plowed over.

      “Look at it this way,” the Dowager Empress had said. You still remember her words and the way her hair decorations clacked as she moved clear as day. “You are doing my son no favors. You may operate under the idealistic belief that true love will conquer all, but I must remind you, young one, that Yanjun will become the leader of a country in the real world. A country at war, constantly being attacked by our enemies to the north. He will reclaim the North and drive the Jurchens out once and for all. What he needs is someone who will provide him with the most aid in his endeavors. What could you possibly offer him that he could not find elsewhere?”

     At the time, you weren’t able to speak, tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth. You never needed to challenge such a great authority before. The Dowager Empress took advantage of that.

     “Money? Connections? Are you a tactician of any sort?” You had no response. She was right. Yanjun was meant for greater things. And while you thought you’d be with him every step of the way, you knew that it wasn’t practical for him. Lady Yun, whose father was the second largest landowner in the entire country, or perhaps Lady Likun, whose father and brother were prominent figures in the military and who was a capable strategist in her own right, were better matches. He ended up choosing Lady Pingting, the daughter of a high-ranking official in the Ministry of Defense, so Yanjun evidently took his mother’s wishes to heart. What did you have to offer him besides your love? “You are a commoner, my girl. He will be an emperor. Surely you see something wrong with this picture, yes? You may believe that the two of you are in love, but that is only because you don’t know any better. The universe has an order and it will always right itself. This is a lesson you would do well to learn now.

     “This is what is going to happen,” said the Dowager Empress then, so sure that she could tell the future. “You are going to tell Yanjun that you no longer wish to marry him. You will then pack your meager belongings and return to Changqi. You will remember your place, and you will never speak of or to him again.”

     As it turned out, the old bitch was a prophet.

     Except here you are, sitting in front of Yanjun as he places a leg of duck in your bowl. It’s something a husband would do. Is this the universe righting itself? No, it can’t be. You remain frozen, hands in your lap. “Why?” You thought you could do this. That you could speak to him again without wanting to flee. It should be easier without all those eyes on you, but it isn’t.

     “Is it wrong of me to wish to speak to an old friend?” He arches a brow and smiles at you. It isn’t pleasant. He looks every bit like the shark his mother was when she last spoke to you. He looks like he’s just waiting for you to spill blood so he can strike. “We are still friends, are we not?”

     You don’t respond. The question hangs awkwardly in the air as you turn instead to eat. Perhaps it’s petty of you, but you’ve learned to pick and choose your battles. Professing any affection for him would do you no good, especially when taking into consideration the people who could hear you but who you couldn’t see. “And I suppose you thought you were doing me favors by coming to my quarters?” He blinks in surprise as you speak after sipping some broth. It’s remarkably easier to speak to Yanjun when you think of his mother at the same time, of how he’s no longer the lovesick boy that you knew –– of how he might not have your best interests at heart anymore. “There are eyes and ears around the palace and you thought that coming to my bedchambers alone was the best course of action. I see.”

     Yanjun laughs then, releasing a rather cavalier scoff. “My apologies, I didn’t think ––”

     “Clearly.”

     His chuckle cuts off abruptly. “I was hoping we could be civil.” Clearing his throat, Yanjun returns to his meal. Each movement –– even to raise his chopsticks to his mouth –– is practiced and sharp. Though it is only dinner, and a private one at that, Yanjun still can’t relax. You feel a little bad for snapping at him. The last seven years probably haven’t been very good to him. He had to have been forced to grow a thicker skin. Scales, if you will. The bags under his eyes say as much, anyway.

     The two of you eat in silence, as you don’t dare to speak lest he turn your cold attitude against you. You had often imagined what it would be like to share meals as husband and wife. What it might be like to sit beside him in the grand hall, reaching over to add some vegetables to his rice and as he ladles you soup. How domestic it might have been. How useless these fantasies were. The Dowager Empress was right. At the time, you were a frivolous, naïve girl in love with the idea of love. Now, you are not. You’ve grown, and you’ve grown beyond him. The two of you were better off without each other. This isn’t you finding your way back to each other, or whatever drivel your eighteen year-old self would’ve come up with.

     This is not the universe correcting its course.

     But still, you have to wonder.

     “Why me?”

     The two words startle Yanjun out of his apparently length and intense internal monologue. From the harsh way he was staring at the plates in front of him, you thought he was trying to consume them with sheer willpower and ocular strength alone. He looks up at you and raises a brow. “I beg your pardon?”

     “Out of all the doctors in the Middle Empire, out of every physician, every healer, every master of the art of medicine, why did you choose to extend this position to me?” There are plenty of people more famous than you, renowned across the nation for their prowess and advancement in the field. While you had garnered a bit of popularity (and something of an ego) for your improvements of herbal medicine, you still had doubts that these accomplishments alone warranted your sudden and enormous rise in status. “I highly doubt it’s because we are friends. If you’ll forgive me for the rudeness of the accusation, I believe you may have some ulterior motives.”

     It isn’t something you would have suggested of him before. At least, not out loud. Yanjun was shrewd and playful, but such an important position, one that held the entire palace’s health in its hands, was not one to be taken so lightly. Nepotism had no place when life and death were involved, and you always thought that he knew better than to place personal preference over effectiveness. But you hardly know him anymore. So much of him is physically familiar. The details, however, are too dissimilar not to notice.

     His relative reticence, the almost sleepy way he blinks, head occasionally dropping and his chin staying tucked against his clavicle as if he doesn’t want to lift it back up. The calluses on his fingers from hours of holding a brush. The wry curl of his lips resembling something like guilt. Like you’ve sniffed him out. The light dusting of pink across his cheeks, either from the wine he’s been indulging in intermittently throughout the night or embarrassment. Surprise, given that you never thought to challenge him like this before.

      So, you were right. He was hiding something. Maybe you know him better than you think.

     “That is a rather abrasive way to phrase your concerns,” Yanjun says mildly, “but I will forgive you for your tone.” He folds his hands in his lap. “The simple truth is that I needed someone I could trust implicitly. Although I had my doubts that you would be able to hold up under the pressure, there are very few people I trust to make sure that my family and friends and allies are healthy.”

     You swallow roughly. The pressure. Right. When you told him you no longer wished to marry him, you cited pressure as the deciding factor in your departure. Of course, he’d remember.

     “Nevertheless, you are correct. I owe you the truth. I am well aware of what was written on the summons. None of it is particularly untrue. I fully expect you to conduct research to combat the tianxing plague in Guilin. But that isn’t all I wanted to ask of you. I suppose that, upon reflection, my apprehensions no longer seem very reasonable. And, as such, I no longer see the point in hiding anything from you. Are you aware of what happened to your predecessor?”

     “Only that he leapt into a river not long after your mother’s death.” You decide to keep your conspiracy theories to yourself.

     “You were not informed of why?”

     You shake your head. You wish he would just get to the point, though he’s had a history of being superfluous in his storytelling.

     “The official narrative we passed along to the palace staff is that he feared punishment for failing me because he was unable to prevent my mother’s death. She had an ailment of the liver and suffered a painful death. It would not be surprising to hear that he feared retribution from the crown.” Would it? You didn’t think he was that kind of man. But people change. Yanjun leans in and your traitorous heartbeat quickens. If he notices the way your breath catches in your threat, he doesn’t say anything.

     “Only three ministers, the Empress, myself, and now you know the truth. The Crown Prince’s health has been deteriorating for the past month. While it seemed the doctor had been making some headway, he took his life two weeks into my son’s illness. I can only presume this was because he reached an unfavorable prognosis. But rather than do anything he could to save a seven year-old boy’s life, he took the coward’s way out.” Yanjun clenches his fists. You fight the urge to reach over and take his hand.

     What little surprise you felt at learning that he was a father quickly faded and was replaced by sympathy. You had no children to call your own, disgraced to spinsterhood after the dissolution of your engagement. You had no idea what he must feel to watch his son in pain, to watch the boy die. You could scarcely fathom it. It puts the exhaustion in his visage into perspective. Your heart aches for him.

      But you still aren’t very happy with him. “Why… why didn’t you just tell me the truth?” For someone who claimed to trust you enough to put his family’s life in your hands, the fact that he decided to withhold this information from you didn’t support his assertion whatsoever.

     “I couldn’t risk your summons being intercepted. If the news that the heir to the Empire was dying fell into the wrong hands, I feared the worst. Morale dropping in the midst of a war we are losing is the mildest of consequences.” He clenches his jaw and avoids your gaze. “Worse yet, the Jurchens may send someone to finish the job. We are aware that they have spies within the palace. We just don’t know who they are.”

     “That sounds like a bunch of excuses. Valid ones, yes, but not the truth. Yanjun, if you want me to do the best that I can, you have to trust me.” Not all of him is entirely unfamiliar –– the way his voice wavers and the way he refuses to look you in the eye are little dishonest quirks you recall from his childhood. Your fingers twitch and his flex in return. You’re both too stubborn to reach over and complete the movement. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

     Licking his lips, Yanjun drops his head. He reaches up to rub his jaw. He used to do that when he got in trouble and his steward was about to wring a confession out of him. “I was afraid. And foolish. I thought that you still loved me. That you would refuse to treat a child that you thought could’ve and should’ve been yours. For that, I apologize. I should not have let my assessment of you be clouded by fanciful sentiment.”

     Can you resent him for his line of reasoning? Part of you wished that he thought you still loved him, but that notion was supposed to work in conjunction with the idea that he still loved you too. That part of you, the smallest bit of romanticism remaining within you, was wrong. He thought you still loved him, and he used that to think the worst of you. You are not afraid to admit that it hurts –– both on your behalf and his. What happened to Yanjun to make him this cold? Was it… was it you who made him this way?

     “Oh, Yanjun.” Your words are pitying. You can tell by the way his shoulders tense that it irritates him. “If you had just asked, I still would have come.”

     A chill creeps down your spine as Yanjun stands and meets your eyes. You’ve never seen him like this before. Aloof, icy. His eyes are hard as stone. It’s difficult to categorize him, and he always seems to be shifting. For much of your dinner, Yanjun was nowhere near as cold. Just because he wasn’t talking didn’t mean that he was trying to freeze you out or scare you. But now, you can’t be sure. When you look up at him, you can’t help but remember the way he used to look at you. He gazed at you with such warmth, like you were the sun and stars and everything in the universe –– a sentiment that you shared toward him.

     Now, none of that remains. Yanjun looks at you, and there is… nothing there. Negativity, resentment, and bitterness, perhaps. Though you don’t want it to be so, there is no longer anything warm and loving when he beholds you. There is only dislike. He speaks deliberately, mouth forming his words with self-assurance. You can’t construe his tone as anything but loathing. “I couldn’t have known that.”

[geekmama]

The Kensington House

 Pure fluff and kid!fic besides, this is the 26th part of my Time of the Season series, and written for the Where prompt in the BDT of prompts I’ve been working on - 98 down and 2 to go!

There was something amiss. Sherlock knew it as soon as he laid eyes on his wife, on returning to 221B earlier than his text that afternoon had originally estimated. Molly was very happy to see him, but there was something around her eyes, and in her smile, and in her embrace when she rose from the dinner table and came round to greet him. The baby must have been put to bed already, but the three older children were their usual selves, each of them vying for attention and yammering on when Sherlock was frowning with narrowed eyes, striving for wordless communication with their mother. 

But then Jon popped up with, “Oh, and Lady Smallwood came to visit today, she walked in just when we’d started playing pirates!” 

And Will laughed. “Yes, we were bashing about with our swords, even Daisy. And Lexie was helping Mum with the laundry, so the place was a complete tip! I think Lady Smallwood was pretty shocked, she didn’t stay for tea or anything--” 

“But Daddy!” Daisy broke in, tugging with some violence on the sleeve of his Belstaff. “She asked us to dinner tomorrow -- all of us, not just you and Mummy. At her beautiful house! May we go, pleeeease?” 

Sherlock pried Daisy’s little hand from his coat and gave it a squeeze, though he raised a brow at Molly’s expression. “Is that what it is?” 

He saw that she was tempted to brush it off, but then she gave a rueful chuckle. “Well, yes, a bit. Not that I blame the children! If it hadn’t been pouring buckets all day, we could have gone out somewhere, a museum and the park perhaps. But with Lexie barely on the mend from that virus...” 

“Yes, the weather was far too cold,” Sherlock agreed. “It’s ridiculous for the beginning of May, and particularly inconvenient on a day when these tiresome brats are out of school and must be kept occupied lest they tear the place apart.” The tiresome brats merely laughed at this, and hugged him, and he couldn’t help smirking. But he said to Molly, “Not the best way to spend your day off. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to stay and help. ” 

“Greg needed you,” Molly shrugged. “And we managed -- though I believe Will was right about Alicia being shocked. Mrs. Hudson let her in and we didn’t hear her coming up the stairs, so there was no time to put things to rights. But we can discuss this later, if you like. I believe your greedy sons have left you at least a few scraps of dinner! Come sit down.” 

But Daisy, dissatisfied at this put-off, said, “But Mummy, Daddy, can we go tomorrow? If we promise to be good?” 

The thought of his children on the loose in Alicia Smallwood’s elegant Kensington mansion was enough to strike dismay into the heart of a stronger man than Sherlock Holmes, promises or no. But Molly reiterated in her “Mummy’s Serious” tone, “Your father and I will discuss it later!” and Daisy sighed, dramatically sulky as only a four year old -- his four year old -- could be, but ultimately accepting the delay without further complaint.

 *

 Alicia might be known as Lady Smallwood, Associate of the British Government, but she was also very much a woman and a mother, and was not at all impervious to the sight of three of the four Holmes urchins, all dressed to the nines and fairly dancing with anticipation of a high treat as they made their way into the gate and up the front walk, their wary but resigned parents in tow. 

“No running! And remember: your best manners,” Molly was heard to say, probably for the tenth time. 

Alicia chuckled as Mycroft came up beside her at the door and took her hand in his. 

“Let’s hope you’re still amused two hours from now,” he murmured. 

“Oh, hush,” she said, giving him a severe look. “You know you love them to pieces.” 

Mycroft gave a sigh of resignation. “I do, but I prefer them in small doses, rather than en masse.” 

Alicia chuckled at that. “They’ll be fine.” She turned back to greet Daisy as the little girl cast off restraint and flitted ahead, up the walkway. 

“Look at my new dress, Aunt Alicia!” she exclaimed, as she bounced up the few marble steps to the wide porch. She stopped to smooth the skirt of the pink satin confection she was wearing. “Isn’t it lovely?” 

“My dear, you look ravishing,” Alicia assured her, bending down to kiss her cheek. 

Daisy sweetly returned the favor, and then said, brightly, “Hello, Uncle Mycroft! We’re here!” 

“So I see,” said Mycroft, the laughter in his voice almost entirely free of disapprobation. 

“Look, lads!” said Sherlock, too brightly, as the rest of the family approached in Daisy’s wake. “Uncle Mycroft is here, too! Now we’re guaranteed a fine selection of cake!” 

Alicia narrowed her eyes at Mycroft’s brother but refrained from comment as Molly had the matter in hand with raised brows and a useful jab with her elbow. 

Unfortunately, he only simpered at Molly before turning his teasing gaze on his brother again. “Things must be slow at the office with both of you able to be here,” he remarked. 

“An accurate observation,” said Mycroft, “and a fact for which we must all be thankful. Boys! You look very smart -- and uncomfortable. I thought school was out several hours ago.” 

“We had our music lessons just before we came,” Jon said, wrinkling his nose. “Madame insists we dress like gentlemen.” 

“Ah, so I recall now, and very proper, too,” said Mycroft with approval, “though if your parents permit you might at least remove your ties -- God knows your father hasn’t worn one in years. Molly, my dear, you look as ravishing as your daughter.” 

Molly, who wore a lacy white cardigan over a light blue sheath that prettily accentuated her still-slender figure, said warmly, “It’s good to see you, Mycroft.” 

“And you,” said Mycroft, with real sincerely, smiling down at his sister-in-law. 

“Alicia,” said Sherlock. “You’re looking well.” 

Alicia raised a brow. “Thank you,” she said, then silently mouthed one word at him: Behave! 

He made no verbal reply, just assumed a comically wounded expression and placed his hand over his heart. 

Alicia rolled her eyes and and turned back to the little boys. “I see that you’ve brought along your violin, Jon, and we’ve just had the piano in the drawing room re-tuned. Will you two favor us with your latest pieces?” 

“Yes!” said Jon with alacrity, and Will smiled, too, his eyes lighting at the prospect of sitting down behind Alicia’s beautiful baby grand. “But can we play in the back garden after?” 

Alicia laughed, remembering the astoundingly grubby but eminently satisfied look of the three the last time they’d been allowed the run of the back garden. The lawn and shrubbery were quite extensive for a home situated in the middle of London -- which was, of course, one reason for tonight’s invitation. Alicia said, “If your parents permit, yes, but you should probably wait until after we’ve had dinner. Now come in, all of you, and let’s have some music!”

 *

 The children had been on their best behavior, both prior to dinner and throughout the rather formal meal, sufficiently awestruck by their surroundings to be quieter and more careful than usual, and actually put into use the manners they’d been taught. Now they had been released to play in the back garden while the light lasted, much to Molly’s relief. The house was not at all “childproof”, for Alicia’s three children were grown and had been gone a dozen years or more. None of the three had elected to settle in the noisy bustle and excitement of London and now rarely even visited the metropolis. Alicia’s eldest, the current Lord Smallwood, had settled at the country estate with his wife and son, shortly after the death of his father; her younger son had emigrated to Australia in his early twenties and was still gainfully employed in the music industry when he wasn’t indulging in some extreme sport or other, to which his mother was forced to turn a blind eye or go mad with worry; and the daughter of the family had married a Scots physician and was settled in a picturesque little town outside Edinburgh, busily raising a pair of ginger-haired twin girls and apparently more than content with rural life. 

“It’s a shame your children don’t care for the city,” Molly commiserated, as Alicia stepped up beside her, near the window where she had been surreptitiously keeping an eye on her brood. “You must miss them.” 

Alicia gave a little shrug, though she was smiling as she looked out at the children in the garden. “Oh, I don’t know. It gives one a good reason to indulge in frequent holidays. Mycroft and I were in Scotland just last weekend, for example -- Allison and Amabel are growing up so quickly! And I believe it won’t be long before they and their cousins -- my oldest boy’s children -- will be able to come visit us in London, whether their parents accompany them or not.” 

Molly smiled. “That will be an event.” 

“To be sure. They’re already anxious to meet their little Holmes cousins.” But then Alicia chuckled. “Heavens, I can just see -- and hear -- Mycroft.” 

Molly gave a small snort of laughter. “We’ll have to get him a bottle of his favorite wine for the occasion. Or even brandy! But he’s been very welcoming to our little savages this evening. I was a bit surprised you dared to invite us, after that display at Baker Street yesterday. Not our finest moment.” 

“Don’t be absurd,” said Alicia. “Entirely understandable under the circumstances! And there’s not a mean-spirited bone among the lot of them. Really, Molly, you’ve done an amazing job with them.” 

“Well, thank you, but Sherlock has a great deal to do with it, too, you know. He’s a wonderful father.” 

“Marriage and fatherhood seem to have been the making of him, certainly,” Alicia agreed. “Gave him something to think about other than his beautiful, brilliant self, which was exactly what he needed. Still, who would have guessed, nine years ago?” 

“Well… I did,” Molly said with a smile. 

“So you did.” Alicia turned to Molly and considered her thoughtfully for a few moments, and finally Molly raised an inquiring brow. Alicia said, as if in reply. “Speaking of yesterday… not that that has anything to do with it, really, it merely reminded me why… well… I assure you I’ve had it in mind for months...” 

Amused at this uncharacteristic rambling, Molly asked,. “Alicia, are you quite alright? What did you have in mind?” 

Alicia took a deep breath through her nose, steadying herself, then glanced around before meeting Molly’s eyes again. “Do you like this house?” 

Molly laughed. “Well, of course. How could one not?” 

“Yes. Well. I like it, too. But it wants… a family. It was made for a family, all those years ago, and of course it was a splendid home for mine when the children were growing up, but… they’ve been gone a long time, now. And my husband… well. In any case, I was wondering… would you and Sherlock like to have it?” 

Molly stared, gave a choking exclamation of “What? Alicia, you--” 

“Rent free, of course,” Alicia interrupted, as though Molly hadn’t spoken. “Though there is still the upkeep -- I use a service now, and they are most efficient, if a trifle costly, though with the children you might want to hire some staff -- not necessarily live-in, though there is certainly room, there are quarters for at least two or three persons off the kitchen. And there are the taxes. But I’m given to understand the two of you could well afford those things and still keep Baker Street as an office for Sherlock, and as a second… ah… bolthole? Guest house? In any case, I don’t suppose you’d care to give it up. You have done such a lovely job renovating it since you and Sherlock married and the children began to arrive.” 

“Alicia! You cannot be serious!” 

“I am, though.” A little smile tugged at Alicia’s lips. “I have finally acquiesced to Mycroft’s wishes and consented to move into his house. There is some refurbishment already being done there in preparation.” 

“Oh!” Molly smiled. “That’s wonderful! Are you… that is--” 

“I have not yet agreed to marry him. We are still in negotiations on that point.” 

Molly laughed. “Oh, Alicia, you are… the completest thing. To keep The British Government on a lead for all these years…” 

Alicia chuckled, and looked quite smug. But she said, “So. Will you discuss it with Sherlock? Since little Alexandra came along it is all too apparent to those who love you that 221B Baker Street will soon be filled to bursting. Here there are enough bedrooms for each of your children to have his or her own with plenty left over for guests, a playroom, an office. I won’t be taking much of the furniture, just a few favorite pieces, and you can keep what you like, and replace the rest at your leisure. Daisy, and even the boys might like to pick out new furnishings for their bedrooms, for example. They still share a room at 221B, I believe?” 

“Yes,” said Molly, feeling quite dazed. “John’s old bedroom, though they’re getting so big… and we’ve been in a quandary about Lexie, now that she is getting older. She can’t stay in our room much longer.” 

“And here she won’t have to!” Alicia said cheerily. “There is a lovely little bedroom that would be perfect for her, just across from the master suite.” 

“The master suite!” Molly repeated, even more dazed. Not that she and Sherlock had not been blissfully happy in his bedroom… well, their bedroom, for almost a decade now. But still… 

“Would you like to come upstairs and take a look around? And I believe Mycroft has been presenting the proposal to Sherlock while we’ve been talking, and I haven’t heard any explosions. I take it as a good sign, don’t you?” 

“Oh, Heavens. I don’t know what to say, Alicia. Why… why?” 

“I don’t want to sell -- the property just gets more and more valuable. But I don’t want it to sit vacant, either. And lease it to strangers? I… I just don’t think I could do it. Think of it this way: you and Sherlock will be doing me a great favor.” Alicia laughed again at Molly’s apparently obvious bewilderment. “Come! Pull yourself together. The children will be fine out in the garden for half an hour. Let’s go see what Sherlock thinks, and the two of you can take a look at the rooms upstairs -- go all over the house, in fact, so you can make an informed decision.”

 *

 It was after midnight and he and Molly were in bed, but not sleeping. Far from it. They were both lying on their backs, staring at the deeply shadowed ceiling. Holding hands. Still both astounded at the way their world was being overturned. 

Sherlock thought one minute that he couldn’t do it, then the next he remembered that he would not be leaving 221B, precisely -- he would still spend a great deal of time there. And Baker Street was just as close to the boys’ school as the Kensington house. He could imagine his sons racing over when class let out, if he were not out on some case; doing their homework or playing until he should be ready to journey home. 

Home. 

They could still practice their music here, after school -- Mrs. Hudson would grieve for it, else. 

Ah, Hudders. What would she say to all this? She was getting on in years, of course. Didn’t make the journey up the stairs with tea and scones nearly as often lately. Visited her sister in Devon more, though that lady’s health was failing rapidly, from what he gathered. That would be a blow and no mistake.  And it might not be long before she herself… well. Time was a cruel master to all, even their timeless landlady (Not your housekeeper! -- he grinned briefly in the black night). 

There’d be room at the Kensington house for her, too, if it came to that. 

Ten bedrooms. Lord. Not quite as bad as Musgrave, but along those lines. 

They would have to acquire a housekeeper. 

And a second violin for Jon to keep at 221B. The spinet could stay, since Mycroft had a fine instrument of his own and Alicia had told them she was content to leave her baby grand with the House. William would like that -- and Molly. And the girls, eventually. Daisy was nearly old enough to begin lessons already. 

But… it still hurt to think of leaving. After all the work they’d put into 221B (and C) to create a suitable environment for their growing family. Of course, they had not realized just how much their family would grow when they’d begun the renovations. 

Four children. Who would have thought it, a decade back? And yet here they were with a houseful -- and nothing yet done to prohibit a potential fifth. They’d have to think seriously about that, or risk another surprise. Alexandra had been a delightful one, to be sure, but five children? It seemed excessive, to put it mildly. 

Though his parents wouldn’t mind. They reveled in their role, Mummy dismissing the bother with a wave of her hand, and merely hiring some neighbors’ daughters, lively teenaged girls, to help out when Will, Jon, and Daisy were to stay more than a night or two. And Lexie, soon enough. 

And he gave a slight snort of laughter at the thought of denying his own happiness. 

“What?” Molly whispered, turning her head on the pillow to peer at him, squeezing his hand.

He squeezed back. “I am… counting my blessings, I suppose.” 

She let go of his hand and turned onto her side to face him, fingers rather shyly smoothing the soft material of the ancient T-shirt he wore. She said, “Do you think the Kensington house would enhance them?” 

“I think it might. I think we’d be fools not to accept. Our children are not going to stop growing.” 

She chuckled. “No! Though sometimes I wish…” 

“What? That time would stop?” He moved to face her and put his hand on her waist. 

“Yes,” she said, and, closing the final gap, kissed him. 

He smiled beneath the kiss, bittersweet. 

He’d always known there were two sides of the coin called love, which was why he’d shied away from it for so many years, and even this issue, the inexorable march of time, was an ever-present weight. Pain was always part of the joy -- and perhaps made the joy all the sweeter. 

Doors closing. 

And others opening, down the way. 

“I’m a lucky man,” he whispered, when he could. 

“You are,” she whispered back. “And a brave one, too.” 

But he laughed softly at that, knowing that it was only she who allowed him to be so. Physical courage had never been an issue, and he had never lacked confidence in his intellectual abilities. But love… the one thing that truly mattered… that had required assistance. 

The loyalty and perception and faith of one Molly Hooper had been necessary to complete him. 

He reached up and brushed the auburn hair back behind the perfect pale pink shell of her ear, seeing the colors in his mind’s eye, even in the shadows. 

How long had it been since they’d made love in the clear light of morning, or through a long, golden afternoon? 

And yet, the darkness enhanced one’s other senses. 

Touch. 

Smell. 

Taste. 

“I love you,” he replied, still whispering. 

“I know,” she whispered back. 

And, sensing his need, she gave herself to him once again, in that well-practiced way she had… skill… infinite tenderness… an old comfort… 

Yet somehow, she could still surprise him… somehow it was always, always new.

 *

 Mycroft was stuck in his office, but Alicia was able to escape for a few hours on the evening of the Big Move, accepting the invitation to join his brother’s family, John and Rosie Watson, and Greg Lestrade for a celebratory dinner of Thai take-away, and to see the changes that had been wrought at the Kensington house. 

Alicia had moved out nearly two months before to facilitate matters, and was happier living with Mycroft than she had imagined possible -- and he seemed content, too. He had twice reiterated his proposal that they should marry, and she had almost accepted the last time. Perhaps it would not needlessly complicate their lives. Perhaps she was making too much of a fuss over it. She knew many women who were on their third or even fourth marriage -- and most of them were divorcees, a situation far more difficult than her own. Being a widow, with her children grown and getting on with their lives, really did simplify matters. 

She was still mulling over this subject as she arrived at her former residence, and did not move on until she’d exited the car and had entered the front gate. Walking up to the door, however, she noticed how neat the small front garden looked, with three new rose bushes, a new bed of pansies beside the porch, and the bits of lawn very well-tended. The front door had been repainted, too, a shiny black, and it now sported a knocker very similar to the one on the door of 221B Baker Street. 

She used the knocker in the manner for which it was intended, and it wasn’t more than twenty seconds before the door was thrown open by Jon, with Daisy just behind. 

“Aunt Alicia!” said Jon -- or half-shouted, really. “Wait till you see my bed! It’s even better than it looked in the shop!” 

“She has to see my room first!” cried Daisy in the tone of a four year old who’d gone without her nap and reached the limit of her patience with her older brother. She gripped Jon’s jumper with both hands and tried to pull him out of her way with some violence. 

But Sherlock had apparently heard Alicia’s knock, too and was coming up just behind the children. Seeing what was toward, he snapped, “Enough!” in so sharp a tone that Alicia gave a little start herself, and the children turned to him wide-eyed. 

Jon was carefully silent. Daisy, however, began to whinge, “But Daddy! Jon--” 

“But Daisy,” Sherlock interrupted, bending down to look her in the eye. “You’ve been skating on thin ice for the last hour and if you utter one more word you’ll find yourself staring at the most boring corner I can find in this house. Alone. Until I say you can move, not your mother or Uncle John. Do you understand?” 

Alicia tensed, fearful that the little girl would be rash enough to put her father to the test. But, thankfully, she did not. Daisy merely lowered her gaze, lip quivering. 

Sherlock straightened to face Alicia, “Welcome to the madhouse.” 

Alicia replied, sympathetically, “Long day?” 

“My God, you’ve no idea. Come into the dining room,” he said, leading the way. “The kitchen’s set up, and the bedrooms -- and they do look like something out of Parenting Magazine. But the tour can wait. We were just setting out dinner.” 

“I’m not hungry,” came a tiny, discontented voice from behind them. 

“Shut it!” came Jon’s hiss, just as Alicia glanced over her shoulder. Jon was giving Daisy’s arm a surreptitious squeeze in warning, even as he favored Alicia with an innocent smile. 

Sherlock wisely feigned deafness and led the way into the dining room.

 *

 Less than an hour later, John and Rosie had departed, Sherlock was discussing a case with Greg over some brandy, and Molly led the way up the staircase, carrying little Alexandra, Will and Jon racing ahead, and Alicia Smallwood bringing up the rear, hand in hand with a now smiling Daisy. 

Daisy’s smiles were in strong contrast to the pout she’d maintained throughout dinner, much to her father’s annoyance. Molly, tired as she was, had been rather amused, however, and had quietly reminded Sherlock that his daughter came by her pout honestly, and the avowed lack of hunger, too. John and Greg would have picked up on this, both friends hinting at numerous recollections of a certain consulting detective who’d been renowned for his petulance in the past, but they’d cut the teasing short, not because of Sherlock’s glare, but in consideration of the fact that Will, Jon, and Rosie had been all ears. 

But it wasn’t hard to understand why Daisy and her brothers were anxious to show off their new bedrooms. Lady Smallwood had accompanied them when they’d all gone furniture shopping a few weeks ago, and now at last she would see the results. 

Alicia had convinced Daisy that they should “save the best for last”, so Will’s room was shown first. He’d opted to keep the simple and elegant cherry furniture already in the room, only enhancing the collection with a new roll top desk to match. There were several movie posters on the walls, Star Wars, Avengers, and the like, and the framed print of the periodic table that had hung in Sherlock’s room for so many years held pride of place above his new desk. All the bedrooms had walk-in wardrobes and Will’s now held stacks of board games and neatly organized bins of Legos, action figures, and other small toys. Molly said to Alicia, “Admire it now -- it’s not likely to look this tidy for long!”, but Will, who was now ten and feeling very grown up as the eldest, said, “It will if I can keep the brats from destroying it!” 

Jon retorted, “Who needs your old stuff? Come on and see mine, Aunt Alicia!” 

Jon, too, had chosen a desk for homework and art projects, but had also fallen in love with a sturdy bed frame designed to look like a race car. Much to his delighted surprise, his mother had approved the purchase, though his father had been less pleased with the idea when he’d been informed. However, when the bed had arrived and Sherlock had seen its beauty and quality, he had become much more enthusiastic. He and Jon had run with the theme, and the walls were now adorned with a number of pictures and posters of race cars, and Sherlock had installed shelves for Jon’s collection of model cars. His beloved trains were relegated to the wardrobe, but Alicia noted that his old Thomas the Tank cuddle pillow was waiting for him on the new bed. 

Daisy’s room was last, and certainly by far the best, at least in Daisy’s opinion. The entire room had been redone in pink: pink furniture with lovely hand-painted flowers; fuzzy pink throw rugs; gauzy pink drapes on the window and canopied four-poster bed; and tiny pink rosebuds were patterned over the newly installed wallpaper. It might have been overwhelming, but Molly had insisted on using paler shades of pink along with a judicious use of white, and the result was really quite soothing. 

“Goodness!” exclaimed Alicia, taking it in. “It looks rather as though it dropped from Heaven!” 

Molly chuckled. “Now all it needs is an angel to take care of it!” 

“That’s me!” Daisy piped up. 

“Hmmm,” said Molly doubtfully. “I don’t know… there was that little display at the dinner table. An angel would not have behaved so -- or at least she would have apologized to her father for giving into her weariness, even after a long day of moving house.” 

Daisy looked between Molly and Lady Smallwood uncertainly as she worked this out, but then, coming to a decision, exclaimed, “I’ll be right back!” She ran from the room and could presently be heard yelling, “Daddy! Daddy!” as she pounded down the stairs.

 *

 At four in the morning, Sherlock was lying abed, caught up in a comfortable and eminently satisfied tangle with the wife of his bosom, the two of them having inaugurated the Kensington house in the best way imaginable, after recruiting their strength with a few hours’ sleep. 

“Now it’s on its way to being home,” Sherlock murmured into Molly’s ear. 

And she laughed, and turned her face to his, and kissed him. “I love you,” she said. 

“I know,” he returned with a smile. 

There were a great many more kisses, and some happy sighs, and cuddling: plenty of the most delightful clichés. But presently Molly extricated herself with a whispered, “Have to use the loo!” and Sherlock lay back contentedly against the pillows, stared at the shadowed ceiling, and thought once again what a lucky man he was. 

He must have started drowsing again, for suddenly Molly was there, whispering his name again. “Hmm?” he said, opening his eyes. The light was dim, but he could see she’d put on her dressing gown. 

“Get up for a minute!” she said softly. “You have to see the children!” 

He frowned, but did as she asked, throwing on his own dressing gown and padding after her over the thick carpet, following her out the door. 

“Are they alright?” he asked. “Lexie’s still asleep, isn’t she?” 

“Yes. It’s the others. Come see.” 

She didn’t pause at Daisy’s half open door, nor at Jon’s, but went straight over to Will’s room and motioned for him to peek in -- and there they were, all three of them curled up together in Will’s big bed, Daisy in the middle, and all of them sound asleep. 

Sherlock turned to Molly and made a silent pantomime of outrage. “Tell me again why we needed to move here? We might just as well be back at Baker Street!” 

But Molly shook her head, grinning. “They’ll get used to it. But now it’s really home for them, too. Don’t you see?” 

There was nothing for it. He had to take her in his arms and kiss her again. “I love you, Mrs. Holmes,” he said finally. 

“I love you, too,” she returned, a trifle breathless. 

The proper exchange. 

He took her hand up, said, “Come, then,” and, in the lovely silence before dawn, he led her back to bed.

 ~.~

[flynnholt-au-blog]

What Happens in Vegas

Flynn thought that it was time to give himself a little vacation. He had been working hard in getting his studio up and running, and now that his apprentice (now partner in the business) had completed a masterful amount of hours, he felt comfortable taking some time off. So, he thought about all the places he had ever wanted to go, wrote them on slips of paper and picked one out. Vegas. He was a little anxious about it since he wasn't really a gambler- but Vegas was Vegas so he knew it wouldn't be all about gambling. It took a week or two of planning but before he knew it, he was on a flight to Sin City and eager to enjoy himself. The place was crazy and over the top, so he wasted no time in checking into his hotel, dumping his stuff and then heading out to the casino floor. He made it to the blackjack table and enjoyed playing a few hands, quitting while he was up and going to the bar before he could get greedy and blow it. It was crowded but he managed to spot a bar stool and settled in before ordering a drink.

Rhys had gone to  las vega for a friends birthday. After splitting with his partner of six years Rhys a few months before, he was now ready to go out and socialise. By 9pm he was well on his way to being drunk.  Being the only gay in the group he decided to head to the casino bar when his friends all left to go to the strip joint. He plonked himself down and ordered a jack Daniels and sighed. Maybe he should have stayed at home

Flynn was quite enjoying himself, people watching really as he sipped his drink. Part of him wished that he was here with someone- a special someone even but it had been a long while since that had been true. Part of him, for a long moment, wondered if he should visit that Bunnyland Ranch or whatever it was but that only made him feel more pathetic. He had just received his next drink when a man settled himself in the last remaining stool. There was no way Flynn could ignore his attractiveness. He bit his lip, heart beating faster as he willed himself to say something, anything to the man, the next words just falling past his lips- "Long night?"

Rhys looked round and saw blue eyes and smiled " my friends birthday. They just headed to the strip joint so I'm here all by myself." He said swirling his whiskey once the barman gave it to him " what about you?"

Flynn's breath caught in his throat when the man's green gaze landed on him- and then that smile. God he hoped that the man next to him liked men. Flynn wasn't normally a one night stand kind of guy...but he was on his way to being drunk and that was what Vegas was about right? "What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas". He could let himself go for once. "And you didn't go with them?" He asked slightly surprised. He had never understood the appeal of strip clubs- get all worked up for no pay off? He'd rather watch porn. "Vacation. Finally feel comfortable enough leaving the business in my apprentice's- got she's my partner now- in her hands."

" nah... let's just say they strippers are the wrong sex to turn me on." He said and smiled and blushed as he looked at his glass " I'd be more likely to screw your rather then a stripper." He chuckled and then felt bad and embarrassed " sorry it's the booze." He said softly " I'm Rhys."

Flynn was secretly very pleased that the strippers were the wrong sex. That meant that the other man was into men. God Flynn hoped he didn’t look a mess. His silence allowed the other man to continue his thought and he blushed lightly when he confessed he’s rather screw him. “Good to know.” He said with a sly smile and greeted him in return. “Good to meet you Rhys. I’m Flynn.”

"Nice to meet you Flynn. you waiting for your partner?" He asked with a small smile. "Wife?" He asked. He ordered another whiskey. "You want one?" He asked

"No, she's at the studio, holding down the fort." Flynn answered, not even thinking about his words. "No, she's not my wife, she's my business partner. I think we're both in a place that we trust her to handle things. No, I'm single." He answered, shaking his head when he offered another whiskey. "I will take another vodka and cranberry. I don't want to mix and get sick." He said, nodding to the bartender. "How about you? Partner waiting at home?"

Rhys laughed. "No. he is now on his honeymoon with his new wife." He said with a smirk.  That was the last time he would date a bisexual.  He ordered the drinks and smiled at him. "So.. what do you do for a living?"

“Oh well that would explain things.” Flynn answered with a little laugh, wondering if that was painful or not. “I’m a photographer. Mostly wedding, maternity and newborns but with my co-worker, we’re branching out more. How about you?” He said, eyeing the other man, thinking it had to be something physical. 

"Wow... so have you taken any racy pictures?" He asked with a cheeky wink. "Me? I restore architecture. Big buildings, monuments. You name it ... I have probably done it ." He said and then smiled. "Lucikliy for me Im not scared of heights

“I have done a few boudoir photo shoots but they’re long days- which says something considering I do weddings.” He said rolling his eyes, wondering what he’d have to do to get him to pose for him. He blushed at the thought and smiled at the other man. “That sounds incredibly fascinating. And yeah, I can imagine that would be an issue.” He said, looking at the other man feeling a little bashful but he was going to go for it- “do you want to go somewhere a little more fun?” He said, thinking he would love to get to a club. He wasn’t the club type but it would be an excuse to get close to the other man. Or of course, they could just drink some more and go someplace much more intimate 

"Sure." He replied simply. "I'm staying at this hotel. You wanna come up.  I have a minibar and we could order food. And if you are lucky I might even let you take my picture." He grinned with a hint of mischief in his eyes

Flynn took a breath internally and asked himself if he wanted this- and found himself agreeing. “I think I’ve been pretty lucky so far.” He murmured, tipping the bartender well and following Rhys up to his room, almost grateful for the full elevator. It gave him a moment to steady himself. People picked people up for sex all the time. He had been working so hard- he deserved to let himself enjoy this without getting into his head too much. He laughed softly when they got off on the tenth floor. “My room is on the other end of the floor.” He murmured, the feeling of alcohol flooding his system, wondering how many he had ended up drinking after all. He kicked off his shoes once the door shut to the other man’s room. “Should’ve asked...” He murmured, feeling silly for a moment.

"Maybe I am." He responded and smirked taking off his jacket and  laid on the bed. "So come on lay down and tell me all about yourself. I wont judge as Im too drunk." He laughed and let his shoes fall off onto the floor.

Flynn bit his lip as he shrugged out of his jacket to lay out on the bed, watching the other man spread out. He blushed a little when he invited him to lay out next to him. Flynn shook off his sweatshirt, his shirt catching and pulling up a little before pulling it back down. "So...about me. My parents are still together, I have a younger sister. She's amazing..." He said, trailing off trying not to think about her sister and the clock they had on her. "How about you? Any siblings?"

"Younger brother. He is really cool. Can be a bit of an asshole at times but hey siblings know how to push your buttons." He said rolling onto his side and gazing at him with a smile. "So why vegas?"

Flynn laughed softly. He hadn't had many issues with Ava but then he was a lot older than her, and her being ill...it just didn't see like it was worth it. His heart beat faster when Rhys rolled to him, asking why Vegas. "Luck actually. I made a list of all the places I wanted to go, could afford to go and where it wouldn't be a bad season...put them in a bucket and pulled out Vegas." He said, leaning forward a little. "So were you excited to come to Vegas- since I'm assuming it was your buddies choice."

"Yeah I was. I split with y ex and it was a little messy so I threw myself into work and now I'm here... with you." He murmured and looked away with a small blush. "Do you like it here?"

Flynn wondered who in the hell would ditch the man next to him. He smiled softly as the man said he was here with him, he was glad as well. He reached out to tangle his legs with the other man. "I think I've started liking it a lot more since you sat down with me." He said, leaning forward a little more until he was surely in Rhys' face. He licked his lips and caught Rhys' as well.

Rhys smirked and looked at him. "So you are single huh?" He asked with a smile then tilted his head. "So when was the last time you ....? he asked ad oved a little closer.

Flynn blushed when asked about the last time he had been intimate. "At least a year." He answered, reaching out to drape an arm over the other man's waist. "I was kind of hoping that you might change that..." He said, looking at Rhys' lips and then back up again.

"Its the least I could do after you have waited so long." He breathed and kissed hi lightly and looked at hi with a raised brow as he was waiting for a response on if he should go further

Flynn felt time slow after he said those words, wondering how he had gotten so brave but then he was fairly drunk. The words had barely sunk in when Rhys closed the gap and kissed him. It was light and tentative and he pouted when he pulled away. He leaned forward and kissed him back, adding pressure and using the arm he had draped over the other man to pull him close.

Rhys chuckled and then softly kissed him again holding his face in his hand the kiss became more passionate the longer it lasted and Rhys pulled back and smiled still with his eyes closed " that's..  nice." He mused " I like that." 

Flynn breathed in the scent of the other man as he kissed him softly, hands gently cupping is face. They stayed locked together until they were breathless. "I liked it too. How about I fix us both a screwdriver and we can discuss just what we're expecting from this night..."

" I'll have a champagne." He murmured " it's in the mini bar." He smiled at him as he got up and made them drinks giving Rhys perfect opportunity to look as his ass. He was hot. And Rhys wanted him.

Flynn nodded and headed to the mini-bar wanting to clear his head. He wanted to make sure that he and Rhys were on the same page. Feeling his eyes on him though, he had a feeling that they were. He passed over the glass of champagne and settled on the bed close him. "So what do you want of me?"

" the same thing you want from me." He teased not letting up. " a year since you last had sex Huh? You must miss it right? Do you top or bottom?" He asked and took a sip of champagne. 

Flynn drank a little deeper, listening as he teased him, feeling better that they were on the same page. "I'm flexible. I like both. I'm more about pleasing the other person. If that means they want to top, I am fine bottoming- or visa versa. How about you?"

" same. I love oral and rimming. I could literally come from just that." He groaned and sighed it had been a while since he last had sex and he was beginning to miss it. " so.. what do you like in bed ?" 

Flynn was beginning to wish they hadn't stopped and that they were doing all the things they had talked about instead of just talking. "I...like a lot of things. Rimming and oral are amazing. I love...giving myself over, marks, feeling it- those reminders..." He said, blushing lightly. "I think...maybe we should stop talking and start doing..." He said, downing the rest of the glass.

Rhys watched him and laid out on the bed" I am all yours." He teased and then caught his eye and grabbed his shirt pulling him onto him. He kissed him roughly and moaned

Flynn's breath caught in his chest as the other man laid out on the bed, offering himself to him. He put down his glass and moved closer, letting out a little gasp of surprise when Rhys grabbed his shirt to pull him close. He moaned when their lips collided, burying his fingers into Rhys' hair keeping him there. After a long moment, he let his hand drift down between them to start working the buttons of Rhys' shirt open. He hummed as he felt the warm skin and hard muscles, marveling that he had been lucky enough to have the man agree to leave the bar with him.

Rhys smiled and pulled off his shirt before reaching for flynns. He pulled it off and began to kiss his neck and chest rolling around on the bed till he was breathless and flushed. " you sure you want to?" He breathed as he pressed against him 

Flynn felt way out of his league when Rhys pulled off his shirt. The man under him was built and he was...not. He wasn’t fat but it was obvious Rhys had a physical job and he didn’t. That fact didn’t seem to faze Rhys, who had him out of his shirt and under him a moment later. They lost themselves in kisses, rolling around, entangled in each other before Rhys broke the kiss to ask him. “I am. Are you?” He asked, offering him the same curtesy, even as his head was swimming with desire (and booze) and his body starting to react.

" fuck yeah. I'm so hot for you right now." He whispered and palmed him and nipped at his neck. " but you know once we have sex we have to get married." He teased " it's vegas." He murmured and worked his way to nipping his nipple

Flynn moaned softly as the other man gently groped him, softly nipping his neck. He laughed softly when he mentioned marriage. “Pretty sure you’re supposed to get married before the sex...” He teased back, arching up as Rhys’ lips worked over his chest before capturing a nipple. “Fuck...” he whined softly, letting his hands tangle in his hair again. “You like to tease...”

Rhys pulled away " then let's get married." He said grabbing his shirt and shoes " the quicker we marry the quicker I can fuck you into the mattress." 

Flynn blinked, the sudden absence of the handsome man over him. “What?” He mumbled, the man’s words finally filtering in. “That’s crazy...” He murmured but even as he did, he found himself climbing off the bed to get dressed, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the elevator. He pressed Rhys against the wall as they entered, kissing him desperately as they rode their way down to the lobby. A small part of him was trying to tell him this was crazy...but he was too drunk and too hazy from lust to realize that part was right.

Rhys kissed Flynn passionately in the elevator in a wild moment before pulling him out to the main floor " ok where's the chapel. "  he said and then looked at him " shit you need your passport." He hiccupped

Flynn was breathing heavy when they parted, biting his lip and looking around when Rhys asked about the chapel- shaking his head when he brought up his passport. "N-No, just need my driver's license- license! We need to get the marriage license." He said, looking up the clock. "We've got 30 minutes." He said, heading out, fingers tangled with Rhys to pull him to a cab. "200 S. 3rd St." He ordered the cabbie

Rhys laughed and climbed in the cab with a smirk. he loved adventures and he enjoyed watching Flynn seem nervous but excited. He was getting married. H watched as the Cabbie drove fast through the strip untill they got to where they needed to be. H eclimbed out and smiled at Flynn. "ok now what?"

Flynn was a bundle of nerves but he was excited. This was crazy and impulsive but it wasn't enough to stop him for taking on this adventure. They pulled up in no time flat (or it seemed that way anyway). "Right. Now we go in, fill out the papers, they give us a license and we find a chapel that'll marry us." He answered, blushing lightly following Rhys up the stairs. They managed to get the papers filled out and put in just in time. They left around midnight and Flynn held Rhys' hand. "So, now we need the chapel."

"What about the chapel o love they are drag queen preists." He laughed. "Wait I need to get you a ring."  he raced into a tacky jewellery store and found a silver ring with a diamond horeshoe  on it. He came back out and in the middle of the street proposed on one knee as people walked past.

"If that's where you want to get married." He said, leaning against Rhys a little, looking up to him. "You've got such Bright Eyes...they shine even in the dark..." He murmured, watching as Rhys took off into a jewelry store, returning a moment later with a ring before he got down on one knee. He blushed and even teared up a bit when Rhys got down on one knee and proposed. "Yes, I will marry you." He said, laughing as they garnered applause, kissing to seal the deal. They walked along, holding onto each other until they found the chapel they were looking for. He felt his heart pounding as they approached but he pulled him up short. "I just realized...I don't know how to say your- our- last name." He murmured, looking at the certificate.

" it's said Cher val ee yay it's French I'm from Paris. What's your surname ?" He asked as he watched him mouth his surname " should I know anything about you ? Crazy exs kids etc."

"Cher-val-ee-yay. Got it. Ooo how exotic..." He said, laughing at his own silly joke. "Holt. Not all that exciting." He said with a shrug when he realized he did ask him the same. "Only relationship that wasn't mutual was a girl who decided she didn't like that I like boys. No kids- and possibly not ever."

" you never know you could have one or two in the future." He said with a soft smile and then waved a cab. " let's go get married." He said taking his hand 

"I...who knows." He said softly, not wanting to bring the mood down by talking about his sister and the fear of passing those genes along. Flynn blinked as Rhys hailed a cab, looking up when he realized they weren't at the right place after all. He climbed into the cab behind him looking out as they passed, his heart and stomach meeting as they climbed out again. "Ready?" He said, gazing at the man beside him.

" the game is on." He grinned and told the guy where to go. He squeezed his hand and kissed his head and wrapped his arm around him.

Flynn felt warmth spread through him as the other man kissed his head, arm wrapping around him. He followed after him and they went up to the counter to make arrangements. They picked out wedding bands, which Flynn paid for, and then Rhys paid for the tux rental. They were whisked away and Flynn selected a gray tux, taking his place outside of the chapel, knowing Rhys was would be waiting at the other end for him.

Rhys felt weird in a tux but the blue suit and pink tie suited him. He stood and waited still slightly numb from the alcohol and smiled to himself. He had found a tramp and a stripper to be the witnesses and wondered who Flynn would walk down the isle with.

Flynn fidgeted a little outside the chapel as he waited for his turn. There was a moment, when he sobered for a moment, wistful that his family wasn't there. It didn't matter though, they could celebrate later, have a renewal ceremony. Now, what mattered, was that he made it to the end of the aisle. He took in a breath and let it out a little shakily when he heard the music start. He had selected pachelbel canon in d and the doors opened, his breath caught. He barely knew the man at the end...but he was stunning and the way he was smiling at him. He took his time walking down the short aisle, feeling a little silly but as Rhys' strong hand took his when he reached the end, he settled. This was random and spontaneous but something felt so right about this.

Rhys smiled as Flynn walked down the aisle and then when service began he squeezed his hand and smiled and whispered " relax." He answered and repeated when the drag queen told him to he then looked at Flynn

Flynn was trying not to fidget but it seemed he wasn't doing well as Rhys whispered to relax- and amazingly it worked. The one soft word from the other man settled him. The service started and even though it took him a moment to catch up with what he was meant to say, he made it. He surprised himself when he felt tears slipping down his cheeks as they were pronounced married. He was overjoyed- marrying a stranger and he was happier than he had been in a long while.

Rhys saw tears and stroked them away. " you ok?" He murmured and then posed for the photos. He walked out hand in hand with Flynn. " so did you take my name?" He asked as they headed back to the hotel 

Flynn blushed as Rhys reached up to brush away the tears. "Yeah, I'm good...just really happy." He said, smiling at him, posing for photos with his new husband. After a few solo photos, he laughed as the drag queens and everyone jumped in their photo for the group shot. They were given two thumb drives of the photo files and then they headed out to go back to the hotel for their honeymoon. "I think we hyphenated." He said with a laugh, looking at the folder of paperwork again. "We're officially Rhys and Flynn Chevalier-Holt" He said, stepping into the lobby and heading back to the elevator and up to Rhys' room. "Since I walked down the aisle I think that means I'm meant to be carried over the threshold to our honeymoon bed."

" you get all the fun stuff. Although if you are playing the wife role then I guess that means I get to fuck you tonight." He beamed as he picked him up and then carried him into the room and laid him on the bed. He kissed him softly before standing back and stripping to his boxers. " your turn." 

"I would've let you walk down the aisle but...I don't know, you seem more like the one to be waiting at the end." He murmured, giving him a smirk when he said he would be fucked if he were the wife. "You won't hear me complain." He said, letting out a laugh as the other man- his husband- swept him off his feet and carried him into the room, laying him out on the bed. He bit his lip as he watched the man strip, before he slipped off the bed to do the same. He was a little shy as Rhys watched him, suddenly worried he wouldn't like what he saw. He smiled shyly and then kicked off his boxers as well. "Your turn..."

Rhys smiled and raised a brow as Flynn dropped his pants. " ok." He grinned and dropped his boxers and looked at him." You like what you see?" He asked and bit his lip with a sexy smile 

Flynn bit his lip when Rhys quirked an eyebrow, but he had to let go. He let his gaze drag over his husband, breath catching. "Fuck every inch of you is gorgeous..." He murmured looking at other man before crowding his space to kiss him deeply. He stayed until he couldn't breath and pulled back gasping before crawling onto the bed. "Nothing between us now."

Rhys laughed " I could say the same about you." He said and climbed into bed beside him. " you are so hot." He grinned and kissed him slowly as he wrapped his arms around him. He smiled and stroked his hair " you are so handsome."

Flynn reached out as he settled next to him, relaxing in his arms as Rhys kissed him slowly. He hummed softly as he pet his hair, complimenting him. "Thank you...so are you. You and your bright eyes..." He said gazing at him, getting lost in the deep green and golden flecks. "Do you...have supplies?"

[djavoll]

have some trashy, post-midnight sprint, self-indulgent intro to the hybrid universe i hope to actually write and publish one day. (unedited unbetad etc etc u know the drill)

pairing: pre-yoonkook + established vmin (vague hints at vminkook and taegi bc that’s how i roll)

rating: pg-13

length: 1.4k

summary: jungkook turns 21. his surprise party is less ‘here’s a stripper!’ and more ‘we adopted a cat hybrid under your name. happy bday bro!’

Jungkook expected a lot of things out of his twenty-first birthday. He expected to get so shit-faced drunk that he might have to visit the hospital for a quick, casual, run-of-the-mill stomach pump. He expected a sloppy blow job from an eager friend. He expected a customized cake of a favourite video game. He expected to magically turn cool and confident and mature and totally look like A Man the way Jimin and Taehyung already do, and no, he's not jealous. A lot of people say his baby face is a charming point, actually. Lots of them. So he expected a lot from his birthday, yes, but you only turn twenty-one once in your life. From thereon it's all downhill; a mess of living up to your childhood expectations, getting an Adult Job, doing adult things which involve not being the world's brattiest younger sibling. He's not really prepared for all that. Twenty-one on the dot is perfect as is. He expects twenty-one to be his lucky year. Funny thing about expectations, though, is that they're rarely ever met. Jungkook walks away from his birthday celebration free of poisoning of any sort (yawn), only reasonably high from the nug Hoseok brought to the party, and holding the official documents for the adoption of one human-feline hybrid named Min Yoongi. But let's backtrack a bit. All of it, like all the bad ideas Jungkook gets dragged into, starts with Jimin and Taehyung. Jimin and Taehyung, god bless their beautiful, perverted hearts, have been pioneering human-hybrid companionship in their little circle of friends for a few years by now. It all started rather simply: Taehyung was deemed unsuitable for the market (read: for sale) due to a number of health reasons and his undesirable lack of post-human genes. He ended up being let go of the corporation (read: kicked out), forced to make a living on his own, and ended up on the steps of the Park family restaurant weeping, begging on his bare knees to be granted a job. Anything. Even as a dishwasher. He had worked there for a total of six months when Jimin came over for a visit from university and after one glance, fell deeply in love. Took him back to his apartment in the city. Introduced him to all his friends. Signed him up for online classes. (Became his best friend and boyfriend for years to come). It was a lot to take in at first, but neither of them have been shocked by the presence of hybrids for many years now. Taehyung fit right in, standing among them as an equal in all terms. A friend, a boyfriend, a brother. Jungkook could handle that. Jungkook can handle a lot. He definitely can handle a hybrid. "Jimin, I can't handle a hybrid." "Yes, you can! I know you can," Jimin groans again, throwing his head back on Taehyung's shoulder, on whom he's seated. "You're Tae's friend, too. You practically live at our place. You can totally do this." "Yeah, Kook, seriously. What are you so scared of?" Taehyung asks, voice muffled against Jimin's neck. Nuzzling gently, as if to leave his scent behind. "I don't know, man. This is a lot to dump on someone without their prior agreement." Jungkook whines and whines, clutching the official document in is hand like he can't believe it's real. That this is really, actually happening. "I don't even know anything about this hybrid." Namjoon wolf-whistles from where he's laid on the couch, face down, drooling steadily into the pillows. "Dude, so hot. Such a babe. Eleven out of ten." Taehyung tosses a flip-flop on his head, "shut up, that's not the intro he needs." Namjoon goes to toss it back, but witnessing Jimin's menacing glare, he reluctantly puts his hand back down. Closes his eyes again. Continues drooling. "His name is Min Yoongi, he's twenty-five years old, a feline hybrid like Taetae," Jimin lists off his fingers, face scrunched up, "oh! and he's also from Daegu. Tae has met him before, at event briefings way back. Tell him about it, babe." Perking up from a light scratch behind his ears, Taehyung smiles encouragingly. "Yep, I know Yoongi from a long time ago. We just mostly reunited in glances when Jimbles and I were going through the adoption process, so I haven't really spoken to him in years, but," he sighs, fond, "Kook, he's so cute. If I get mistaken for a canine hybrid a lot, then Yoongi is a fucking teacup kitten. I love him." "Show us some photos, maybe?" Hoseok plops his chin on Taehyung's knee, wriggling his brows. "Ooh, I have something!" Jimin chirps, pulling out his phone. He scrolls through his photo album manically, the sound of his thumb tapping the screen loud in the quiet room, face contorted in concentration. Taehyung stares over his shoulder ready to tell him when. "Ah! There it is!" Then he's leaning down to show it to Hoseok, who 'oooh's loudly and lewdly, captivated by the screen, apparently watching a video. "That's kinda hot, I'm not gonna lie." "What is it? What are you showing him?" Jungkook's never been good at controlling his impulses, even when it comes to feigning nonchalance. He's always been a bit of a hedonist. "I wanna see. Let me see." he babbles as he trudges his way to the front couch, tripping over blankets and pillows, then snatches the phone away. He ignores the plights of protest in his wake and presses play, wide eyes and lower lip bitten. A split second later all he has is regret. "Oh, fuck." he mumbles. "Fuck, yeah." Hoseok echoes. So, the video. He expected it to be a lot of things. A cute video of him smiling. Yoongi man wearing something revealing. Lots of expectations. Funny thing about expectations. The video loops and once again he's met with the image of Jimin and Taehyung's bed - unmade and soft in the afternoon light - and on it Taehyung making out sloppily with a much smaller, paler man. And oh, boy, is it hot. Ghost pepper hot. 'I-will-not-lose-a-noodle-challenge' Jeon Jungkook level of hot. "Oh, fuck." "You already said that." someone chortles. Jungkook pays it no mind and lets the video play again. The man - Yoongi, his name is Yoongi - is sat forward facing Taehyung with just his knees resting on top of Taehyung's thighs. His shoulders are fairly broad but he's otherwise small, fucking tiny, in a simple black tee and ripped jeans, and oh my god-- the softest mop of black hair and little black ears. He's a dream come true. He's Jungkook biggest fucking fantasy in the flesh. He's perfect. Jungkook had popped his fair amount of boners over Taehyung (Jimin and him are unaware of things such as boundaries or privacy), so he doesn't really mind his presence. Quite the contrary, the contrast is really something else. Taehyung's golden tan skin, plush red lips against the pale pink of Yoongi's smaller, poutier mouth. It's poetry in motion. Yoongi's jawline is sharp and he moves so leisurely against Taehyung, with all the practiced ease in the world, like he was born to suck faces. He makes wet, smacking noises whenever he pulls in and out of the kiss, and Jungkook is fucked. He's fucked even more when just a hint of a small, red tongue peeks out from between his and Taehyung's mouth. God, he wonders if it tastes as good as it looks. He's three seconds into his tenth replay when the phone is yanked out of his hands. "Alright, that's enough perving over my boyfriend. We can talk more about this tomorrow." Jimin waves him off, much to Taehyung's amusement. That goddamn bastard. He knows exactly what he does to him. "Let's all go to sleep." Namjoon and Seokjin are deep in slumber when Hoseok announces, begrudgingly, that it is indeed late. Half past five in the morning, in fact. Jungkook goes to sleep with an awkward, overly-excited boner, thinking of all the possible ways he can fuck this Yoongi dude sideways once he gets to his place. Happy fucking birthday to him. (Spoiler alert: as all predictions done by one Jeon Jungkook, this one fails, too. Turns out Yoongi's dick game is just as good as his bubble butt and cute tongue. Jungkook learns to bend over any way he wishes.)

[7livky]

Dionysus - Park Jimin

CHAPTER 11

23 hours and 59 minutes later

Author's POV

"It's yours, my beauty."

A heart tone that grew brighter, louder and shorter as the blood columns vibrated. While the normal pulse was 60 to 80 beats, this pulse accelerated to over 100 beats per minute. A tachycardia.

"Look how it shines, a brightness that resembles your eyes. Look how pristine and immaculate it's shell looks, likewise your skin and your heart."

6 a.m.

Diona's hand automatically fell on her chest as the airflow slowed and the airways became tighter.

Jimin heard noises next to him before his pupils appeared. "Diona!" They were the only ones who could hear his loud scream as she clasped his wrist, trying to breathe. Even if she knew she wouldn't survive without her medication.

With one hundred percent of his strength and patience, he laid his hand on her hammering heart. After closing his eyes, first his arm tickled, next his inner palm and finally his fingertips. An earthquake began, which took over her heart palpitations. With every passing second, the tempo of the beats decreased, her muscles completely relaxed.

"Shhh..." ,he whispered, "it's okay."

She stared at the lyricized ceiling. Gradually, her grip loosened as she listened to her normal heartbeats, which were played back like loud bass. A phenomenon that would never happen in reality.

But that is exactly what just happened.

Jimin could feel her health condition under his touch and opened his eyes. Before he took his hand away, she already did that when she felt something lying in her other hand. She pushed him and stood on her feet.

Jimin glanced at the tiny white conch shell which she threw on the floor.

"W- w-" ,she took two steps back, "What a-are you?"

He got up slowly. But she wouldn't let him walk around the bed.

"Don't come any closer!" she screamed with sadness in her voice. Her finger was on him while she trembled all over her body. "This was a dream! I know, yes I know! You put something in my drink!"

Not only her heart was beating against the chest at frantic speed, but so was his. He neither shook his head nor nodded at her statements. He stood in front of her like a statue from ancient times.

"You are all sick. You- You give your fans dangerous stuff and make them hallucinate! You drug them, don't you? You quit because you've all lost your minds!"

He clenched his hands in fists. But he remained silent as the grave. Because he knew about her condition. Exhaustion and anger mixed together into a feeling she could no longer control.

"I never want to see you again, Park Jimin."

After that hateful sentence, he lowered his head and looked down at the ground. He stepped aside so she could walk past him when he could catch her scent for the last time and save it forever in his senses. He flinched when the door slammed, after which he sank his shoulders and was now alone. Just him and his longing for Army, that were left in the room.

"Who knows" ,she ran down the hall, "what he did to me?"

She stormed through the living room, which reminded her of last night, where she suddenly heard voices.

"Jeez Jungkook, how many times have I told you to vacuum every day?!"

Diona hid behind a pillar in the room. An unknown voice. She wondered how the boys could clean a huge palace like this by themselves. Little did she know that these boys hated giving orders to other people. Watching them do their work.

"To be honest, we clean so rarely, so you have to come here more often." That was Jungkook.

She was trying to peek past the column without attracting attention. And then it clicked.

So far, he was the tallest of them all. With his broad shoulders, he was standing in front of the camera, going through his gray stepped hair. She didn't know what made her feel that way, but something inside her was telling her that this man, with a little rose between his lips and his flirtatious look, could wrap any girl in the world around his finger.

Jin was just about to wipe his finger over a piece of marble. Lifting his finger, he observed the dust on his index finger.

He was wearing a black shirt combined with black trousers and had let his hair grow long. He turned around when feelings of guilt began to build up in him. But he quickly tried to find the positivity in Jungkook's statement and suddenly smiled.

"I miss you too, kiddo," he winked at him, trying hard to make his old member smile. He was a true angel.

Jungkook's big teeth showed up when a smile appeared on his face. Jin took him in his arms and hugged his five years younger brother.

There were tears in Diona's eyes, but her anger took over again, so she showed herself. She was so mad that she didn't even see Suga and V lying on the floor, still drunk. Jungkook and Jin heard her first step and looked at her. Jin blinked hard, which he always did because of his contact lenses. He wrenched his brows as she stormed past him and Jungkook.

"Diona where are you going?" Jungkook ran after her.

She reached the wall, putting her bag on her shoulder. She looked at the unfinished painting one last time and then at him, "Your money will be transferred back to your account today or tomorrow. Goodbye."

Jungkook wanted to stop her, but decided against it. Because he knew what had happened. There was a big reason she did all that.

"But it isn't even about the money," he saw her closing the door, "or the painting.."

Jin had to go through all the rooms to figure things out, but she was faster than him.  Without hesitation, she unlocked her car and left the place.

"Who was that?" Jin asked with wonder.

"Diona."

Jungkook looked behind Jin to see Jimin. Jin's eyes widened. "Any Diona, or..?" He waited a moment to read the answer in his face. Jimin's eyes told him all he needed to know, so he ran towards him.

"Are you- are you sure she's the one Diona?"

Diona's POV

"This number has blocked you. Your call cannot be completed as dialed."

"Argh! I threw away my fucking phone.

Did he get tired of it this time and dump me at home? But if it was this case I would have gotten dozens of calls from my parents.

I gave everything to be able to control my thoughts. Think of everything, but not that one thing. Everything but that.

Flashback

I was looking down at my leg when my phone suddenly vibrated.

Jong-suck my dick is calling.

"Hello."

"Diona you little whore, where have you been for a day?!"

A day?

"Ha ha, that was a good one."

Flashback over

While concentrating on the traffic, I tried to grab my cell phone again. I glanced at my display for a second.

"Oh, my God."

Again?

"A whole day?!"

I hit the brakes and ignored the honking behind me. It was all too much for me. I needed answers. Why wasn't I needing my medication anymore? I was having a fucking panic attack! Why was his goddamn touch enough to keep me alive! How do I know for sure that it wasn't a..

I looked at my hand, in which a small shell had been lying before. It was real. I really held it when he was still sleeping.

I shook my head to free myself from this vicious circle. It was far too early to go home now. Mom knows that Jongsuk and I sleep like logs until noon when I was with him.

I slightly pressed the indicator down to get back on the main road. With an unbearable headache I drove away. - I pressed the button with the arrow pointing up and waited impatiently. After the elevator stopped in front of me, the doors opened so I could enter. Fortunately, I was alone. No one needed to see such an ugly creature at seven in the morning.

"Tenth floor."

I got out, walking through the lobby in the penthouse. When I got to his door, I rang the bell. Usually it took him a few seconds to open it, but this time..

"Jongsuk, I saw your car, I know you're there" I spoke loud and clear into the microphone next to the metal door.

I waited and waited, but he wouldn't open it.  So I kept on ringing until he got annoyed. "I'm," I sighed, "sorry, okay? I didn't have my phone with me. You must have been terribly worried. But you can count on me to never do anything like that again! I swear it! I'll never go there again."

The small device was still flashing green, meaning he was still listening to me. But slowly I was running out of patience.

I leaned against the cold, smooth surface and breathed deeply. "Jongsuk, really I don't feel well, I need you."

Something inside me told me to cry to get rid of this burden. Maybe that would help? An unpleasant feeling spread through me before I burst into tears.

"I beg you to let me in already! You're totally exaggerating! I'm scared, l'm experiencing things that will soon drive me crazy! Help me..." ,I sobbed. "I think I have lost my mind."

I let myself fall on the carpet. What was I supposed to do when I missed someone every second of every day when he was playing with my psyche?

My back wouldn't press against the door anymore when I felt a emptiness behind me. Two strong hands pulled me up while I cried like a child. With the fabric of his sweater, he dried my wet cheeks and stopped the coming tears. "Stop crying. You look like a wet rat."

You know the situation when you have to laugh for a moment while crying, even though you don't want to? And then you sob even louder because someone is holding you in their arms?

"You're freezing," he said after stroking my cold arms. My jacket. It was still at Jimin's.

"I'm nauseous."

Jongsuk looked at me for a moment before dragging me into his bathroom. He held my hair while I knelt down in front of the toilet. I tried to forget the fear inside me. When I was scared, nausea would always set in.

"It's okay, I don't have to throw up."

He pulled me up and took me to the washbasin. I watched him turn on the cold water before the liquid hit my face when he washed my whole face. After that he turned off the tap and dried my face with a cloth. With his arm over my shoulder, we walked into his bedroom before he put me in his bed. I buried myself under his soft bedding and only then did I realize that I had stopped crying by now.

"I'll be right back."

I nodded, though he couldn't see it, and stared at his pillow. If I raised my head a little, I could see the city, thanks to his huge windows. I recognized little drops falling on the glass. A few became numerous raindrops. The weather was oppressive as dark clouds came up. Whenever I was near Jimin, the sun shone all over Seoul, birds were chirping, even in the evening it was lukewarm and very pleasant. When I left his side, the weather went crazy, just like the morning after the night at the club. Just like today.

"Here, drink this."

I sat up when I heard Jongsuk. He handed me a cup that was steaming. "Thanks" ,I said before I took a sip of the tea.

"I was there yesterday" he suddenly said as he sat down on the end of the bed. "Inside the villa."

"Inside?" I asked, puzzled. He was in there?

"Yes. I stood outside the door for an hour until Suga suddenly came out and drove away. I ran in and found V wandering around. Then he took me to Jungkook, and Jungkook took me to-" he gritted his teeth, "Jimins room."

Had he seen us- had he seen the moment?

"But you weren't there." He got up and sat right next to me. "Where were you? Jungkook was pretty sure you'd be there!"

My muscles tightened again. "H-how were we not there?" My fingers were burning from the heat of the cup. "When exactly were you there?"

"It was so fucking early, I guess five or six in the morning."

I knew I'd lose my mind soon. "How can this be?! We were lying on his bed right then! Are you sure?"

"You did what?" His voice went up in anger.

I put the cup on his bedside table and took his face in my hands. "Jongsuk. Please, please control yourself for me just once. And try to help me. Is that so much to ask?"

He sighed loudly before finally nodding. "There really was no one there, Diona. Were you that drunk that you don't remember anything?"

I turned away from him, listening to the rain. It was time, Diona.

"You've been my best friend and my family since I was five now. You went through every shit with me, were the first to make me realize I was cheated on. Who made me realize I was somebody valuable. You love someone who spends every day indulging in mythology, who's always been so dreamy. You've always believed me, no matter how impossible some things I believed in seemed."

He nodded since the first word that came out of my mouth. "Yes. All that is true! And it will always be that way. But why are you telling me all this?"

Just do it.

"Do you believe in supernaturalism?"

From now on it was body language between us. I tried to read an answer from his reaction, which would either shock or hurt me. This was my worst moment in my entire life.

"You know Diona, nothing in this world could shock me anymore. I believe that supernatural power is with us every second, but you can't grasp it. It's like an illusion, it's such a weird thing."

"I.." ,he stopped and looked everywhere but at me, "for example, saw a person who.."

I swallowed hard. Was he about to confess something to me? Did he really believe in such things?

"This person could approach another person while all the others around him were stopped. It was as if they had been put under hypnosis. Only the three of us could see it. But the person I'm talking about was so shocked by the other human being that she didn't even question why no one could get closer but her."

Flashback

His pupils were the first to meet my own. He was standing in front of me. In front of my feet. I gasped.

A dark steam formed around his figure when no one could get closer to him. Except me. My head bowed against my will without the courage to look at him.

"Diona,"

And in that precise moment, my heart stopped pumping blood into the vessels.

"ancient Greek Dionysia,"

Flashback over

No. This couldn't be.

I put my hand over my opened mouth.

"This person later found me on the dance floor and pulled me aside. He told me that I deserved a reward that you get in his world. And you 'wanna know what happened while he was talking to me?"

I shook my head as my heart almost popped out.

"His eyes changed colors. From black to blue. I thought someone had put drugs in my drink. His hair tips were silvery every few seconds like he couldn't control himself."

He... He knew from the beginning. He was talking about Jimin and me.

"When the person raised their hand to hit him, I looked in the mirror behind them and saw two aggressive leopards standing behind them. And with just a wave of his hand, he moved them away from there,"

"they wanted to attack you because you wanted to harm him."

"M-m-my-"

"My pills."

I grabbed my neck.

"Fuck!"

"Here quickly! Open your mouth!"

"Don't cough. Breathe. Like we always do Diona!"

After a couple of minutes, it took effect. My eyes were still watering but it was okay.

"Are you all right?!"

I breathed normally again and found myself in his arms. "I know everything, little one. Okay maybe not everything, but the things that went down, fucking shit. I believe you, I know you haven't lost your mind. I was just worried about you because I don't know what he's capable of."

"It was just before midnight. I'd finished the first part of the painting and was about to leave." He let go of me so he could see me. "They were all drinking and celebrating, and Jimin forced me to drink with him. This is gonna sound shitty, but I wanted to drink, too. Don't ask me why, I don't know. We talked, chilled, and a few hours later I was dead drunk. I don't know what kind of wine they have, I just know it's super strong. I don't remember everything, but I know the sun was already coming up when we were in his room. He didn't seem to have any nasty ulterior motives, really."

Jongsuk took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one before I went on.

"There are only a few puzzle pieces left of what happened before..."

"Before what?"

"Do you know that when you are in a dream and sometimes you don't know it's not real, but sometimes you know you will wake up? Do you remember the dreams I told your brother about? Even then I said, 'Jimin's dreams felt overly real' right?"

He nodded.

"Jongsuk. This time I am sure" ,I took a deep breath, "that I was in reality but in a different time zone and location. In another life."

2000 Before Christ, Peneios

Southern, between Olympus and Ossa, at the narrow gorge Tempe Valley, from where the Peneios River leads from the Thessalian plain to the sea. At the ravine, which was formed by earthquakes.

There he is. Dionysus.

Under his feet, on the rock on which the god of wine stands, is hiding a Dione of the Titans, daughter of Atlas. The goddess of rebirth.

"My beauty."

Mighty waves rise as the sea hears his divine voice. The cold water rises through the gorge and touches his bare feet. He recognizes her shadow under the surface of the water, which comes closer to him. Her golden hair appears under the hot sun. Warm brown eyes he had fallen in love with.

"Dionysus!"

Water drips from her uncovered body onto the stones as she climbs up to get closer to him.

"Six months. How could you leave your beauty alone for six months?"

With his right hand he holds his thrysus fitted with pinecones and with the other her. "I fought with the Titans, my love. Far from here."

Her wet body touches his fair skin, covered in a robe. "Longing for you. I have longed for you endlessly. I told the other nymphs about you."

The sensual androgynous boy smiles slightly at her words. "Is that so? Then tell me about it as well."

She disobeys him. "I will not! Nevertheless I am still hurt," she says and jumps into the river that leads to the sea.

"Diona!"

Her lover follows her before they arrive at the land.  She gets out of the water and runs onto the warm sand when Dionysus' mighty body shines down at her. He points at her body, forming a white dress over her body, which covers her beautiful shape. He takes her hand and starts to run. His melodic laugh blends with her own as the sand tickles under her feet.  Diona watches as he suddenly bends down and picks something up.

"It's yours, my beauty."

A tiny conch, hidden in the sand.

"Look how it shines, a brightness that resembles your eyes. Look how pristine and immaculate it's shell looks, likewise your skin and your heart."

She smiles in happiness and bows to him.

"As long as my heart beats, this miracle of the God of Nature will always find a way to you. Only to you."

Now

"And how do you know it was real?" ,Jongsuk asked.

"Because I still held the shell in my hand when I was awake" ,I replied.

[sonodaten]

Yesterday was my birthday, and I got to thinking (my immortal enemy)

Under cut for sensitive subjects; check tags for warning

I tried to kill myself for the first time on April 14th, 2008. I was 13 years old.

Money was tight. Mom and Dad were constantly fighting. The economy was crashing, and they were putting even more pressure on me to do well in school so I could got to a good college and get a good job so I could support the family. I was bullied at school for everything I did, and even when I decided to do nothing, I was bullied for that too. I didn’t have many friends, and because of my parents’ belief that I needed to be the one to support the family, the relationship between my siblings and I was strained to an all-time high.

Our parents had decided after getting us the Wii for Christmas that if we wanted any more video games (aimed more at my brother and I than our sister; she never really got into them as much as us), we were going to have to save up for them ourselves. They had also started borrowing money from me to pay for gas, saying that they would pay me back once they got paid. But they didn’t. They were busy, I assumed, and just forgot. They’d remember.

But one day, a new game came out that I really wanted, and was short for when I checked my savings. So I asked my mother for some of the money she said she was going to pay me back. She went ballistic, and she didn’t speak to me for two days after that. Around noon on the third day, she called me into the home office as I was heading upstairs and threw a check for $120 dollars at me and said “Now I don’t owe you anything.” To this day, I still think I have that check stuffed away somewhere. I never cashed it.

That pushed me over the edge. I felt alone. I felt hated. I felt useless. I felt like a burden on everyone, and that their lives would be much better without me. After all, it’s much cheaper to support only two kids instead of three, right? Other kids would get more attention in school if I wasn’t there, right? No friends to miss me because there weren’t any, right? My siblings wouldn’t constantly feel so stupid and neglected by our parents if they weren’t so fixated on me doing well, right?

Nothing could hurt more than this, right?

So I went to the discount store one day, bought some rope, and tried to hang myself. Needless to say, it didn’t work. I laid there for what felt like hours, feeling like the penultimate failure:  the one thing I could do to fix everything, and I had managed to fuck up that to. I threw the rope into the trash barrel in the garage and sat in my room and cried. I ate dinner that night and went to school the next day and the next day and the next day running completely on muscle memory. I couldn’t feel anything for months after that. It was like I had died, but my body didn’t know it yet. I finished 7th grade. Finished 8th grade. Started high school.

I graduated as the Salutatorian.

I got into one of the best STEM schools in the country.

I came out.

I fell in love.

I joined a sorority.

I met someone who I’m positive is my other half.

I saved someone’s life.

I studied abroad.

I started seeing a therapist.

I found something I love to do.

I graduated with Distinction with a job already lined up.

I adopted a cat.

I finally got to play Kingdom Hearts III.

I got into a PhD program at an Ivy League school.

Yesterday marks my tenth birthday since I tried to kill myself. I have tried one other time since then (end of sophomore/beginning of junior year of college were rough for me). I’m 24. It’s crazy to say that, when I thought for years I wouldn’t make it to 20. That I could never picture myself growing old or even middle-aged because I thought the world--living in general--just wasn’t something I had. I felt like I just had to go through the motions for everything because I had an expiration date that was quickly approaching.

If you’ve ever been like me, or if you’re going through this now--I know how you feel. I’ve hit rock bottom; I’ve clawed, scratched, and bled to pull myself out; and I’ve fallen plenty of times along the way. There are still days where I can’t get myself out of bed. There are still days where even the bare minimum takes everything out of me. There are still days where I look back on younger me and hate her--hate myself--for what happened. But there are also days where I can wake up and am genuinely happy to be alive (after I go through the seven stages of grief because, you know, AWAKE).

If thirteen year old me could meet twenty-four year old me, could hear everything that I’ve gotten to do, the opportunities I’ve had, I know she’d be surprised, maybe even a little doubtful.

“Twenty-four?” She’d scoff. “I’m never going to be that old.”

“Yes, you will. You’ll live ten years of life, and it’ll have felt like 30 minutes. Ten years worth of moments that will take your breath away. Ten years worth of learning. Ten years worth of lives changed simply because you came into them. Ten years worth of experiences that will change how you see the world forever. Ten years worth of love. They won’t all be good, and some of them will hurt, but the worst is over now. There is nothing braver that I’ll ever do than what you’re doing right now. I know everyone gets hung up on our brain, but believe me when I say that we’re strongest here.” And I’ll point to our heart. “The heart is the strongest weapon of all.”

And then thirteen year old me would viciously drag me for making a Kingdom Hearts reference, but it would all be in good fun.

I think one day I’ll be able to look back on thirteen year old me and not feel some sort of resentment, shame, or anger. I was just a kid in a tough situation, that’s all. You weren’t a bad person, you were just a person in a bad situation. It takes one step at a time, but I think one day we’ll get there.

So, happy twenty-fourth birthday, thirteen year old me.

We made it.