#picking only five songs was (unsurprisingly) difficult

[thee-morrigan]

tagged by the lovely @evilbunnyking to list 5 songs I like (thank you, Bunny!). some of these are new/new faves, some have been in heavy rotation for...a minute lmao

"Can't Let Go, Juno" Kishi Bashi look: this whole list could easily be Kishi Bashi songs as I'm really In A Phase rn, but this one in particular has been on loop for writing lately

"Perfume," Del Water Gap because I'm seeing them tomorrow (!) and it's so boppy (one of their other songs is also where I got the fic title 'ode to a conversation stuck in your throat')

"Woman (in mirror)," La Dispute I have A Lot of feelings about this song, lyrically and structurally, but I will try to contain myself. It's very, very good (and so is its semi-counterpart, 'woman (reading)')

"Messy," Renee Rapp a friend told me recently that she reminded them of me and I have been riding that high ever since like???? (this is also on my Holland playlist!)

"My Limb," Hayley Williams this is on more than one oc/ship/writing playlist, including the du temps perdu one - in large part because the line 'if your part of me is gone/do I wanna survive?' makes me FERAL

(and honorable mention for 'Espresso,' bc every last scrap of serotonin I've scrounged up this week can be credited directly to this song)

tagging: @grapecaseschoices, @agentnatesewell, @serially-wayhaven, @nat-seal-well, @nsewell, @delucadarling, @crownleys aaaand anyone else who hasn't done this/wants to!

[noona-clock]

The Dog Walker - Part 6, Final Chapter

Genre: Dog Walker!AU

Pairing: Hanbin x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: None

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 | Words: 2,482

A few months later...

The front door opened just as you reached in to take the baking tray out of the oven.

You heard soft, thudding footsteps coming down the hall as you closed the oven door and set the tray on top of the stove. Then the coat closet opened and shut as you reached for the spatula to begin transferring the pigs in a blanket to a serving plate.

When the footsteps finally arrived in the kitchen, you paused and glanced over your shoulder.

A smile sprang to your lips -- even though you knew it was Hanbin, you were still glad to see him. You always were.

“Hey,” you greeted as he made his way to you. And as he loped over in that casual way of his, you could tell something was different. There was something in his eyes that made it pretty obvious he was about to drop some sort of news.

“Hey,” he murmured just before he reached you.

You put the spatula down on the counter as he slid an arm around your waist and pulled you into a hello kiss.

And when he didn’t immediately ask if he could have one of the pigs in a blanket you’d just taken out of the oven, you definitely knew something was up.

Before you could even ask, though, he inhaled sharply and said, “I finished it.”

Your mouth fell open slightly because you knew exactly what he was referring to -- he hardly ever talked to you about it, but Hanbin had been working on it for the last few months, ever since you’d started dating.

“You finished your song?” you asked. Yes, you knew that’s what he’d meant, but you still felt like you needed to ask.

Hanbin nodded, tamping down a giddy smile.

After he had confessed his secret to you on your first date, you’d encouraged him to actually try making the song he’d been creating in his head. He had let you know officially when he’d begun working on it, had updated you a scant few times during the process, and now... apparently, he was finished!

A very wide, bright grin appeared on your lips, and you reached up to rest your hands on his chest. “Can I hear it?”

Unsurprisingly, Hanbin’s cheeks flushed, and he avoided your gaze as he leaned around you to steal a pig in a blanket. “Yeah, you can listen to it later,” he muttered before popping the mini sausage treat in his mouth.

You let out a playfully annoyed sigh and said, “What, you’re going to make me wait until next year?”

Hanbin froze for a moment and then rolled his eyes. “It’s literally...” He lifted up his wrist to look at his watch. “Almost seven on New Year’s Eve. Next year is five hours away.”

“Five hours is a long time!” you retorted, though it was getting more difficult to keep yourself from laughing.

“Yeah, sure, okay,” he mumbled before taking another pig in a blanket.

You swiftly turned around and swatted his hand away. “Stop eating them!”

“But if I can’t eat them, why did you make them?”

“Stop eating them now,” you corrected. “Wait until I put the whole spread on the table!”

Hanbin, who was still standing right behind you, let out a low chuckle in your ear. “It’s literally just us two.”

“Just go and pick out a movie,” you told him, gently elbowing his side and nudging him away from you.

He didn’t leave right away, and your heart jumped up a little into your throat when you felt his hands settling on your hips. “I will,” he murmured before brushing his lips over your cheek. “But I missed you.”

You leaned back against his chest, tilting your head just a little bit as he kissed your cheek again.

“I missed you, too,” you replied in a quiet voice. “I’m almost done, I’ll be in there in just a minute.”

Hanbin simply hummed against your skin before pressing one last kiss to your cheek and slowly letting go of you.

As you heard him shuffle over to your living room to find a movie to watch while the two of you waited for midnight, you hurriedly transferred the last of the pigs in a blanket to the serving tray and set the baking tray into the sink to be washed at a later time.

You then whirled around and opened the fridge, reaching for the bowl of dip you’d made earlier as well as the chocolate-covered strawberries which should now be perfectly set and chilled.

After carefully carrying the pigs in a blanket, dip, and strawberries into the living room and setting them on your coffee table, you dashed back into the kitchen to get two bags of potato chips and napkins. Before you closed the pantry door, though, you called out, “Do you want any popcorn or something for the movie?”

“No, babe,” Hanbin chuckled. “I think we have enough food for right now.”

He may have been right... but you would take out one bag of popcorn and leave it on the table. Just in case.

As soon as you went back into the living room and set the potato chips and napkins on the coffee table with the rest of the food, Hanbin, who was already sitting on the couch, reached out and gently tugged at your arm to get you to sit down next to him. You did so with a sigh, tucking one leg underneath you and leaning back against the sofa cushion.

Hanbin looked at you cautiously for a moment before asking, “Do you... want to hear it?”

Oh, right! How had you already forgotten?!

Immediately, you sat up, straightening your posture and raising your eyebrows in anticipation. “Yes, oh my god, yes!”

A smile flashed across Hanbin’s face, though it was quickly wiped away by a look of anxiety. He slid his hand into his pocket and retrieved his phone, his fingers shaking just slightly as he tapped on the screen to bring up the song.

When he pressed ‘play’ and the first notes of the song began, you held your breath.

You truly wanted to love this song and not just because it was Hanbin’s.

But after just two lines of lyrics, you recognized that... it was wonderful. Beautiful. You had gathered that Hanbin had a passion for music, but to be quite honest, you hadn’t ever thought he was a musical genius. The idea just hadn’t crossed your mind.

It only took one song -- half of a song -- to make it clear that he was. The lyrics were clever but heartfelt. The music fit the words perfectly; there wasn’t one single note out of place.

You sat next to him listening raptly, your heart fluttering -- and by the time the song ended, your stomach sank. You instantly wanted to listen to it again!

“Hanbin,” you whispered, unable to keep yourself from grinning widely. “That was... It was beautiful. I can’t -- you really did everything yourself?”

He nodded bashfully.

You reached over to take his hand, squeezing his fingers urgently. “Where are you going to post it?”

Hanbin’s bashful expression quickly changed to one of confusion. “Post it? What do you mean?”

“Post it online! YouTube or Soundcloud or something. Where are you going to post it?”

Your boyfriend frowned for a brief moment before shaking his head. “No, I’m not going to.”

Your head jerked back a little bit in surprise. “But... why not?”

“Because... it’s just for me. And for you, of course. Whatever songs I make, I always want to share them with you. But... I don’t really care if anyone else hears them,” he answered with a shrug. “It’s not about popularity or recognition. I just... love music.”

You couldn’t help but stare at Hanbin, blinking slowly in awe.

He had just created a song that was so amazing you knew it would immediately become a viral internet sensation. And he didn’t care one wit about sharing it with anyone else.

These last few months had shown you that Hanbin was absolutely the most incredible person you’d ever met... but you hadn’t yet known the true depths of his magnificence until now.

He possessed a talent that could easily make him rich and famous, and he still chose to continue on with his career in dog walking.

Some people might think him wildly stupid for doing so, but you admired him for it. You appreciated the fact that he loved and enjoyed music purely for the sake of loving and enjoying music and not because it could make him money.

While the two of you hadn’t explicitly talked about it, it was obvious that Hanbin’s definition of success had nothing to do with how big your house was or how many cars you owned or how often you traveled to faraway countries. His definition of success was just about doing what you loved. Being with people you...

Before you could think too much about it, you let out a soft sigh and squeezed Hanbin’s hand again.

“I love you,” you told him, your voice now somewhat thick with emotion and sentiment. “I love you so much, and I can’t even tell you in words how grateful I am to be ending this year and starting another one with you. I know it’s incredibly cheesy, but I just --”

Hanbin interrupted you with a kiss, a gentle and brief kiss, and when he pulled back from your lips, he said, “I love you, too.”

A squeal escaped through your lips, and you pulled your hand out of his so you could throw your arms around his neck, practically knocking him back onto the couch.

He let out a soft groan but still wound his arms around you, holding you tightly to his chest and burying his face in your neck.

“So, what you’re saying is,” he mumbled, his breath hot on your skin and sending shivers down your spine. “You’re grateful that one rowdy squirrel threw a wrench in my workday.”

“If I could find that specific squirrel, I would collect every single acorn I could find and save them just for him,” you chuckled.

When Hanbin had told you on your first date that he hadn’t really cared about when or how you’d first noticed him, you had kind of thought he’d been lying. Just a little bit.

But he really hadn’t brought it up all that much over the past few months, so... apparently, he really didn’t care that you’d watched him secretly from your window before actually meeting him in person.

He had asked you once for more details, of course, but he had seemed flattered that you’d harbored a private crush. He had also admitted that, if your positions had been reversed, he absolutely would’ve done the same thing.

After a few moments of sitting on the couch, simply embracing each other, Hanbin took a deep breath and lifted his head from your neck.

“As much as I love sitting here with you... and as much as I love you... can we eat now?”

You almost burst out laughing, but you suddenly realized that you were pretty hungry yourself.

“Of course,” you grinned, pulling away from him and turning to face the coffee table.

Hanbin, after grabbing a pig in a blanket and popping it into his mouth, reached for your television remote and navigated to play one of your favorite romantic comedies. 

And as the familiar opening music began to play, you took a chocolate-covered strawberry (because it was a holiday, and you could eat whatever you wanted in whatever order you wanted), leaned back against your couch, and draped your legs over Hanbin’s lap.

...Could things be any more perfect than they were right now?

A movie you loved was playing on your television. You were eating delicious food. You were cozy and warm on the couch with the man you adored right next to you. An old year was ending, and a new one was just about to begin.

You were happy. Plain and simple.

And judging by the soft smile on Hanbin’s lips as he feasted on chips and dip and watched the movie, he was happy, too.

Then, all of a sudden, a realization hit you like a ton of bricks.

The only that could make you happier right now was...

“Hey,” you murmured, gently nudging Hanbin with your knee.

“Mm?” He raised his eyebrows and tore his gaze away from the television to look at you.

“Would you be able to add another dog to your schedule?”

Hanbin’s mouth slowly formed into a frown of confusion. “I mean... yeah? ...Why?”

“Just wondering,” you grinned. “I’ll probably be too busy to walk him -- or her -- myself, so I was hoping you would be able to.”

And he looked even more confused. “Be able to what? What are you talking about?”

“My dog!”

“But you don’t have a --” 

He cut himself off when he, apparently, understood what you meant. And then he smiled -- no, not just smiled. He beamed. He beamed over at you with excited anticipation, and you were fairly sure you could never love him more than you did right at this very moment.

“You’re going to get a dog?!” he asked, resting one hand on your leg and squeezing your ankle.

“Will you go with me to the shelter tomor --”

“First thing in the morning.”

“But you hate waking up in the morning,” you laughed.

“Okay, then... first thing in the afternoon.”

And, of course, instead of paying attention to the movie, Hanbin began to talk about this future dog of yours. He helped you brainstorm names, made a list of everything you’d need to buy at the pet store, and even assured you he would get you the employee discount for training at the boutique.

If only you from a few months ago could see you now.

Well, now that you thought about it... if you had the ability to go back in time, you would travel to when you were still just watching Hanbin walk by from your window, before the squirrel fiasco. Back when you’d been determined to never tell anyone about your crush because you’d been sure you would never meet him.

Even though you knew it would be extremely difficult to convince yourself, you would want to go back to that time and tell yourself to just do it.

Just go out there and meet him.

It would’ve extended your relationship by only two months, but still. Two months was two months!

Although... you were absolutely positive that Hanbin was the person you would be spending the rest of your life with, and... what was two months compared to a lifetime?

[cozy-the-overlord]

Running with the Wolves

Summary:  After the events of Infinity War ripped her life to pieces, Queen In-Unga forges forward as sole ruler of Jotunheim, finding solace in the two orphaned wolf puppies she finds outside her sleigh.

AU in which Loki didn’t die at the beginning of Infinity War-- he accompanied Thor to Nidavellir, then to Wakanda, and died in the Snap alongside the Avengers.

Based on Frostbite by @maiden-of-asgard​

Word Count:  12,192

Pairing: Loki x Reader/Loki x In-Unga

Read it on Ao3

A/N: So let’s flashback to last summer. I had three obsessions: Avengers Endgame, A Song of Ice and Fire (which I was reading for the first time), and Frostbite by Maiden of Asgard. Those obsessions merged into a story that’s been swirling in my head ever since. I never thought I'd actually write it-- back then, I still wasn't fully comfortable with writing my own fanfiction, let alone writing fanfiction of someone else's fanfiction. But when Moa announced that she was going to be turning Frostbite into a physical book and would be accepting fan submissions, my dumbass brain went "i CaN dO tHaT."

This is the most I've struggled with writing a story ever. I've never written from the perspective of a character that wasn't my own, and I found that to much more difficult than I anticipated. Combine that with how the story I was trying to tell spanned over an overwhelming five years, my constant stress that I was ruining Moa’s characters, and the fact that I kept finding myself in "this-made-more-sense-in-my-head" territory and I started getting pretty frustrated. I had expected to be done by the end of June; when at the beginning of July I was only barely halfway finished, I kind of threw in the towel and said "forget it." I took a week off from writing to clear my head, and after a pep talk from my sister (thanks, JJ!) I decided I had to complete it. So here it is! Am I completely happy with the final product? No, but seeing as I never thought there'd be a final product, I'm proud of myself nonetheless.

One last note (this a/n is obnoxious, I’m sorry): Moa, I did intend for this story to be a part of your Frostbite book, but I totally understand if you don't want to deal with it. It is disgustingly long, and I know that you said that the book is already huge. I won't be offended if you don't put it in-- I don't want to create more trouble for you.

Thanks for reading!

It was freezing.

That was saying something. Freezing was an adjective In-Unga had learned not to use lightly. Living on Jotunheim came with the acceptance that you would be existing in extreme sub-zero temperatures year round, warmth being an elusive gem found only in the recesses of furry coats or underneath thick blankets. In the years she had spent in the realm of the Frost Giants, In-Unga felt that she had come quite accustomed to the cold. It was something she was rather proud of—when Captain Rodgers had visited with Thor a few years back, he had joked that she must have taken some kind of super soldier serum herself in order to handle it so well. She had responded, beaming, that as long as she had Loki, she didn’t need anything else to keep her warm.

She had never really considered the truth to that statement.

Njal, her burly head guard, pulled his mount alongside hers. “The temperature is dropping, my queen,” he said. “Perhaps you would be more comfortable in your sleigh—”

“No.” She hoped her voice sounded stronger than she felt. “I appreciate your concern, but I am perfectly fine as I am.” Just for good measure, she added a queenly nod.

Njal seemed unconvinced, but he bowed his head just the same. “As you say, my queen.”

In-Unga exhaled, trying to ignore the white cloud that enveloped her when she did so. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could stay out here. She couldn’t see the skin of her hands under her mittens, but she was certain they were blue. Her face, as well. In fact, at the moment she probably looked more Jotun than Midgardian.

But she was determined to continue riding. Loki had always made a point of it, in the early days when his main concern was showcasing his strength. Now that he was gone, she needed to be strong for him, and for her people.

Those that were left.

Her eyes burned in warning, and so In-Unga shook her head and went back to thinking about how horribly freezing it was. The cold hurt less.

Býleistr had questioned her decision to tour the kingdom so late in the year. The weather would be awful, he said. Her people would understand if she waited until spring. In-Unga had argued that waiting brought its own danger: ignoring the far-away regions during such a tumultuous time would foster restlessness, and the last thing they needed on top of everything that had happened was a civil war.

What she couldn’t put into words was how she needed to get out. There were too many missing faces in Utgard, gaping holes in the tapestry of family she had woven around herself. The throne room was empty even when it was full. She couldn’t focus on mealtime conversations because her gaze kept drifting to the vacant seats where her Forest Twins should be sitting. Her bedroom had become a tomb.

She had to leave, before she drowned in the silence.

Shouts at the back of the party startled In-Unga out of her pity spiral. Members of her guard rushed down the line of sleighs, weapons drawn. Those that remained by her side closed in a tight wall around her.

“What’s happening?” she called to Njal. “Are we under attack?” That’s just what we need now. The forested wilderness that surrounded them provided cover to any would-be assailants. Here, they were sitting ducks.

The wind picked up again, ice cutting straight through her many layers, and this time In-Unga found she couldn’t control her shivering. Frozen sitting ducks.

Soon enough, the cries died down, and her guards came riding back.

“All is well, your majesty. It was only a vargr.”

In-Unga thought of Mánagarmr and shivered again. “A wolf?” she asked. “Is anyone injured?”

“No, my queen.” In-Unga didn’t know the name of the guard that spoke. He was a new member of her defense, one of the many who got an unexpected promotion when their superiors turned to dust. “It jumped out at the last sleigh and startled many, but it was small, and taken down rather easily.”

The mortal queen of Jotunheim frowned. “Why would a wolf attack a party this large?” she asked.

“I cannot say, my queen.”

“Your majesty,” Njal spoke. “Shall I give the order to continue?”

In-Unga shook her head. This didn’t make any sense. “No,” she said. “I want to see this wolf.”

It shouldn’t have surprised her that a giant’s version of a small wolf was bigger than a Clydesdale. The majestic animal now lay lifeless in the snow, the pure white of its fur sullied only by the crimson stain spreading from the spear in its neck. The soldier who brought it down was only too pleased to relay the story to his queen.

“It came tearing out of the woods like a beast from Hel,” he cried, waving his hands for dramatic effect, “Snarling and hissing and baring its teeth. Most of us were caught off guard, but I’ve always been quick with a spear, and so when it turned to me, I was ready for it—”

In-Unga nodded, only half listening. She scanned the treeline from which the wolf had appeared. It made no sense to her—what would cause the creature to attack unprovoked? Right now, with the trees casting crooked silhouettes and the wind whistling in her ears, it seemed like an omen.

But of what? She wondered uselessly. What else could go wrong?

A clump of snow caught her eye. For a moment, she couldn’t understand why—it looked no different than any other clump she had come across in her life. Completely ordinary, but… there was something…

Warmth.

It was warmer than the rest.

The realization shocked her a little. Sensing changes in temperature from afar had been one of the skills Loki had taught her (unsurprisingly, given his affinity for snakes), but she had thought she lost it, along with all her other magical abilities, when she lost her husband.

Better make a note of that.

“There’s something over there,” she said, pointing. “In the snow. Something alive.” She made her way off the road, her guards scrambling to maintain their positions around her.

Damn, it was cold. In-Unga knelt in the ice, biting back curses as the snow soaked through to her knees. Getting back on her mount was looking more and more impossible.

The clump whimpered.

She let out a small gasp when the fluffy puppy head popped out of the snow, blinking ice out of its eyes. It shook the glistening snow from its fur with a tiny whine. A petulant growl followed, and a second pup appeared, pushing its way in front of the first and baring its teeth.

“Oh!” In-Unga reached out cautiously, the cold already forgotten. The growling puppy yipped and she pulled her hand back. The other merely yawned.

Behind her, Njal cleared his throat. “My queen, perhaps you should back away. They are feral—”

“That was their mother,” In-Unga interrupted, looking back at the bleeding body on the side of the path. “She must have felt they were threatened by the caravan and attacked. And we killed her.” Although, even that seemed unlikely.  In-Unga eyed the wolf-killer where he stood over the body of his prey, animatedly retelling the story of his deed to a growing crowd. It was easy to picture him wandering off the trail and provoking the frightened mother. Her gaze darkened.

Njal shifted uncomfortably. “It is unfortunate, my queen, but at this point there’s nothing to be done. We should continue before the weather takes a turn for the worse.”

“We can’t just leave them to starve!” she cried. She reached out again. The growling puppy flinched but didn’t back away. Its sibling craned its neck to sniff her mitten, sneezing when it breathed in a noseful of fuzz. Puppies in the dead of winter. That’s got to mean something. “Look at them! They won’t survive without their mother.”

“I can give them a quick end, your Majesty, if it would ease your worries,” one of her guards spoke up. “It would be merciful—”

“No.” Her guards stiffened at the ice in her voice. The first puppy nuzzled into her hand, rubbing against her like a cat and letting out a contented sigh when she scratched the fur on its neck. The other slunk forward guardedly, curiosity seemingly cracking its tough guy exterior. To her surprise neither resisted when she scooped them into her arms.

“I’ll have no more killing today,” In-Unga said as she stood. “I’ll care for them myself.”

Huld seemed absolutely horrified when the mortal queen plopped the little balls of fur on the floor of the sleigh.

“My queen, they’re wild animals!” she cried.

In-Unga laughed as the first puppy attempted to burrow back into her coat pocket. “Yeah. Real wild.” Its head popped up at the sound of her voice, and for the first time, In-Unga noticed its eyes: one brown and one blue. “Why, you’re a little David Bowie wolf, aren’t you?” she cooed, scratching its pointed ear. The puppy licked her wrist happily.

Her maid wasn’t quite as pleased. “My queen!” she exclaimed, backing away as the other pup growled. “What do you plan to do with them?”

“Keep them, I suppose. Raise them as pets.” She left the Bowie wolf to rein in his brother. They were both so small—when she held them in her arms they could easily be mistaken for Earth dogs. In-Unga found herself recalling her first sleigh ride in Jotunheim, with Greip and Gjálp and Snowball the Not-Melrakki, how shocked the twins had been at the concept of Midgardians owning pets.

How many years ago was that? Five? Feels like a lifetime.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, hoping Huld was too preoccupied with their new companions to smell her grief.

“Do we have anything for them to eat?” she asked with forced brightness. “Seal milk, or something?” Huld frowned, but obediently prepared a bowl of milk.

“They’re going to grow to be monsters,” she warned. “My queen, you saw Mánagarmr—”

“That’s right, I did,” In-Unga interrupted as her puppies began lapping up the dish. “And let me tell you, these guys are nothing like him.” The tough pup looked up with an offended growl. Laughing, she reached out to pet him. “Although this one thinks he is.”

The maid’s look of concern only deepened.

In-Unga sighed. “Don’t worry, Huld. Their mother wasn’t even that big. They won’t grow up to be Mánagarmr.” She cringed as she thought of the blood-splattered wolf lying in the snow. These puppies were so small, they had to have been born within the last month, after the Snap. Their poor mother survived the event that massacred half of every living being in the universe so she could give birth to her children, only to be stabbed to death by some hotshot with a stick. It was too cruel for words.

His hunger satisfied, the Bowie wolf paddled over to where In-Unga sat cross-legged on the floor and plopped down in her lap, grinning up at her with his multi-colored eyes.

“Awww!” In-Unga stroked his fur as he snuggled against her coat. “Huld, look at this! Isn’t he precious?”

Huld gave some non-descript reply, but In-Unga didn’t hear her. The second puppy was sniffing her boot, chewing on the sole with pearly teeth. “Come here, little guy.” He whined as she pulled him into her lap with his brother but didn’t try to escape. Quickly, they were both snoring.

In-Unga cradled them as the caravan trudged on, completely oblivious to the cold.

Her wolf pups quickly became the highlight of her entourage. At first In-Unga kept to leaving them with Huld while she met with the nobles on their various stops, hoping to spare them from the information overload of court, but they howled something terrible whenever she was out of sight, crying and chasing after her and giving poor Huld nightmares. Ultimately, the queen had two leashes fashioned out of leather, which they wore reluctantly in exchange for accompanying her everywhere she went. It certainly was a sight to behold—she had already looked rather ridiculous before, this tiny mortal woman encompassed by giants, and now here there were these two little fluffballs constantly nipping at her heels— but perhaps it just added to her effect.

They grew quickly. Within a week it seemed they had doubled in size, which In-Unga only realized when she nearly pulled a muscle trying to scoop them both up as she had done when she first found them. Their appetite grew with them. She was seriously concerned for a while that the caravan would run out of things with which to feed them until Njal pointed out one night that they were born hunters.

“Let them loose while we travel, my queen,” he said. “They’ll find food.”

In-Unga frowned. “You think they would come back?” she asked.

Her guard’s gaze traveled to Bowie, sprawled out on her lap fast asleep, his brother hunched protectively over her feet. “I don’t think you have to worry, your Majesty.”

She started taking them off the leash in the morning. At first, they’d only trot alongside her mount, too anxious to leave her side, but soon they were venturing off the trail for pockets of time, reappearing later with some bloodied creature dangling from their mouths. Birds, rodents, small animals—nothing was safe. Her little fur-babies were stone cold killers. She would’ve been lying if she said it wasn’t unnerving to see the little puppies she cuddled up with at night licking blood off their faces, but honestly their prowess was impressive. Her eyes nearly bulged out of her head when Brynjarr returned one day dragging some furry mammal twice as big as him.

Unlike his brother, Brynjarr had remained nameless for a large part of the journey. He had been bestowed with nicknames of all sorts—Hunter, Tough Guy, Mommy’s Little Fighter—but it wasn’t until they reached Márfjall that he got a proper name.

“That’s a warrior,” Hrossþjófr said to her while watching the two wrestle on the beach. “He needs a warrior’s name.”

In-Unga had been dreading this final stop, dreading having to walk down these hallways alone when the very walls of the castle screamed for Loki. She had resolved be strong, but just seeing Hross as they alighted, withered and wilted without Griep by his side, had been nearly enough to cause her to fall apart.

The wolves kept her together. Their childlike fascination with the crimson sands was almost enough to distract her from the other memories swirling around in the dark bay. In her few moments of free time, she’d take them down to the shore and laugh as they’d go tearing up the surf, Brynjarr barking menacingly at the ocean when the waves crashed too close to his feet, Bowie rolling around in the sand until his white coat was stained pink. Hross joined her often with his children, likely as desperate for a diversion as she was. They didn’t talk about the event. It was easier just to focus on the wolves.

Hross was endlessly impressed with their obedience. “How do you get them to do that?” he asked when they stopped what they were doing and came running at In-Unga’s whistle.

She shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said as she attempted to dust off Bowie’s coat before he plopped down on top of her. Even though the two wolves were nearly at the height of her hips, Bowie still seemed to think he was a lap cat. “They just always do.”

Dagný shrieked and buried her face into her father’s chest when the wolves came too close, but her brother leaned forward, his eyes like saucers as he reached for Brynjarr with chubby hands.

“Woof,” he cried. “Woof.”

Hross pulled him away. “Dali, we don’t want to bother the vargr, now—"

“It’s okay,” In-Unga said. “Bryn, sit down so Dali can pet you.”

Brynjarr sank into the sand obediently. Dali gasped in delight as he ran his fingers through the wolf’s thick mane.

“Woof!” he cried again, happily. Hross and In-Unga laughed.

From her lap, Bowie whined for attention. She reached to scratch behind his ears.

“So devoted,” Hross mused. “I’ll have to add it to your song. ‘In-Unga, charmer of wolves.’”

The party arrived back at Utgard just as the winter freeze was beginning to thaw. There was an audible gasp from the crowd gathered when she exited her sleigh flanked by the two animals, but Býleistr only raised an eyebrow.

“There were rumors, but I supposed no one really believed them,” he told her as they walked in.

She smiled. “But you did?”

“Of course,” he said. “If there’s anyone on this planet stupid enough to mistake a vargr for a pet, it’s you.”

“I missed you too, Bý.”

Býleistr and the rest of her advisors tried to catch her up on all the business she had missed over dinner, but the very presence of her wolves was quick to derail any serious conversation.

“They’re so well behaved,” marveled a forest giant In-Unga probably should’ve known the name of. “How does one inspire such loyalty, your Majesty?”

In-Unga forced an artificial laugh. “They only stick around because they know I feed them.”

The wolves laid down at her feet, eyeing the meat on the table. She reached down to scratch Bowie’s back. She doubted the giant had meant anything by her question, but the way everyone was looking at Bowie and Brynjarr was reminding her of the way everyone had looked at her when she first arrived in Jotunheim with Loki, and it was stirring up emotions in her chest that she wasn’t prepared to deal with.

She thought of the golden collar she had worn for so many years, a sign of ownership that had turned into a display of loyalty. She had despised it at first, but by the end she had been proud to wear that collar.

Lokakona. Loki’s woman.

It was in a box under her bed, along with the knife he had given her after the Rann Steinar debacle and the wooden Yggdrasil pendent Griep had given her before her first trip to Asgard. In the days following the destruction of the stones, as the heavy truth that this was a nightmare she wasn’t going to wake up from sank in, In-Unga had collected everything that broke her to look at and stuffed them where she wouldn’t see them anymore.

It hadn’t helped much.

The nights were the worst. It was stupid, because she had lived alone for years before Jotunheim, but now the concept of sleeping by herself made her sick to her stomach. When everything had first happened, In-Unga had refused to even touch the bed. It was too big, too cold, too empty to even attempt sleep in it. She piled furs and blankets on top of the couch and laid there all night, haunted by missing faces and broken memories and outstretched hands that were just beyond her reach. By morning, she’d be curled up so tightly into herself that it hurt to sit straight during the day.

At first, it was just temporary. Wasn’t that what Agent Romanov said, when she finally got into contact with her? They’d find a way to reverse it. Once they were able to locate Tony Stark, they’d find a way. It would be okay. She’d just have to rule in Loki’s stead for a little bit, just like she had before. Keep his realm together for him until he came back. But a month later, she got another call. This time, Romanov’s voice held none of the steadfast determination that In-Unga had been clinging to so desperately. They were gone. The infinity stones, and the people too. It was over. They failed. She was so sorry.

Vaguely, In-Unga remembered asking if she could talk to her brother-in-law, the silence that followed as Romanov went looking for him, her apologetic tone when Thor refused to come to the phone. The next thing she knew she was in the courtyard, heavy snow pummeling her body as Býleistr dragged her back inside with an arm around her waist.

“Are you completely out of your mind?” he snapped. “You’ll freeze to death out there!”

She held up her hand, hazily noting that her skin looked an even darker blue than his.

It was soon after that In-Unga decided to tour the kingdom. The voice inside her head scolded her for the decision even as she attempted to provide political rationale. She was running away. Pushing her problems further down the road in a childish attempt to avoid the unavoidable. Loki would be disappointed in you.

But how could she rule a planet when she couldn’t even bring herself to sleep in her own bed?

So she had left for a few months, for better or worse, and now she was back. After dinner her wolves, obviously exhausted from the long journey, trotted into her old room without issue. Bowie plopped down on the floor and was asleep in seconds. Brynjarr, ever distrustful, made his cautious way around the room, sniffing at odds and ends and barking at items that seemed too suspicious. In-Unga stood in the doorway, watching. It was almost enough of a distraction. Almost. The room was untouched since the last time she had entered, so much so that it still reeked of Loki. The feeling was so strong that for a moment she didn’t trust herself to move.

She entered slowly, drinking in the memories. Loki’s desk, where she’d lean on top of him and read his paperwork over his shoulder, currently piled up with documents he was never going to review. The table across from empty fireplace, where on rare occasions they could have their meals when the only company they felt like entertaining was each other’s. The rug next to the fireplace, where they always seemed to end up after such occasions.

And there was the bed. Brynjarr rushed ahead of her as she made her way to the bedroom, seemingly intent on confirming its safety before allowing her access. In-Unga found herself laughing despite the ache in her chest.

“Does it meet your standards, Bryn?” she asked as he slipped under the bed and out again, sniffing every corner and examining every fur. Eventually, he laid down at the foot of the bed, satisfied.

In-Unga sat down next to him, stroking his ears as he rested his big head on her thighs. This was the last place she had seen Loki. Here, in this room, on this bed. They had been woken up in the middle of the night by a messenger at the door. Groaning, he had dragged himself out of bed to answer it, only to return shortly after considerably more alert.

“What’s wrong?” she asked sleepily as he dressed. “Where you going?”

“Thor’s made a mess of things on Asgard,” he replied, pulling his tunic over his head. “He needs my help.”

“What?” The gravity of his tone woke her up quickly. “Wait, you’re leaving now? What happened?”

He leaned forward to kiss her. “It’s probably nothing. My brother is known to blow things out of proportion. I should be back within a few days.”

“Loki—”

He muffled her with another kiss. “Don’t worry, dröttning,” he whispered against her lips. “It will be fine. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered back. “Stay safe.”

And then he was gone.

For months, In-Unga wondered if there was something she should’ve done. Pulled him back into bed, forbidden him from walking through that door? “Stay here with me. Thor can handle it himself.” Would it have even changed anything? Loki had told her about Thanos—not a lot, but enough to understand that his influence stretched across galaxies. Would he still have collected the stones, regardless of whether she managed to keep Loki with her? She didn’t know which alternative was worse: the idea that there was something she could’ve done but didn’t, or the thought that she was so useless that Loki and the others were fated to die regardless of her actions.

Brynjarr whined, sitting up taller so he could lick the tears off her cheeks. She buried her face in his fluffy neck.

“I miss him, Bryn,” she sobbed. “I miss him so much.”

He followed her into bed that night. It was a bit surprising—Brynjarr normally wasn’t one for bedtime cuddles, that was Bowie’s thing—but not all together unwelcome. In-Unga was a little more concerned about the bed—on all fours her wolves were now taller than her, and significantly heavier. But it seemed to hold together alright, minus a few creaks, and honestly, the comforting weight of Bryn’s head on her stomach was worth a damaged bedframe if it came down to it. Slowly, she drifted off to the sound of his breathing.

Court was sparse these days.

In-Unga had become so accustomed to the looming hallway being packed with faces that seeing it half-empty kindled even more anxiety in her chest. The faces that were there seemed anxious as well—although In-Unga was rather certain their apprehension came more from the massive wolves at her feet than the vacancies in the room. Bowie and Brynjarr were still for the most part, but they were always ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.

Everything was threatening to them. If someone addressed her with a less than respectful tone, if someone tried too come to near to the throne, they were on their feet, teeth bared and growling. In-Unga found it hard to take them seriously. Bowie was a big sweetie who liked belly rubs and snuggling next to the fire, and whenever Bryn growled, she could only picture the tiny little fluff ball she found in the snow trying to be intimidating. But they certainly succeeded in unnerving the court, a little too much perhaps.

“Maybe I should have them wait outside next time,” she wondered aloud to Býleistr after a civilian who had come to petition the queen had been so frightened he was unable to string together a coherent sentence.

“No, most certainly not,” he countered. “They give you an extra sense of authority. The Queen already controls the Casket, now the vargrs bow to her command—it’s a powerful statement, and Jotuns respect power.”

“I suppose,” she said, thoughtfully. “But I don’t want to feel like I’m ruling through fear.”

Býleistr scoffed. “If your subjects don’t fear you to some extent, then you’re doing something wrong. Besides,” he added, “they should be fearful of your wolves.”

He was probably right. In-Unga trusted Njal and his men with her life, but she knew that if there was any sign of danger it would be the wolves who acted first. Bryn and Bowie accompanied her everywhere, flanking her like a set of furry bodyguards. It was especially odd given how large they had grown—they had long been towering over her, and now were approaching Býleistr’s height. Thankfully, Utgard had high ceilings.

With time, the palace became more accustomed to their presence. In-Unga liked to think that seeing her so at ease with them had begun to rub off on her subjects. If she ever had free time during the day, she’d take the two outside to run around and play in the snow. It wasn’t nearly as spacious as the beaches at Márfjall, but they had enough room to wrestle and cavort around. A crowd usually gathered when she played fetch with an old stick of wood she had picked up while still on the road, watching cautiously with wide eyes. She felt rather like a zookeeper putting on a show in an exhibit.

And if you look here, boys and girls, we have an overgrown doggo in his natural habitat.

It had also become a well-known fact that Bowie and Brynjarr slept in In-Unga’s bed with her. She wasn’t quite sure how this had become a well-known fact—perhaps those in charge of washing her bedding had taken note of the clumps of white fur tangled in the blankets—but Huld told her that this fact was seen as quite impressive to the other servants.

“It’s brave,” she said. “To leave yourself vulnerable to such beasts every night.”

In-Unga laughed humorlessly from where she sat hunched over at the desk. It had been a rough day. “At least they’re impressed. I’m pretty sure Loki’s glaring daggers down at me for letting animals sleep in his bed.” She had meant to make a joke, but there was a familiar lump building in her throat that she couldn’t quite swallow.

Hesitantly, Huld reached out to touch her forearm. “He’d love them,” she said. “He loved anything that made you happy.”

Maybe that was so. But In-Unga was still pretty certain that he’d be pissed—if not for the constantly shedding vargrs taking over his bedroom, then definitely for the stupid ideas that they spawned.

“Alright,” In-Unga said, drawing a line in the air from her chest to the ground. “Lie down.”

The two wolves sunk into the snow obediently, though not without confusion. They clearly expected playtime when she brought them outside, as did the growing crowd of faces at the palace gate. She sighed. This was one time where she’d rather not have an audience, but she didn’t feel right having them dispersed.

“Have I mentioned that this is a terrible idea?” Býleistr drawled from behind her.

“You have, as a matter of fact,” she replied, rubbing Bowie’s neck. He sighed contently, multicolored eyes slipping closed. “I’m still not listening to you.”

“It was worth a try.”

It was Hross who had put the idea in her head, when he had come to visit a month or two ago. Even after he returned to Márfjall, she couldn’t stop imagining what it might be like to ride one of her wolves like a horse.

“Just picture it!” he had said excitedly. “Queen In-Unga, riding into battle alone atop a vargr, casket in hand—”

Býleistr had interrupted to inquire under what circumstances would the kingdom become so inept as to send their mortal queen into battle alone, but In-Unga was sold.

Although, looking at it now, mounting didn’t seem as simple as Hross had made it out to be.

“Okay,” she murmured to Bowie as she made her way around his body. “I’m going to get on your back, buddy. Don’t freak out.” She grabbed a clump of fur on his back—even with him laying down, she had to reach a bit—and tried to pull herself up.

Key word being tried.

“No—what are you doing?” she cried as Bowie stood up with her still hanging off his side. “Bowie, sit down!”

The wolf yawned.

“Oh my,” Býleistr was doing his best to sound disinterested, but she could hear the suppressed laugher hiding under his voice. “Do you need a push?”

“Shut up.” She leveraged herself against the wolf, trying to wriggle her way to a sitting position. Bowie suddenly decided to obey her earlier command and plopped his bottom on the ground, the movement throwing her off enough to tumble into the snow.

“Oof!”

Bowie grinned at her.

Býleistr’s laugh rang out across the ice.

“I take it back,” he said. “That was well worth it. Now, have you had enough of this nonsense, my Queen, or might we go back inside?”

In-Unga was already back on her feet. “Do whatever you want, Býleistr. I’m not finished yet.”

This time, she went to Brynjarr. He was still lying down, despite all the ruckus.

“Okay,” she murmured, scratching his ear. “Take 2.”

Bowie whined. In-Unga turned around to see him lying down with his head between his paws, eyes wide and repentant. “Oh, hush!” she said, rolling her eyes. “You had your chance.”

Pulling herself on to Brynjarr’s back was surprisingly easy, likely because he actually listened to her when she told him to stay still. It took her a minute to get situated and comfortable, seated in a position where she didn’t feel like she was immediately going to slip off. She wondered if she should have a saddle made. But she felt like that would be too complicated—they’d have to get measurements from the wolves since no such saddle had ever been made before (to her knowledge, at least), all the while working on the assumption that Bryn and Bowie would even wear such a contraption.

Besides, she told herself, Daenerys Targaryen rides her dragons bareback without problem, right?

Yes. That was definitely the type of logic she needed to live her life by.

In-Unga clutched his fur as tightly as she could. “Okay, Bryn,” she said, tapping his neck. “Up!”

The wolf rose to his feet in one fluid, graceful motion that nearly sent her sprawling again. Oh boy. She tightened the grip of her legs around his sides. If I die today, blame George R.R. Martin.

She was high. Extremely high. Geez, she had to be at least ten feet in the air! Since when had her babies gotten this big?

Býleistr cleared his throat. “So,” he said, looking up at her (Býleistr had to look up at her!), “Are you just going to sit up there all day or do you plan on doing something? Because if not I would like to remind you that—”

“Hold your horses, Bý.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

In-Unga ignored him. She leaned forward to flatten herself against Brynjarr’s back. “Okay buddy,” she whispered, tapping his shoulder. “Whenever you’re ready.”

He started off slowly, a fact for which she was exceedingly thankful. He crept ahead almost as if he was tiptoeing, so soft that she barely felt his feet on the ground, a far cry from the clodding she was used to with the wooly rhinos. He wandered around in a circle, continually looking back to check if she was still there.

“Good boy.”

They continued riding in a circle for a while. It wasn’t anything grand, and it was certainly a far cry from Hrossþjófr’s vision of her galloping into battle, but there was still something thrilling about being atop such a powerful creature. In-Unga didn’t have any delusions about being in control—she knew damn well the moment Brynjarr decided he had had enough he’d plop down in the snow and she wouldn’t be able to do anything about it—but the illusion of control was enough to make her feel unbelievably powerful.

“Look at me, Býleistr!” she called. “Aren’t you impressed?”

“Exceedingly,” he said dryly. “Are you finished? Remember, we do have things to accomplish today.”

In-Unga frowned. Býleistr was right, of course—she was the Queen of Jotunheim, she couldn’t just spend the entire day playing with her wolves. But on the flip side, she was the Queen of Jotunheim—if she wanted to spend the entire day playing with her wolves, who could stop her?

Just as she was beginning to favor postponing her next few meetings on account of essential wolf training, Bowie rose to his feet.

She sighed. “Bowie, what did I tell you—” The wolf wasn’t listening. He knelt close to the ground, muscles tense as he eyed something in the distance. Brynjarr turned around abruptly, In-Unga grabbing at his mane to maintain her balance. He too tensed, staring unblinkingly into the snow.

She squinted into the distance. At first, she couldn’t spot anything out of the ordinary, but the tiniest movement of white fur soon gave it away. A kanína. They were smaller, rodent-like creatures that lived all over the place, not unlike the rabbits she knew from Earth. Their meat was extremely tough, practically inedible to giants and mortals alike, but her wolves loved to hunt them.

Uh oh.

“I think I’m going to get down now,” she said, patting Brynjarr’s neck. “You can chance down that furball once I’m on the ground. Lie down.” Bryn didn’t move. Oh dear.

She tried again, more authoritatively. “Brynjarr, lie down! Brynjarr—” She cut herself off with a very unqueenly shriek as the kanína bolted, the wolves bolting after it.

All In-Unga could do was hold on for dear life. The wind smacked her face as they picked up speed, whistling so loudly in her ears that she could only barely hear Býleistr shouting her name. The landscape flashed by in a blur of color.

Holy shit holy shit holy shit!

“Bryn!” she screamed. “Bryn, stop!”

It was like riding a giant rocking horse running at the speed of light. Straightening up was out of the question, so she flattened herself against Brynjarr’s body and tried to sway with his movements. To the left, she could barely make out Bowie running alongside them, leaping so far that it looked like he was flying above the snow.

Just breath. Focus on breathing. Don’t think about how much it’ll hurt if you fall. Just focus on breathing.

Although… it wasn’t that bad. The longer she held on, feeling the vibration of their paws travel up her spine, the more her panic began to fade. She pushed up a little, risking a glance over her shoulder at the distant dot that was Býleistr. Shit. They were going fast.

Exhilaration flooded her body. This is what Hross had been talking about!

In-Unga, Charmer of Wolves

For a moment, she felt like a superhero.

When she hooted, the wolves howled with her. The kanína was still running in front of them, scrambling to stay ahead, but its time was up: Bowie pounced and had the poor rodent dangling in his mouth in a second, snapping its neck like it was nothing. They slowed down, Bowie stopping completely to grin at her with his prize. Look at me, Mom! Aren’t you proud of me?

In-Unga laughed. “Good boy.”

Trotting back to Býleistr was slightly less thrill-inducing now that she could actually see where they were going without getting pelted in the face with wind. In-Unga made a mental note to have a pair of goggles made for any future wolf-runs.

“So what do you think?” she asked, grinning down at her brother-in-law.

Býleistr gaped at her. He shook his head. “I don’t know why I still haven’t learned to just expect this madness from you.”

She snickered.

After that, wolf rides became a part of In-Unga’s daily routine. Every afternoon she’d climb onto Bryn’s back and take off into the snow for about an hour, flying across the countryside with only her wolves for company. That last detail drove Býleistr mad.

“You are the single most important individual on this planet,” he snapped at her one day. “And, if you’ll excuse my saying so, likely the most vulnerable as well. You need to take a guard with you.”

“I can take care of myself, Bý,” she replied nonchalantly from where she sat with Bowie in front of the fireplace. “You should understand that as much as anyone. Besides, the wolves will take care of me.” Bowie looked up with a grin, thumping his tail against the stone floor in enthusiastic agreement. Býleistr rolled his eyes.

“And when you go flying off their back while they’re running at full speed? How will they protect you then?” He shook his head. “I’d doubt they’d even notice you were missing.”

“That will never happen,” she said stubbornly. “I’d never fall off, and they’d never leave me behind.”

It was easy to sound fearless while bathed in the warmth of the fire, but there were moments where In-Unga was a little less sure of herself (although she’d stab herself before admitting such to the prince). The landscape around Utgard was high and rocky, and although her furry companions were sure footed, she often found herself swallowing her heart as they scampered up craggy ledges.

Still, every hair-raising experience she survived increased her confidence in her abilities as a wolf-back rider and encouraged her to go farther. She taught Brynjarr to understand her commands just by the way she shifted her weight on his back. Luckily, he picked it up easily— trying to yell instructions with the wind blasting in her face got old very quickly.

Bowie took a little while longer, but they got there eventually. He wasn’t as much of a fan of having In-Unga on his back, but he also wasn’t a fan of being left out, and weeks of watching his brother get all the attention for carrying the queen wore him down. Soon enough, she could ride him as well as Bryn.

They tended to keep to the rocks on their journeys. Running through the caves would have been a lot easier, as well as less windy, but the caverns that Loki had carried her through when she first arrived on Jotunheim were haunted by ghosts of memories In-Unga couldn’t bring herself to face. Instead, she stuck to sights less sacred: mountainous cliffs and jutting rocks that Bryn and Bowie loved to race each other around, places so far off the beaten path that there was no chance of stray flashbacks popping up to punch her in the gut.

Sometimes, on the way back from the palace, she’d ride through town. It was a risk, of course, but then again when was anything not? She always wanted to laugh at the crowd that gathered whenever she came through, at the way her people’s eyes would bulge at seeing the giant wolves plodding down the road completely unphased. They would whisper amongst themselves, just as they did that first time she came to the marketplace with Griep, but the words were slightly different.

In-Unga. Vargdröttning.

Usually, she made a point of stopping at some small vendor and purchasing something— a dagger, a blanket, a piece of jewelry— the item didn’t really matter to her. She just liked interacting with her people, asking them about their families, checking up on their wellbeing. With everything that had gone wrong in the past few years, she felt that was the least she could do. That too was reminiscent her trip with Griep. So much had changed since then, and yet still so much was the same. Back then, the Jotuns hadn’t known what to make of a mortal wandering through life on Utgard as if she belonged there. In-Unga got the feeling that they still weren’t sure what to make of her now, but they treated her with respect and grace and that was all she could ever hope for.

Some of the changes hurt. The absence of her Forest Twins was an ache she carried with her everywhere she went. In-Unga had never really realized how deeply she depended on them both until they were gone. Now, without them, she missed them everywhere. At the table during meals. In the throne room when she held court. Just walking through the halls—it was such a silly, stupid thing, but she felt naked making her way through the palace alone even now, a couple years after she lost them.

Most times during her afternoon ride, she’d dismount at the top of some mountain and let Bowie and Brynjarr hunt for a bit. She’d find a rock to sit on, sheltered from the wind, and make a list of all the things she wanted to tell them. How she had been trying to teach Huld to play gin rummy, but Bowie ate half the deck. How Hross had written that Dagný had finally said her first word: daddy. How Býleistr was all pissed off because Bryn had somehow gotten into his greenhouse while In-Unga had let them out to hunt and knocked over some important plants from Alfheim.

Griep would have gotten a kick out of that last one: in the months before everything went wrong, Gjálp had been spending a suspicious amount of time in Býleistr’s greenhouse, something her sister and In-Unga had been relentlessly teasing her about. You know, payback for all the teasing she had doled out over the years. She had been getting pretty annoyed about it.

“I don’t know what the two of you have gotten in your heads,” she had scowled. “Prince Býleistr was simply showing off his imported aster flowers. They only bloom for a short period of time—”

“Riiight,” In-Unga said, smirking. “That’s definitely what he’s been showing you.”

Gjálp sputtered, scandalized, while Griep exploded into a fit of very uncharacteristic giggles.

On her rock in the middle of the snow, In-Unga giggled too. It was nice, having these quick little moments where she could almost trick herself into thinking that everything was fine. They were fleeting though. By the time her wolves returned to her, a few minutes later, she was sobbing uncontrollably.

She missed them so much.

But with everything that had changed in the past few years, everything that had been uprooted and ripped to shreds, at least there remained one constant in her life.

Periods still sucked Hel.

Regardless, In-Unga always tried to carry on with her day as usual. She was the queen, after all—she couldn’t be seen as weak. So, she’d hold court like everything was normal, sit up straight on the throne and pretend she didn’t feel like someone was wringing out her insides like wet laundry. If the giants around her noticed the stench of blood (which of course they did), they knew better than to bring it up.

But today had just been too much. Meetings heaped on top of meetings, every new face bearing a different demand or a different complaint, every new conversation only exacerbating the ache in her head and the knots in her stomach. By noon, she called it a day.

In bed, burrowed into her nest of blankets, In-Unga existed in the frustrating in-between: too tired to be fully awake, but too uncomfortable to drift off to sleep. She buried her face in her pillow and cursed the blizzard outside. It seems periods always worsened with the cold.

From the doorframe, Bowie whined. Brynjarr had easily accepted the reality that there would be no afternoon run today, instead electing to pass out at the foot of the bed, but his brother did not give up so easily. If In-Unga hadn’t felt so awful, she would’ve laughed at him—the doorway to her bedroom was far too narrow for the giant wolf. He was just barely managing to squeeze through.

He whined again.

She groaned. “Can’t play with you right now, buddy.”

Rolling over, she nestled deeper under the covers, seeking protection against the biting cold. It was a useless attempt. She never seemed to be able to get warm anymore.

Bowie padded over to her bedside, his claws drumming on the floor making him sound like some sort of depressed tap dancer. He snuffled at her hair.

“Go away, Bowie,” she muttered when he pressed his clammy nose to her forehead. She pushed his giant head away halfheartedly. “Lie down with Bryn.”

Suddenly, the whole bed dipped, and the giant wolf was attempting to snuggle his way into to her blankets.

“Bow—” she tried to push him away again, with even less effort than before. “You’re too big!” But with a final push, he nuzzled under her blankets next to her, grinning widely and smacking her face with a mouthful of doggy breath. In-Unga winced.

“Such an attention hog,” she groaned, even as she reached to scratch the fur under his chin. “You don’t even care that I’m trying to rest, do you?” He snuggled closer, sighing in contentment when In-Unga shifted so that she was resting her head on his fluffy neck rather than her pillow.

“Yes, you’re a good boy. I’m sorry. I’m just having a bad day.” She heaved a sigh of her own. “Do you know what my small council said to me, first thing when I sat down?”

He cocked his head. In-Unga took that as a sign to continue.

“They think I should get married. Remarried.” She swallowed bitterly. “They said it would help ‘maintain my legitimacy as queen.’ As if I’m not already fucking legitimate!” She smacked the mattress with her palm, glaring at her wolf. “Do you know the shit I went through to get to this point?”

Bowie whined.

“Right, of course you don’t,” she apologized. “You weren’t born yet. But take my word for it, it was a lot.”

On the floor, Brynjarr shifted in his sleep. In-Unga continued.

“And then there’s the whole subject of heirs. ‘Your Majesty, since you failed to have a child to King Loki before he died, you have no one to advance your lineage’—yes I’m well aware of that!” she shouted at the ceiling, blinking the steaming tears from her eyes. “I’m reminded of that fact every damn day of my life! I don’t need you to tell me!”

Her nose was running. She wiped it angrily with the heel of her hand. They had been trying to have a baby, her and Loki. After years of pushing it off, waiting for things to stabilize, they had finally felt ready. Loki had told her not to be frustrated if she didn’t get pregnant right away.

“Our biologies are fundamentally different. It may take some time.” They had been in bed, tangled up in each other under the cover of darkness. In-Unga could still feel his breath in her hair when he leaned down to kiss her head. “Don’t worry, dröttning. We’re in no rush.”

He had gotten called away a few months later, her womb still empty.

“They had a whole list of men they thought would be suitable,” she muttered to Bowie, blocking out memories that hurt too much to touch. “They had organized it all and everything. I felt like the Bachelorette. Totally ridiculous! And they had the audacity to look at me like I was the crazy one!”

The way they had stared at her, when she categorically refused to even consider their proposition. “But my queen, don’t you want to have children?”

Yes. Yes she did. She wanted to have children whose ebony hair matched their father’s, who carried both his intelligence and his mischievous streak within them. She wanted to see her husband’s eyes light up when they learned a new magic trick, wanted to laugh at the regal King of Jotunheim crawling around the room on his hands and knees with his toddler giggling on his back. She wanted to cradle her baby and smile at its sleeping face in awe, wondering at the perfect mix of her and the man she loved so much, a mix that could exist with no one else.

Yes, she wanted to have children. Loki’s children.

In-Unga ran her fingers through Bowie’s fur. “He’s not coming back,” she whispered. “I know that. I’ve made my peace with it. But I can’t pretend that it’s okay. I can’t just… replace him.”

Bowie licked her cheek with a tongue the size of her entire face. In-Unga sputtered, snorting. “Ugh… thanks buddy.” He nodded, moving to rest his head on her stomach so she could scratch his ears. She stroked his long fur absentmindedly. The wolves were the closest thing to children she was ever going to have. She was at peace with that too. Her advisors may not understand, but they didn’t have to. She had done so much for her kingdom. They could give her this.

And so time marched on. Winter turned to spring, spring to summer, then back to winter again, over and over as if nothing had ever happened.

It was a quiet night in her quarters when things changed.

In-Unga was skimming over a document by the fire, having abandoned the desk in favor of the furry rug, a warm blanket, and her wolf-pillows. Bryn’s eyes were fluttering. Bowie was already fast asleep, sighing contently. Behind them, Huld softly cleaned up the remnants of the late dinner she had eaten alone in her room. Save for the crackling of the flames, the room was silent.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to focus on the lines of script. The flickering light was almost hypnotic—In-Unga leaned against Bowie’s back to rest her eyes for a moment and found herself unable to sit back up.

She yawned. Probably time to call it a night. Still, she felt so nice here—her bed would be large and cold, and she’d have to get up and walk all the way to the next room to even get there…

In-Unga was just beginning to doze off completely when the high-pitched beep nearly scared her out of her skin.

The wolves were on their feet immediately, knocking her out of her reverie and barking so loudly the room shook. The beeping continued, shrill and ear-piercing, and In-Unga cursed under her breath as she pulled herself up.

I live in a damn circus.

Huld was standing at the table, hands over her ears and red eyes trained on the corner of the room. “Your majesty!” she cried. “It’s the thing!”

In-Unga followed her gaze to the telephone-like communicator Tony Stark had created for them, back when everything was nice and happy and Thor had convinced everyone it was a good idea for Jotunheim to have some method of contact with the Avengers. For the first time in five years, it was flashing red.

She made her way across the room in a fog. The last time it rang… that call had broken her. Broken everything. Told her that the hopeless mess her life had turned into would be here to stay, and that she would have to clean it up alone. In-Unga hadn’t touched the device since. What could Earth’s Mightiest Heroes possibly have to say to her now?

Still, it couldn’t be worse than last time, could it?

In-Unga hushed the wolves, who fell silent at her command, and picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

Agent Romanov’s sharp voice said her Midgardian name. “How have you been?”

“Alright, I guess, considering everything,” she answered cautiously. Somehow, she doubted that after half a decade the assassin had just decided to phone for a social call. “Is everything okay?”

She was right. “We’re working on something,” Agent Romanov said. “We’re not positive how everything’s going to turn out, but at the moment, things are looking good. I thought you should know, just in case things get crazy.”

In-Unga frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“The Snap,” she said. She inhaled softly. “We think we can bring everyone back.”

In-Unga’s heart stopped.

For a moment, she just stood there, barely comprehending her words.

We can bring everyone back.

Romanov said her name again. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” she said shakily. “Are—are you serious? You going—how is that even possible? You said before—without the stones—”

“I know,” the assassin said. “We still need them. But Stark’s come up with something that would allow us to retrieve them before they were destroyed. We’ve planned out where they are across the timeline, the easiest times and places for us to access them—”

“Wait.” In-Unga’s head was spinning. “Retrieve them before they were destroyed?” She had to be misunderstanding. Surely Romanov wasn’t suggesting what it sounded like she was suggesting. “How is that possible? Unless you have a—”

“Time machine?” There was a wry smile to Romanov’s voice. “Yeah, that’s about right.”

“What?”

“It’s a long story, but like I said, Stark’s come up with something,” she continued. “I know it sounds insane, but we’ve proven it works—we ran a test with Barton, and Lang basically did it unintentionally for five years—”

“Lang?” In-Unga asked weakly.

“You don’t know him. But my point is it’s possible.”

It’s possible.

“Time travel,” she said. “That’s what’s happening? I haven’t gone crazy, you’re actually telling me you can time travel?”

“Well, you did marry the guy who attacked New York, so I can’t say you’re not crazy,” Romanov said. In-Unga was so overwhelmed that the poor attempt at humor didn’t even bother her. “But yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

They’re going to bring them back. In-Unga was shaking. Loki, Griep, Gjálp… they’re going to bring them back!

“When is this happening? How is this going to happen? Is there something I can do?” The questions tumbled out faster than she had time to think.

“We’re going out tomorrow. Technically speaking, everything will only take a few minutes, so we should have the stones by then.”

In-Unga gasped. “That soon?”

“Yeah. We’re not sure exactly how they’ll work once we have them, but Thanos was able to wipe out half the universe just by snapping his fingers, so we’re guessing it’s not that difficult.”

“So, everyone could be back tomorrow!” The shock was beginning to wear off, replaced by a surge of pure elation. The wolves, sensing her excitement, began barking again. “Hey, shut up! Both of you!”

Romanov laughed. “I didn’t know you had dogs.”

“It’s a fairly new development.” So new that Loki and the Twins never got to meet them. Her eyes were stinging. “Tomorrow?”

“Hopefully, yes,” In-Unga had never known Romonov to sound so excited. “That’s why I wanted to get into contact with you. We’re not sure how this will work, what kind of widespread effects it can might cause. I thought you deserved a heads up.”

She nodded. “Thank you. Will you let me know when you get back with the stones?”

“Sure thing.”

“Well…” In-Unga wondered if she was dreaming, if she was going to wake up and curse her stupid brain for letting her hope for a moment. But this was real. This was happening. “Good luck!” she said into the receiver, pulse thrumming.

She could hear the smile in Romanov’s voice. “Thanks. I’ll get back to you tomorrow.”

In-Unga set the receiver down in a daze. When she turned, both her wolves and her maid were staring at her with eyes so wide it was practically comical.

“Huld,” she said quietly. “Get Býleistr in here, would you?”

She spent the next day huddled next to the communicator, anxiously tapping her feet on the stone floor.

Býleistr had been willing to hold court in her place today, but he had been less inclined to share her eager optimism.

“The past has already been written, In-Unga,” he said softly. “That’s not something anyone can change.”

“But there’s a chance they might,” she cried. She pushed the hair out of her face. “A chance. That’s more than we’ve had for the last five years!”

“Getting your hopes up will only cause yourself more pain when they fail. You’ll be grieving all over again—"

“I never stopped grieving,” she whispered. Her eyes were damp again as she looked back up at Býleistr. He sighed.

“I hope it works,” he said. “I do. It’s just—” he cut himself off, shaking his head and abruptly standing up to leave. “Goodnight, your Majesty.”

Behind her, the wolves paced back and forth, whining softly as they picked up on her nervous energy. In-Unga couldn’t tear her eyes away from the phone. Had they left yet? Was everything going to plan? She let out a worried breath. If only there was something she could do. Something besides just sitting here and feeling useless.

By the afternoon Romanov still had not called and In-Unga had completely chewed through her bottom lip. She should have heard something by now. She was certain of it. Hadn’t Romanov said that it was only supposed to take a few minutes?

Huld brought her lunch at around noon. In-Unga left it on the table untouched. She wasn’t hungry. In fact, she felt like she was going to be sick.

Bowie was scratching at the floor. The sound of his nails dragging across the stone put her even more on edge than she was already, but he ignored her when she told him to stop. In the corner, Byrnjarr growled softly.

Her room was warmer than usual. She found herself shrugging off the blanket she usually kept draped across her shoulders in her quarters and letting it fall to the floor. Out of nowhere, she felt confused. Nothing was the way it was supposed to be. Everything was happening at once. It was overwhelming—so overwhelming. She couldn’t think— wait.

These aren’t my feelings.

In-Unga shot up so quickly she knocked her chair over. Bowie and Bryn were on their feet in less than a second, bouncing around and barking at the top of their lungs. With shaking hands, she reached for her neck, for what had become nothing more than an old scar these past five years. At the brush of her fingertips, sparks shot through her skin.

Her gasp melted into messy sobs. “Loki.”

Outside, people were shouting, voices blending together into an amorphous blob of noise. Someone pounded at her door.

“Your Majesty!” Njal shouted. “Your Majesty, something is happening—”

They’re back. They’re all back…

In-Unga barged through her door without a word to her guards, dashing down the hallways at lightning speed with Brynjarr and Bowie trotting at her heels. There were people everywhere—servants, nobles, people gasping, people embracing, people running through the halls like maniacs like her—In-Unga ignored all of them. She flung herself down the stairs with her wolves still behind her.

The room she was rushing to hadn’t been touched in five years. She had felt stupid, giving that order, but having someone else move in was admitting that they were gone forever, and she couldn’t do that.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

In-Unga was completely out of breath by the time she flung open the door. The woman standing in the middle of room looked up as she pressed her fingers to her temple, red eyes furrowed in a frown.

“In-Unga,” she asked. “What is—”

Gjálp didn’t have time to finish before In-Unga crashed into her in a bear hug, bawling.

She sputtered. “In-Unga—”

“You’re back!” In-Unga sobbed. “You’re back! You’re back!”

Gjálp returned the embrace tentatively. “What is happening? What—Norns!” She stiffened, yanking In-Unga backwards. The mortal queen turned to find that Bryn and Bowie had followed her into the room and were now looming over the couch with all the intimidation of a pair of overexcited Labradors.

“Oh no, it’s fine—” In-Unga hiccupped, finding words astonishingly difficult to control in the moment. “Mine. They’re mine. Don’t worry! Uh—lie down!” Thankfully, they obeyed without an issue, their tales flying around like propellers. “See?” She gulped, turning back to Gjálp. She gripped her wrist, just to remind herself that this was real, and she wasn’t dreaming.

“You’re back,” she whispered again, hoarsely.

“You keep saying that,” Gjálp said, still frowning suspiciously at the wolves. “What happened? Where am I back from?”

In-Unga let out a wet laugh. “You were gone. He got the stones and took out everyone—half of everyone, half of everyone everywhere,” she laughed again, because it suddenly sounded funny saying out loud with Gjálp staring down at her like she had lost her mind. Maybe she had. It didn’t matter anymore.

“Your Majesty.”

They both jumped at the unfamiliar voice behind them. In-Unga turned to find herself face to face with a man—a human man, with a goatee and red cloak, standing in the middle of a ring of fire. In a second, the wolves had flanked her, teeth bared and growling.

Shit, I guess I have lost my mind.

Gjálp was the first to find her voice. “Who—what—how did you get in here?”

The man ignored her. “Your Majesty,” he said, facing In-Unga. “I am Dr. Stephen Strange of New York.”

The name vaguely stirred something in her memory. “You died in the Snap,” she said. “You were with Mr. Stark.”

Dr. Strange nodded. “The effects of the Snap may have been reversed, but this isn’t over yet.”  He fixed her with a solemn stare. “Your husband needs your help.”

Somehow, she had known he was going to say that. A wave of resolution washed over her. Standing straight, she wiped her cheeks. “What do you need me to do?”

The smoke was stifling. Strange had said it was a war zone, but In-Unga hadn’t expected for even the upstate sky to be blackened with debris. She had been to this compound before, years ago with Thor and Loki. It had felt a bit like stepping into the future, with the manicured lawns and the crisp white doors that whooshed as the slid open automatically. It had been nothing like the scorched wasteland flaring before her. The smoke was so thick she could barely make out the looming warships hovering over the skyline.

The dark warriors lined the horizon, a mass of limbs extending far beyond her range of sight. In-Unga squared her shoulders as she road through the portal. She could see him, standing in the middle of all this destruction, the golden light of the portals casting shadows on his purple skin. For so long, he had been faceless to her, the untouchable enemy who she had never seen but whose name she fell asleep cursing every night. And yet here he was in the flesh, living, breathing, vulnerable.

Thanos.

Brynjarr howled. From her perch atop his back, In-Unga felt the vibration in every part of her body. Bowie joined in, his usually mournful cries dark and full of promise. The sound mixed with the battle cries from portals down the line, words chanted in languages she didn’t speak, but in sentiment she understood perfectly.

You took everything. Now we’re taking it back.

The Jotuns behind her understood too. With deep voices, they answered the cries with chants of their own, shouts crescendoing with every individual rushing through the portal. Utgard had been in such chaos that she hadn’t expected anyone to rally to her call, but vengeance was a powerful motivator. She had stood on the balcony and told her people that the one responsible for their suffering was out there, still struggling to once again rip their loved ones from their arms, and just like that, her armies mobilized.

Now here she was, Queen In-Unga of Jotunheim, facing down the enemy atop a howling vargr, her soldiers armed and ready behind her. She felt strangely calm.

I’m bringing Loki home.

He was here somewhere. Even if Strange hadn’t told her how he had been resurrected on the plains of Wakanda with the other fallen warriors, she would have known. She felt his steely resolve as he prepared for battle, let it swirl and mix with hers across the battlefield.

This is it.

When Thor shouted, she screamed with him. And then they were all running. The appeal of two nine-foot-tall wolves in combat was quickly apparent: her babies tore through alien fighters like rare steaks. Brynjarr didn’t even need to be directed; he seemed to know exactly where to go, when to duck, when to tackle. Bowie cleared a way through the chaos, trampling everyone in his path.

They zig-zagged across the battleground, In-Unga pressed tightly into Bryn’s fur to avoid shooting darts of light and projectiles flying through the air every which way, no clue who was shooting them. A roar consumed the land, built from rallying cries and death shrieks, guns shooting and bones cracking, and in the midst of all this pandemonium, she found him.

Loki threw his blades with a catlike grace, completely surrounded and yet completely in control, as if he had never left.

“Bryn!” she steered him left, and he understood instantly. Snarling, the wolves rushed the scene. Loki whipped around in shock, In-Unga barely registering his fleeting moment of confusion as she felt the thud of alien bodies crushed on the ground. When Loki called out her name she found she could barely breathe.

“Down!” she choked at Brynjarr. She slid off his back to unsteady legs and managed to hold back her tears until she threw her arms around her husband.

The battle faded away. She sobbed on his shoulder, drinking in the scent she thought she’d never experience again, relishing the way he gripped her so tightly she felt as though she might break. She clutched at him too, afraid that if she let go he’d disintegrate through her fingers. He whispered her name against her hair, that soft baritone she thought she’d never hear ever again, and she held him even closer.

He was the one to pull away first, cupping her cheek in his palm as he wiped her teardrops with his palm. His green eyes held her in their stare.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

In­-Unga exhaled, the tiniest laugh. Less than an hour ago he had been dead, and he was worried about her?

“Yeah,” she murmured. It was a tiny breath under the rage of battle, but somehow, she knew he heard. “I am now.”

…

“Come on, you scaredy-cat, it’s fine,” In-Unga laughed from atop Bowie on the beach at Márfjall.

“I’m not scared, just concerned.” Loki stood on the ground besides Brynjarr, the two sizing each other up suspiciously. For the most part, her husband and her wolves had been getting along well—at least, well enough. Bowie was still bitter that his place in In-Unga’s bed had been taken from him, and Bryn was untrusting by nature, but it was getting better. Loki still didn’t understand how creatures that showed such savagery on the battlefield could be so cuddly at home.

“Look, if I can do it without a problem, you certainly can manage.” Bowie whined as he shifted his weight between his feet, anxious to sprint down the red sand. She rubbed his neck and fixed Loki with a pointed stare.

He shook his head, smiling uneasily. “You’ve had five years of practice, love.”

“Yeah, which I never would’ve got if I hadn’t gotten on first.” She turned back to the small group watching behind them. “Give me some help here!”

Griep frowned, holding Dagný in her arms. “I don’t know, In-Unga. I don’t think vargrs are meant to carry people.”

“I thought you liked animals—”

“It’s a giant vargr—”

“Now, my precious ice-heart” Hross said, intertwining his fingers with hers. “In-Unga has proved time and time again that there are those more than capable of riding a wolf. Both myself and Prince Býleistr can attest to that.”

Býleistr chuckled. “She fell off the first time she tried.”

“No, no!” In-Unga whipped back to Loki. “That was on Bowie, because Bowie likes to be difficult.  Brynjarr has never given me a problem, which is why you’re going to try riding him.” Bowie gave an offended snort.

“I still can’t believe you can tell them apart,” Gjálp said. “They look exactly the same, smell exactly the same—”

“I told you, Bowie is the one with two different colored eyes!”

“But when you can’t see their eyes—”

Dali pulled at Hrossþjófr’s free arm. “Wanna ride wolf!”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” In-Unga groaned. “Loki, get on the damn wolf before I give your spot to a toddler.”

Loki huffed indignantly, but he pulled himself over Bryn’s back and into a sitting position. “Happy, wife?”

“Ecstatic,” she tried to maintain her stern, but the sight of him balancing haphazardly on the back of her wolf made it hard not to grin like an idiot. “Now, tell him to get up.”

“Get up, wolf,” he said emotionlessly.

Brynjarr looked at her in exasperation. Are you kidding me with this guy?

In-Unga sighed. “Tell him nicely.”

He through his hands in the air. “It’s a wolf!”

“Loki…”

“Fine.” He looked back down at Bryn. “Get up wolf, please.”

Behind them, Hross was cackling uncontrollably. In-Unga rolled her eyes. “I think that’s the best he’s gonna do Bryn,” she said. “Come on, up, up!”

Brynjarr grunted, but still hopped to his feet far more quickly than usual. Loki gasped as he struggled to right his balance. She pressed her hand to her mouth to muffle her giggles.

Loki scowled. “I hear you snickering over there. This is why I didn’t want to do this.”

“What do you mean?” she asked innocently. “You’re doing great, sweetie!”

He glared.

Oh, if looks could kill.

“Now what?” he asked sourly.

She leaned forward, clicking her tongue. “Now, you hold on, and try to keep up.”

“What—” Loki was cut off with a cry as the two wolves took off down the rusty beach. In-Unga laughed as they rode alongside each other, Loki clinging desperately to Bryn’s fur. His startled expression morphed into something more sinister when he noticed her amusement.

“I’m going to get you for this!” he yelled over the wind.

She grinned. “You better!”

In-Unga wouldn’t have it any other way.

[cuddlepilefics]

Whumptober Day 26 – Faint

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Jeongin

Caregiver: Stray Kids

 Jeongin’s POV.:

When I woke up this morning and glanced at my alarmclock, my heart stopped beating for a few seconds. I had slept in and was really late for my vocal lessons. It was always difficult when we had individual schedules because there was no one who’d make sure everybody is up on time. Jumping out of bed I threw on the first clothes that got into my hands, running a hand through my hair to smooth it down and grabbing a piece of gum instead of brushing my teeth. I left in a hurry, skipping breakfast in favor of meeting my vocal teacher on time. He was a very nice guy, as long as you didn’t make him wait. I usually preferred to be a little early but today I was satisfied when I ran into the studio right on time. From that point on it seemed like even though I didn’t have a great start into this day, it would go smoothly now. After vocal lessons I’d be meeting the rest of my group and the remaining day would consist of dance practice, so I planned to grab a bite to eat in between as kind of a late breakfast early lunch. Practicing a new song, my teacher asked me to sing it once more towards the end of the lesson even if it meant for me to stay a few minutes longer. Of course, I didn’t complain and received lots of praises for the progress I had made. Sadly, I was late now once again and not wanting to disappoint my hyungs, I sprinted straight down to the practice room. Bursting through the door panting, Hyunjin patted my back laughing: “Relax, you’re still on time.” I was slowly catching my breath and we started stretching. The choreography we wanted to work on today was a complicated on. Not only were the different moves challenging to coordinate, but it was also very fast. After practicing for only fifteen minutes Han lay on the ground complaining about his muscles burning only to be mocked by Hyunjin which ended in both of them play fighting each other on the floor. Chan wasn’t really having it with them today. “Guys, we haven’t even really started yet. I want you to take our practice sessions serious. We’ll get nowhere if you’re only fooling around the entire time. Your behavior is especially unfair on the rest of the members who are willing to work hard to achieve our dream”, Chan had stepped into full strict-leader-mode and the two fighting members immediately got up from the ground and onto their positions in our starting formation. Nobody, I tell you nobody wants to get a talking to from Chan when he is disappointed and I could fully understand why Jisung looked slightly panicked. He was just his usual goofy self and had no intention on holding our group back. As Minho went to start the music again, the mood in the practice room had changed. Everyone was serious now, trying their hardest to get the moves down mistake-free. There was no joking anymore between the rounds, if that was due to fear of Chan or simply because no one really had a breath to waste on speaking, I didn’t know. An hour into practice we had our first break wordlessly sipping on our bottles while trying to catch our breaths. Seungmin was lying in the center of the room spread out like a starfish whining quietly as Chan announced the end of the break. I walked over laughing and offered him a hand, grinning widely as he took it and let me pull him back onto his feet. He returned my smile before we both got into position.

We continued dancing but the music was stopped frequently to fix mistakes. During on of these times when Minho demonstrated the segment we were working on again, I suddenly felt dizzy. Hyunjin was standing closest to me and I wrapped my arms around him. He was the cuddliest member and it was easy to disguise me moment of weakness as a hug, holding on to him till the dark spots had faded. Hyunjin didn’t question me and instead hugged me back till I let go and returned to me spot, painfully aware of the warning look Chan shot my way. Chan-hyung usually was a bit more lax when it came to me, seeing as I was the maknae, but still he wanted me to work hard. I wasn’t going to disappoint him and kept giving it my all, throwing all my energy in every move I made. It paid off as I got many praises from my hyungs, especially from Minho and Hyunjin. That made me really proud and smiled at them brightly. I kept up my happy exterior but inside it slowly got harder to focus. As time passed I slowly started messing up, the moves I had pulled off precisely earlier had turned more sluggish, if I even managed to pull them off at all. It felt like my brain was always one step behind and apparently so was my dancing. “Alright, take five!”, Chan announced, resulting in my members either dropping to the ground groaning or bending over with their hands on their knees panting. “Jeongin-ah, you did so well earlier, don’t slack-off now” – “Yes, Chan-hyung, I’ll do better next time.”, I replied out of breath. My stomach had started to hurt a bit but I saw no reason to bring it up in front of my hyungs, knowing it was just hunger pain and would go away as soon as I had a meal later. My hyungs would only worry unnecessarily, they always worried about me. I mean, it’s kind of cute having some overprotective older brothers and I always felt loved around them. On the other hand though, I was an adult like them and I wanted to be their equal, not always be looked down on. I could handle myself, or so I thought.

Our break was over almost as soon as it started. Unsurprisingly to me, I didn’t do better the next time. The few sips of water I had taken changed nothing about the floaty feeling that had settled in my brain. I felt like I was in a dream, my mind and body not really connected. That showed in my dancing, as my body struggled to follow the instructions given by my brain. Seungmin walked over to me: “Hey, are you ok, Innie? You had it all down perfectly fine earlier, why are you struggling now?” Ugh, bad choice of words. I hated to have them think or know I was struggling. Putting on a smile I replied: “I’m fine, hyung. Just getting a little tired but I’ll try harder next time.” – “Don’t worry, Innie. Most of us are, we’ll call it a day soon. All of you, give it your all for maybe thirty more minutes, then we’ll go home, yeah? Just thirty more minutes”, Chan encouraged after noticing the frown that had spread amongst the group at my comment. I nodded looking at the ground, more in my own world than really present in the practice room. Seungmin patted my shoulder before walking back to his position and I stood up a bit straighter. Thirty minutes, I can get through this. My stomach grumbled but was luckily drowned out by the music that had started up again. Those thirty minutes felt like an eternity but finally Chan clapped his hands: “Alright guys, we’re done. Let’s pack up.” While most of my hyungs dropped to the ground groaning, I walked over to my bag, afraid I wouldn’t be able to get back up if I lay down too. Picking up my water I chugged the rest of the bottle down before shoving it into my bag. I had given it my all but I kept messing up till the very end and I knew Chan was slightly disappointed in me. I checked the time and to my surprise it was already seven in the evening. Not being able to resist anymore and not caring about how I’d get up later, I sat down next to my bag leaning back against the wall. Closing my eyes, I listened to the whines as the other members pushed off of the ground to pack up their bags too. “No sleeping yet, Innie!”, Hyunjin laughed shaking me. Giving him a tired smile, I pushed myself up and swung my bag over my shoulder. That might have been a little fast… As soon as I was upright, my vision turned black and I drew a shaky breath as I felt myself fall sideways.

 Hyunjin’s POV.:

God, as much as I love dancing, today was cruel. I dabbed my face dry before stuffing my towel into my bag and packing everything up. Our maknae seemed to be asleep, having already packed up. I felt sorry for him, he did really well when we started but towards the end he seemed to have completely run out of energy. I walk over and shake his arm lightly. He smiled at me cutely before getting up but then my heart almost stopped. His smile was gone suddenly, face whiter than the wall behind me as his eyes closed and he crumpled down. I managed to grab him just in time before he could hit the ground. The exhaustion I had felt just a moment prior vanished as adrenalin seared through my veins. “Fuck, Innie, hey. Look at me!”, I yell, shaking his arm roughly. He didn’t even move. Chan hurried over and knelt down next to me. Placing one hand on my shoulder to calm me down, he used the other to gently pat our maknae’s cheek: “Innie, you hear me?” Still no reaction. Realizing what was going on, Minho ran over, lifting Innie’s legs up a bit while the others were frozen in shock. With tears running down my cheeks I give my dongsaeng another shake, hearing Han sob behind me. Groaning, our youngest squeezed his eyes shut before blinking slowly. “Hey, you back with us?”, Chan asked, leaning over Innie trying to catch his attention. The younger hummed, pressing his hands to his head mumbling incoherently. “Sorry, what was that?”, Chan leaned closer. “’m dizzy, head hurts”, Innie whispered, breaking my heart. Minho placed his legs down gently, allowing him to sit up as soon as he was ready to. Wiping my tears on my sleeve, I pick his hand up, rubbing comforting circles on it with my thumb. Han came carrying a water bottle and offered Innie some, but although he sat up slowly the younger shook his head and pushed the bottle away, wrapping an arm around his stomach. That’s when Chan’s interrogation started: “Are you ok now?” a nod. “Do you know why that happened?” a shrug, “You drank enough water?” another nod. “Ate enough?” hesitation. “I didn’t really eat yet”, our maknae mumbled, trying to hide his face with his hands. I was shocked, my baby had been starving all day? No wonder he didn’t have anymore energy. I scoot closer, wrapping him up in a hug: “Innie, why would you do that? You’re so skinny, you need to eat. Where do you think you’ll get the energy to dance from? Hm?” – “H-hyung, I’m sorry. There was no time.”, he sounded genuinely ashamed now. “There is always time for food”, Chan argued, resulting in Innie’s lip starting to shake a bit. “I slept in a-and barely arrived to m-my vocal l-lesson on time a-and then the l-lesson took l-longer and I couldn’t e-eat because I-I sprinted straight h-here.” I tightened my grip as the tears spilled, my dongsaeng shaking slightly in my arms. “Why didn’t you tell anyone? We would have given you a break to eat something. We had just assumed you had eaten before practice like we did”, Chan frowned, reaching out a hand to wipe the tears from Innie’s face. “I-I d-don’t know.” I looked up, seeing Seungmin crouch down next to me. “Innie, can you look at me?”, the second youngest smiled sadly while stroking his dongsaeng’s arm. Making eye contact he opened a granola-bar passing it to the youngest.

 Jeongin’s POV.:

Trying to calm my breathing, I started chewing on the granola-bar handed me and thanked him with a shy smile. This was not how I had planned my day to go. My attempt to not worry my hyungs ended with me fainting, giving them quite a scare. I leaned my still spinning head back against Hyunjin-hyung’s chest. With every bite I took, I was made more aware of the starving empty feeling in my tummy and the bar was finished quickly. “Let’s go home and get you a proper meal”, Hyunjin cooed, getting up and pulling me with him. Bad idea, my legs were shaking and I clung onto his arms trying to keep my balance. Seeing me sway, Chan-hyung quickly stepped closer and scooped me up in his strong arms. “Sorry”, I mumbled, weakly leaning my head on his shoulder. “Don’t be sorry. We are sorry, it is our job as your hyungs to take care of you and we didn’t even notice our maknae was starving”, Chan replied sounding guilty. Great, now he was blaming himself, that was absolutely not my intention. “’s not your fault though, should be old enough to take care of myself. You’re a good hyung.”, I tried to reassure him.

Changbin’s and Han’s search of their bags had turned up two more protein bars that I tiredly nibbled on while Chan carried me back to the dorm. In any other circumstances I would have fought him, insisting to walk on my own but I had accepted defeat the second Hyunjin had pulled me to my feet. One of the others, supposedly Minho, must have taken my bag because I found it in my room later, but I was to out of it to really know what was going on around me. I knew that Felix was walking next to Chan because he kept talking to me: “You know, we made pancakes for breakfast this morning.” Ouch, that did spike some jealousy in me. I loved pancakes. Seeing my frown, he was quick to add: “Don’t worry, we know you love them so we set some aside. I’ll go get them as soon as we get home.” Oh my god, I’ll have pancakes, that might even save my day. Although I still feel shitty physically the expectation of getting pancakes soon was something to look forward to.

Back at the dorm Chan put me down on the sofa while everyone else went to put their things away and then wait for their turn taking a shower. Felix had gone straight to the kitchen and Chan followed soon after. I could hear them arguing: “Don’t you think he should eat something healthy first, Lixxie?”, Chan frowned at the younger who lathered my pancakes with a generous amount of Nutella. “Nah, trust me hyung, that’ll get his bloodsugar up in no time” – “Yeah, no doubt.” – “I trust Felix-hyung on this one”, I piped in from my place on the sofa earning a beaming smile from the younger Aussie. “I guess as long as he eats it’s alright”, Chan threw his hands up exasperatedly as he walked out of the kitchen missing how Felix dipped the knife into the jar of Nutella for a second time while wiggling his eyebrows at me. Boy did he know me well. He also grabbed some strawberries from the fridge, arranging them in a circle around the stack of pancakes yelling after our leader: “Hyung, I added some fruit, it’s healthy now.” I giggled, sitting up straighter as Felix walked over to me. “Thanks, hyungie!”, I beamed as he handed me the plate and I immediately dug in. My last bit of resistance was gone as I tasted the first bit of Nutella on my tongue. Yeah, the pancakes might have been slightly burned but considering who’s cooking skill this was I was quite happy with how they had turned out. I kept switching between bites of pancake and dipping strawberries into the Nutella that was covering pretty much every inch of the plate. Felix sat next to me on the sofa keeping me company while I ate. When I was about halfway through my stack of pancakes, I could feel my energy starting to return. I felt more like myself now, my mind wasn’t a step behind anymore. By the time I was done most of the other members were done showering. Han had taken Felix spot at some point, sending his younger twin to take his turn showering. When Felix came back and took a seat next to Chan the leader laughed at him: “Have you successfully given our maknae diabetes now?” Felix shocked and hurt expression had the group break into a fit of laughter. I stood up to bring my plate to the kitchen and take a shower too as I was stopped by our leader speaking up once more, significantly more serious this time: “Innie, are you feeling alright now?” When he saw me nod smiling, he deemed me emotionally ready for the scolding I probably deserved for not taking care of myself: “Good. Don’t do that again, ok? That was dangerous and irresponsible, you could have gotten seriously hurt. And I’m sure I’m speaking for everyone here when I say you almost gave us a heart-attack. It’s alright, schedules can get busy and tight-packed but if you miss the chance to eat then at least talk to us so we can see how we fit a small snack-break in. Guys, that isn’t only meant for Innie, I know quite a few of you would have acted the same way in order to make it to your schedule on time, so if someone misses their meal, please communicate this information. We will work out a solution together. I don’t want a repetition of today.” Seeing as everyone was quick to agree, I apologized once more before heading off to shower. My hyungs had their own meal as I was getting ready and when I returned to the living room in some comfy clothes, they had already set up for a movie night and we all filed up to cuddle on the sofa and the floor in front of it. I guess no matter how bad my day had started and how much worse it managed to get, my hyungs always had the power to make things times better in the end.

[lordofcrowns]

DRUNKEN SAILOR  //  ARCHIVE LINK

Despite the encroaching night, the docks were still bustling. Burly workers milled about, sailors and merchants alike going about the last of their business for the day, the latter hawking wares and seeking to crack open the coin purse of any passerby they could convince.

This far north, the leaves on the trees grew a medley of color ranging from rich indigo to bright cobalt blue, now dusted with a sugary coating of peach and amber sunset lighting. Speckled between the deep blues were flames of orange, brightly burning street lamps that marked the way up the cobblestone steps from the docks into town. Thick clouds hung over the shore, tinged the same colors as the sunset, save one heavy grey cloud that threatened rain. A watercolor painting, all reflected in the mirror of the sea.

On a cliff overlooking the scene was the local inn and tavern. Oil lanterns and tattered banners swayed in the wind, beckoning travelers and locals alike inside, out of the biting cold. On an icy northern night like this, few could resist the comforts of a warm hearth, strong drinks, and good company.

[ MUSIC // AMBIANCE // ARCHIVE LINK ]

Unsurprisingly. The tavern itself was seething with activity. After all, any who were willing to keep the peace were welcome here. Many even hung their weapon belts at the door - trusting the town guard to see to their safety. Red cherry wood was stained purple, drenched in the shade of the cool evening. The building was old - a big, open space with two floors and several hearths, built of stout timber and set upon a sturdy stone foundation. Rugs covered the stone floor, thick curtains kept the draft out, and soft furs were draped over furniture.

In the center of the main hall, down from the ceiling grew one of the local trees, a great spectacle of vibrant blue foliage and inky black branches - limbs that stretched down and had been tied and trained to hold the many, many lanterns flickering brilliant gold and crimson through old, smoke-stained glass, that together made a chandelier. A blend of different tongues, all overlapping and fighting to be heard over one another, caused a din that made it difficult for the innkeeper and her customer to hear themselves.

“Iyrngybet… what you’ve given me here is not even half of what you owe.”

“Aye… that is the right of it, lass.”

The burly Roegadyn man awkwardly rubbed the back of his head and avoided the eyes of the innkeeper. The woman was smaller than him practically by half, but her no-nonsense air had him shuffling his feet and pouting like a schoolboy being disciplined. She sighed at him with rather evident disappointment, but did not seem angry.

“Well… I have horses that need grooming and stalls that need cleaning.”

The Hyur woman hardly had the time to finish her sentence before the brawny man was wrapping his arms around her and picking her up in a tight bearhug. Luckily for her, the rafters in the ceiling were high, so she did not risk hitting her head despite the way he twirled her around.

“Oh, yer a gem, Maude! A right gem!”

“Yes, yes…” Maude did her best to sound exasperated, but the laughter in her voice was palpable. “Put me down, please.”

“O’course.”

He very gingerly set her down, and the freckled woman brushed her skirt free of the many wrinkles the unexpected hug had put in it.

“I will expect you bright and early tomorrow morning, sixth bell. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly!”

Maude, the innkeeper and tavern’s owner, felt a good deal older than her twenty and six summers. A hyur woman with a sharp wit but a kind heart, she opened the tavern and inn to any who would keep the peace, and who agreed to comply with the local guard who watched her door.

Her dress was a layering of mismatched petticoats, cream linen, and an old, many times mended hempen bodice, laced haphazardly with fraying jute cord. Her auburn brown hair was tied back in a long, loosely plaited braid that reached her hip in total length, wrapped about her temple and tying underneath her long hair was the one fine thing she owned - a vivid blue silk sash.

As the tavern’s sole proprietor and the only staff she could truly afford, Maude had her hands full filling and refilling drinks, fetching dried meat and loaves of bread, and assigning rooms to the sailors and travellers as they came and went.

She didn’t mind, though - she liked to be kept busy, and in her handful of years living here, she had grown to love the town, the tavern, and its people. The majority of her customers were regulars she knew by name, the other sailors she vaguely recognized when they passed through during certain months.

There was, however, one figure present this evening she did not recognize at all. He was mild-mannered, unobtrusive - he spoke to the guard before entering and even agreed to leave his sword belt at the door. And much to her delight he paid his coin without hesitation, excuse, or flimsy attempts at bartering. He was garbed in a dusty matte black coat, layered over a simple leather doublet and creamy, low-cut white shirt. Brass buttons had been worn down over time, seams stretched and quilted lapels scuffed from wear and tear. He had introduced himself as a sailor, and he had the look of one. He had thick brown hair and one piercing, gold eye, the left - the right was covered with a leather patch, a relatively common feature amongst sailors. His skin was tan, the corners of his eyes wrinkled, but only in a way that really showed when he smiled.

There was little unnatural or unusual about the Miqo’te, save perhaps a certain lazy grace with which he moved and carried himself. As the evening carried on, she found herself paying him more attention. There was a brooding expression on his face, an almost alarming focus that furrowed his brow and tightened his jaw, that with a suave charm was instantaneously covered once he felt eyes on him. It took him no time at all to warm up to the locals and join in with the drinking.

He held aloft a full tankard, by nature of his height towering over most of his newfound company. He had a gruff, guttural, but still somehow charming singing voice.

“Hey ho, to the bottle I go! To heal my heart and drown my woe. Rain may fall, and wind may blow, But there’ll still be many malms to go! Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain, And the river that runs from hill to plain. Better than rain or a rippling brook, Is a mug of beer that brings me luck!”

This unfamiliar sailor had enough of a boom behind his voice that it filled the room right up to the brim, but even it threatened to be drowned out by the laughter and chorus of voices that joined in alongside it to sing the familiar diddy. A beat rose up, a mix of boots stomping against the wood and fists slamming into tabletops. Maude was sure she had never seen the tavern so full, or so lively.

Iyrngybet was perhaps the loudest and rowdiest of all those drinking, though despite this he always handled himself well. He was the friendly, rambunctious sort - even without the drink. And much to Maude’s relief, he and this new stranger seemed to get on rather well. They were clapping each other on the back and toasting tankards together between verses. The last note of the stranger’s song faded out to thunderous applause and hollers. The Roegadyn wasted no time then in striking up a new rhythm and bellowing out the words to a new ditty. Another popular song, an age old warning about pirates and thieves, the ones that come for naughty children in the night.

“My mother said he listens  My father’s seen him walk  Stay in bed, asleep at home  Be spared the slaver’s lock.

 With whip he’ll bind your ankles  Blind your eyes with sash and cord  And if you cry out in the night  Alone he’ll take you aboard.

 The slaver snake, he waits  With coiled whip and black clad hand  Beware the viper's bite, my son  Fear Captain Stacy's brand!”

Iyrngybet drained the last of his tankard amidst many cheers, and resounding boos for the pirate in question that the song had referenced.

“Haven’t heard that one since I was a wee child, eh?” A patron said to her as she refilled their proffered glass.

“Indeed,” She replied. “I fear much to his dismay, dear Iyrngybet ages himself by nature of his song choice.”

Though her feet ached and she longed nothing more than to sit down and enjoy a moment’s quiet, Maude couldn’t help but smile and readied herself to pour another round of drinks. At the very least, this stranger and his charm with the crowd made for good beverage sales.

Still, his charm left her with an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach. She brushed it off as the excitement of having a new face in town, for after all - it was a rather rare occasion.

Down on the docks, five score sailors were disembarking an unmarked sloop, leaving behind the now pitch black sea and heading up the hill towards the wintery blue forest, and the tavern itself. They moved swiftly and silently, light footsteps barely seeming to touch the ground they tread upon. They wore matching colors of black and gold, and not a word was spoken between them. Hand signals were made, and packs began to peel away, moving through the town and into the woods. All the while, that grey cloud still lingering in the midnight sky grew darker and darker. A storm was imminent.

“Hail to you, good ser. If you seek accommodations for the evening, I have beds for rent.”

The Miqo’te leaned gently from one side to another, fighting to keep himself even slightly upright, before simply nodding. Maude bowed her head and made every effort not to smile at his drunkenness, lest the stranger take offense.

“A room is five-hundred gil. Have you the coin to pay?”

Before she’d even fully finished her question, the Miqo’te had set down a small leather satchel of gil on the bar. Maude pulled the coin purse towards her, counting out what was owed to her swiftly and returning the excess, as well as the pouch, to their owner. She tucked the gil away in the safe kept beneath the counter before straightening up and tossing her scarf back over her shoulder.

“Right this way, then…” Maude used a small key she kept on her person to open a wide, flat drawer beneath her bar, within which were nestled many similarly shaped keys. She selected one and extended her arm.

“I will show you to your room.”

The man simply nodded, pushing himself back a pace from the bar before falling in behind her. He wobbled precariously now and then, after a time deigning to reach his right hand out to trace fingertips along the wall in an effort to steady himself. They ascended a flight of steps, walking at a leisurely pace around the upper level of the atrium of the tavern, where the Miqo’te had to transition to leaning against the wooden banister to keep himself upright. Maude walked slowly, leaving her guest ample room to catch up without rushing him, and meanwhile glanced down at the still drinking and dining patrons below. Laughter still bellowed upwards towards the rafters now and again, but a few - like the Miqo’te she now escorted - were content to begin finding their ways to their beds.

Along the balcony of the atrium they walked, to the far side of the brilliant chandelier and blossoming tree branches, and down a hallway that provided some small shelter from the loud volume of the guests, was the available room she’d chosen for him. She unlocked it and pushed the door open, stepping back and meaning to hand off his key to him. But when she turned around, she could only stifle a small chuckle. He had stopped perhaps five fulms behind her, and was now leaning with his elbow against the wall, head nestled into the crook of his arm. She cleared her throat, swallowing her laughter before addressing him.

“Ser...?”

Maude’s voice trailed off as she noticed he seemed to be very quietly humming yet another drunken ditty. His mumblings could hardly be considered lyrics, but she recognized the tune as one of the ones sung earlier in the night.

“My mother said he listens  My father’s seen him walk  Stay in bed, asleep at home  Be spared the slaver’s lock…”

She smiled to herself, thumbing over the key in her hands and simply hoping the man would find himself just enough to make it to the room he’d paid for. His voice replying to her snapped her out of thoughts.

“How old were you the first time you heard that song?”

“Hm? Why, I suppose I was just a girl when I-”

Maude glanced back up towards him, eyeing him curiously. For perhaps the first time the entire night, she stopped and truly looked at this sailor. She noted the cleverness present in his face. The odd, unsettlingly crooked smile hovering at the corners of his mouth, the dangerous alertness visible in the one, glittering eye she was permitted to see. The way his body wasn’t shaking or swaying at all anymore.

He had been deceiving her all night. This man was not drunk at all.

Now that she was up close to him, Maude couldn’t help but squint at the way she could swear his entire presence seemed to flicker. His thick brown hair seemed to catch the lantern light in bright flashes of turquoise blue, the dusty brass buttons of his coat giving way to brilliant gold.

The longer she studied him, the colder Maude felt. But he just smiled at her, slowly straightening up to his full height. Having regained control of her tongue enough to stop staring dumbfounded, she took a respectful step back, once more offering his room’s key to him. It took every ounce of strength and self control not to stutter or give away her discomfort. She didn’t know who she was dealing with, or why he would lie, but it made fear grip her cold. She knew to be careful.

“You make strange conversation, ser. I think bed rest would do you well. If you need anything else, you need only ask.”

“Or perhaps you are like me.” Though she attempted to change the subject, the Miqo'te overrode her. “Placing little stock in such fanciful tales.”

He spoke slowly and softly, but this did little to dissipate the Hyur’s nerves. She realized immediately that this man had her backed into a corner, and out of the line of sight of the other patrons for the moment.

“Pray, rest easy.”

His voice was like a purr. A quiet rumble deep in his chest. It was as if he’d read her mind, or perhaps he had seen her eyes flick momentarily over towards the hallway behind him.

“I do hope you will forgive my belated introduction.”

Something translucent like scales seemed to ripple and fall from his body as the glamour dissipated. Brown hair instead shone a seafoam teal, worn long save for the short buzz on either side of his temples. The dusty, worn-in coat was now shed for a clean, elegant looking black and gold uniform. There was not a single seam or wrinkle out of place. Polished gold at his shoulders emblazoned with a calligraphic “S” denoted his rank. His hands were covered with a pair of oily black gloves, and adorned with gold rings. One such hand went behind his back, the other in front of him, as he gifted the innkeeper a formal bow, still smiling.

“Captain Cyril Stacy, a pleasure to meet you.”

The Hyur caught her breath a moment, eyes tracing over the man now before her, unsure if they could even be called the same person. As was quite common among some Miqo’te, his breeding was written practically in ink along every sharp line of his face, in his imposing silhouette and broad shoulders. And, despite his casual, perhaps almost jovial demeanor and the superficial camaraderie among the tavern folk earlier in the night, his voice had the immistakible, careless authority of someone wholly accustomed to being obeyed.

She knew the name, she knew the song, she knew the stories. She knew exactly who this man claimed to be.

“Are you mad, or brilliant?” She whispered. “Drawing attention to yourself all evening like that, my good Captain…” She spat his title at him with contempt crisp against her teeth, a mixture of mockery and disbelief. “Among my patrons there is no shortage of bounty hunters. Adventurers who would be eager to claim the prize you proclaim yourself to be.”

Cyril merely chuckled quietly and shook his head.

“You think me more reckless than I am, love. Your patrons will hardly remember the evening.”

Confusion was plastered all over the innkeeper’s face until she took a few moments to listen carefully. It was quiet. The laughter, the chatter, it had all died down.

“What have you done?”

Worry boiled over into panic and Maude picked up her skirts, shuffling sheepishly a few steps aside from Cyril. When he made no move to stop her or block her path, she darted back towards the atrium. She grabbed the banister and leaned over worriedly, taking in the disturbingly quiet scene before her.

A lucky few had made it to the comfortable, fur-draped chairs that surrounded the crackling hearth. The others dozed at their tables, slumped over with heads resting atop folded arms or even one another. A few of the most unfortunate simply collapsed, sprawled out over the bearskin rugs or slumped down in a heap against the wall. It was as if they had been put under a spell, none of them so much as twitched or shuffled in their sleep.

Heavy, slow footsteps behind her alerted her of Cyril’s approach, followed closely by his still quiet voice. As he stalked up behind her, he pulled a kerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the sides of his neck clean of the rum he’d splashed on it to make him smell intoxicated.

“Rest assured, they are not harmed.”

These were her patrons, her people - when they came to her establishment they were in her charge. That this man had so easily weaseled his way in and drugged every drinker was a thought both terrifying and humiliating. Anger boiled in her blood, and without thinking she whirled around and pulled her hand back to strike the man in the face. In the middle of her motion she seemed to realize what she was doing was unwise, and in that split second of hesitation, Cyril reached up and grabbed her wrist before she had the chance to slap him. He still spoke softly, even as he threatened nonchalantly to crush her arm in his grip.

“You ought to be thanking me. I may very well have rescued your floundering business from the softness of your heart.”

Maude grimaced and attempted to tug her arm away, to no avail.

“I beg your pardon?”

In one fluid movement, Cyril spun her around - holding her arm behind her as he marched her back over towards the railing. He reached his arm about her and rested his free hand on the banister while he directed her attention to the dozing patrons.

“Look at the sorry lot of them. Drunkards and beggars. Doubtless, some wretched sod lies in a heap behind the building, threatening to drown in his own vomit. Those that can stand up leave the next morning without paying what they owe, to return again the following eve. Such people are worthless if left to their own devices.”

Maude’s bright eyes darted from one sleeping form to another - Iyrngybet, Damien, Eliza, Ihri'a, Bardi, Oshonne… She knew them by name! They were her townspeople, her friends, her family. And to hells with it if they couldn’t always pay in coin! They paid her back in other ways, helping her tend to the establishment. To her, that was more than enough.

“Rapacious man! Does your black heart beat only for coin? A man drowned in the drink is more honorable than you’ll ever be.”

“Oh, my darling. You wound me with such harsh words. I am not an evil man. You should know...”

As he spoke, his hand left the bannister, gloved fingers sliding up to caress and curl about Maude’s bare neck.

“I do this for you.”

Maude snarled and wrestled herself free of the Miqo’te, scrambling a few paces away from him and whipping around to face him. Again, he made no move to hold her in his grasp, nor to stop her from wriggling free. And even as she glared at him with fire in her eyes, she was well aware her efforts to free herself of his hold were only successful because he allowed them to be.

“Wh-what in the world? How dare you insinuate I would do business with your kind!”

“Abandoned by an unfaithful husband.” The pirate began. “A beloved sister, dead so young.” He took a step towards her as he spoke. “Aging and ailing parents, to whom you send every small amount of coin you can spare…”

Maude’s heart was racing. How much did this man know? So beside herself with shock was she, the innkeeper didn’t realize she’d been shuffling away from him until her back hit the wall. He brushed her hair back behind her shoulders, tracing his hand along her cheek to her chin and tilting her face up to look at him.

“And a kind heart. One far too soft for business. But you need not worry any longer. I will look after you.”

He smiled softly at Maude, keeping his one eye on her as he brought his other hand to his ear just long enough to tap the receiver of his linkpearl.

“Move in.”

There was a bright blue flash of light and almost instantaneously a resounding boom as what was surely lightning split the sky above the tavern. The door to the tavern flung back on its hinges, the guard that should have been watching it absent from his post, as uniformed sailors filed into the building. Maude yelped and shrunk back in surprise. Through the glass windows she could vaguely make out the silhouette of a massive airship, shrouded in a thick, unnatural fog that it seemed to use as a cover, teetering precariously close to the cliff.

And at the sixth bell of the next morning, Iyrngybet - like so many others - was nowhere to be found.

[anyafm]

well   hello   friends   ,   my   names   tali   ,   i’m   19   ,   from   the   gmt    timezone   &   mishti   eating   @   70%   of   the   gifs   i   have   of   hers   is   my   personal   aesthetic   .   this   took   an  embarassingly   long   amount   of   time  to   get   done  but   below   u   will   get   some   more   info   on   anya   &   her   personality  &   some   wanted   connections   .   i’m   very   excited    to  play   this   dumbass   ,   so   if   u  wanna   plot   w   her   ,  drop  a   like   &  i  will   slide   into   ur   ims   !

new   york’s   very   own   anya   khalil   was   spotted   on   broadway   street   in   buscemi   100 mm   diamond   sneakers    .   your   resemblance   to   mishti   rahman   is   unreal   .   according   to   tmz   ,   you   just   had   your   twenty   fifth   birthday    bash   .   while   living   in   nyc   ,    you’ve   been   labeled   as   being    tempestuous   ,   but   also   impassioned   .   i   guess   being   a    scorpio   explains   that   .   3   things   that   would   paint   a   better   picture   of   you   would   be   glass   shattering   against   bedroom   walls   ,    screaming   matches   in   public   places   ,    red   wine   stain   in   a   white   dress    .   (    i’m   being   blackmailed   by   my   former   friend’s   boyfriend   after   sleeping   w   him   &   having   it   recorded   to   get   back   at   her    )   &   (    cisfemale   &   she/her    )  

𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒

𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆  :  anya khalil   . 𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆  :  any  ,  n/a  . 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆  𝒐𝒇  𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉  /  𝒂𝒈𝒆  :   november   fourteenth   /  twenty  five  yrs  old  . 𝒐𝒄𝒄𝒖𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏  :  social   media   influencer   /  singer  &  songwriter  . 𝒔𝒆𝒙𝒖𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚  :  bisexual    . 𝒗𝒐𝒊𝒄𝒆  𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒎  :  halsey   /  lorde  /   fletcher   ish   . 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒎   :   mishti  rahman  .

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘

anya  was  born  in  bangladesh   ,   to  a   very   fortunate   couple  .  her  father   came  from   a  political   dynasty   who   spent  a  big   part  of  his   life   studying  in  the  us  ,   and  met  his  wife   there  during  a  business  trip  later   on   in   life   .   he   was  in  his   late  thirties   &  she  was  a  20   something  yr  old   bengali  girl   who  was   trying  to  make  it  as  a  model  &  they   fell  in   love  quickly   and   were   almost  immediately   married  .  however  ,  with  the   new   exposure   ,   came   the   sudden   expansion   of   her   mom’s   modeling   career   &   children   took   a   very   long   backburner   in   her   mind  .   when   she   decided   she   was   ready   to   be   a   mother   ,   they   found   out   they   were   going   to   have   trouble   getting   pregnant   .   it   took   the   couple   several   years    &    multiple   different   treatments   ,   all   over   the   globe   for   a   pregnancy   to   happen   ,   and   since   her   mom   was   almost   forty   at   that   point   ,   it   was   a   very   risky   one   ,   there  were   a   lot   of   complications   and   anya   was   born   a   very   sickly   child   ,   who   needed   a   lot   of   assistance   &   care   .

so   ,   considering   her   difficult   beginnings   in   life  ,   how   hard   it’d   been   for   her   mom   to   even   get  pregnant   &   how   late   in   their   life   it’d    happened   (   her    dad   was   almost   60   when   she   was   born   )   ,   anya    was   a   very   spoiled   child   ,   rules   were    unusually   lax   when   it   came   to  her   ,   and   even   in   a   very   traditional   household   ,   she   was   allowed   to   behave   in   whatever   way   she   wanted   .   anya   grew   up   really   rebellious   ,  unsurprisingly   .   she   wasn’t   disrespectful  on   any   way   ,   but   she   marched   to   the   beat   of   her   own   drum    &  never   met   any   kind   of   norm  ,   specially   among   the   family   friends   ,   most   of   them   coming   from   as   traditional   backgrounds   as   her   own   family  .   basically   ,   she   never   really   fit  in  within   her   relatives   &   friend   groups   ,   but   she   loved   her   parents   dearly   &   was    still   very   happy   with   her   life   .   

she   was    a   very   artsy   child   ,   she   loved   drawing   &   painting  &   making   the   most   weird   pieces   of   clay   art   anyone   had   ever   seen   .   writing   only   became   a   thing  as   she  grew   older   ,  and  music  was  the  last  of   her   passions   to  manifest   ,   but   they   were   the   ones   she   grew   the   most   passionate   about   the  most   quickly  .   her   dad   actually   passed   away  when   she   was   17   years   .   he   was   at   his   late   seventies   by   then   ,   but   she   was   still   heartbroken   over  it   &   so  was   her   mother   .   so   ,   when   she   was  18    and   the  opportunity   came   for   her   to  move   to   new   york   city   for   college  ,  both   anya   and   her   mother   packed   their   bags   and  left   bangladesh   ,   leaving   her   father’s   company   to   be   run   by   her   uncle   .   

new   york   city  was   completely   a   completely   different   environment  to  the  one  she   was   used   to   .  she   had   visited   a   few   times   but   had   never   spent   too   long    &   found  out   she   loved   it   .  it   took   a   very   short   period   of   time  until   she   started   getting   instagram   famous   ,  since   her   mother  had   been   famous   even   in   the   western   fashion   industry    ,   &   anya   was   always   seen  hanging   out   with   a listers    .   her   social   media   was   filled   with    her  poetry   &   snippets   of   songs   she   was   constantly   writing   in    the  terrace   of   her   penthouse   .   &    by   the   time   she  was   20  ,   anya   had  already   been   signed   to   a   record  label    .   since   then   ,   she   released    one   album   &   two   eps   ,   the   ep’s   charting   at  top  5  radio  &   the   album   making   it   to  the  number  1   spot   for   a   few   weeks   &   she’s   currently    working   on   her   second   studio   fulll   length   record   .   she   is   still  very   close   to   her   mom  &   they   hang   out   all   the  time   ,   &   she’s   only   been   to   bangladesh   for   very   short   visits   ever   since   she   left   .

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒

a   Mess™   .   anya   is   the   most   dramatic   ,   emotional   ,   over   the  top  person   ,   with   possibly   the   most   amount   of   chaotic   energy   you   will   ever   meet   .   she   always   will   do   whatever   she   wants   to  ,   no   matter   what   anyone   tells   her   .   will   make   a  big   deal   out   of   ANYTHING   &   10/10   will   be   sipping   on   that   dumb   bitch   juice   .   claims   she’s  trying   her   best   but   honestly  just   keep   making   the   worst   choices   .  honestly   ,   her   secret   is   that   she’s   being   blackmailed   by   a   former   friend’s   ex   because   she   slept   with   him   to   get   back   at   her   .   dumb  bitch   energy   ?   uh   yeah   ,   but   at   least   she   got   her   revenge   ,   ami   right  ?

anya   feels   all   things  at   an  extreme   ,   but   her   emotions   can   also   be   severely   fickle   as   well  .   she   can   change   her  mind  about   hobbies    and   people   very   quickly   &   go  from   crazy   love   to   just   indifference   in   2   seconds   .   that  being   said  ,   her   emotions   do   run  wild   ,   and  you   never  know   what   she’s   gonna   do   or   feel   or   how  she’s   gonna   react   to   certain   situations   .   can   also   be   extremely   petty   and   vengeful   ,   &   if   she  feels   hurt   ,  she  tends   to  want   to  hurt   you   back   ,   in  whatever   painful   way   she   can   ,   as  you   can  see   above   .   also   has   a   really   bad   time   putting   herself   in   other   people’s   shoes   ? 

is  very  bougie  &   classy   but   also   will   not   hesitate   to   get   on   a   screaming   match   in   the   middle   of   a   fancy   dinner   if   she   feels   like   it   .   loves   going   on   adventures   .   probably   that   one   friend   who   will   call   you   from   the   police   station   to   be   picked  up   because   she  got   in  trouble   .   ALL   IN   ALL   ,   super   fun   to   be   around   for   a   while   ,   but   it   takes   a   special    type   of    person   to   stick   around   .   lmao  

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃   𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 

i   have   some   stuff   on   my   tag   right   here   that   i   would   love   to  have   ,   &   also   some   ideas   that   are  pretty   bad   &   generic  !   but    here  they   are   :

on   &   off   friends   ,   an   ex   she   probably   did   dirty   ,   first   love   ,   ride   or   dies   ,   friends   with  benefits   ,    someone  really   well   put   together   she   can   annoy   ,   someone   she   digs   but   doesn’t   happen   for   some   reason   or   another   ,   one  night  stand   that   are   kinda   not   one  night   anymore   .

[illyrianwingspans]

Do Not Go Gentle: Red Dust

Link to song: Red Dust (acoustic) by Vincent James McMorrow

Synopsis: Game night for the Inner Circle! What could possibly go wrong?

TW: Mentions of suicide and domestic abuse. Please read with caution.

Ao3 link

Chapter 18: Red Dust

“Another hotel on Pennsylvania avenue, please,” Mor asked sweetly. Sending her daggers with his eyes, Cassian chucked the red piece of plastic at the blonde who added next to the two others.

“Can she even do that?” Rhys demanded, searching the box for an instructions list.

We’d moved on from Monopoly after Rhys, Amren and I won at Pictionary. It wasn’t too hard, considering my sketching skills—Mor thought I was cheating after Amren guessed my rendition of the phrase “big brother’s watching”. It took her, unsurprisingly, lots of convincing that Pictionary was a very difficult game to cheat at, and that I was just a good artist.

“You’ve got quite the talent,” Rhys had commented at the end of the game. “Would you like to draw me some time?”

“I’m more of a painter than a sketch artist. And I’m afraid it would be a disgrace to my talent to try to render you.”

“Why? Because you can’t possibly capture my charm and beautiful looks?”

“No, because I don’t have a canvas big enough to fit your ego in.”

He’d laughed at that, and I’d managed a small, secret grin before we’d moved over to the living room where Cassian was already tediously setting up the Monopoly board. He'd even searched all of us, to see if somebody had smuggled some money up their sleeve while we weren’t looking. I’d thought it was completely ludicrous until he’d found a clump of rolled up fifties in Amren’s front pocket. She’d only smirked like a snake before dropping into her chair.

Only now, staring across the expanse of the board, I realized exactly how ruthless family game night was. It was a sea of hotels and houses, including my own properties—somehow I was better at handling fake money than real money and investments, and found myself neck and neck with Mor at the top of the leaderboard.

“We’re never letting her back here,” Cassian mumbled. “She’s a wizard, Rhys. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

“You’re just pissed because I bought Boardwalk before you.”

“I’m pissed because landing on your spot costs me two thousand dollars, Feyre.” He said before taking another sip of his scotch. They’d brought out one of Rhys’s older bottles after moving on to Monopoly. I was on my third glass of wine, and the effects were beginning to kick in. I couldn’t remember why I wasn’t allowed to drink in the first place.

I rolled a six and landed once again on boardwalk. I handed four fifties to Azriel and said, “Another hotel please.”

“This is why I hate Monopoly. You people hoard all of the properties then raise your rent so high I go bankrupt every time I turn the fucking corner.” Cassian said.

“It’s called capitalism, sweetie, and it’s a beautiful world.” Amren ostentatiously thumbed her stack of money, perched cross-legged on her chair across from me.

“Oh shut up, Amren, or I’ll kick your piece right to jail.”

“Touch my piece and you die, Cassian.”

“Ha! Chance! I get to claim three hundred dollars from the bank.” Rhys said, looking to Azriel. He was the only one anybody trusted to hand out the money.

“There’s no money left,” Azriel said, “the bank ran out last round after Amren passed Go.”

“Well print some more!” Rhys demanded. For the first five turns, he’d only landed on non-buying spaces and spent a few rounds in jail. His meagre two properties beside the Go space only had one house on them, and his stack was very, very thin.

“I can lend you some money,” Mor said sweetly, “if you give me a real raise.”

“Oh, piss off,” he muttered before passing me the die.

“It’s your turn Amren.” Azriel commented drily. He couldn’t complain, he was right behind Mor, Amren and I.

“You men are just jealous because the women are winning. How’s that for a wage gap?” She took the die in her hands and Cassian rolled his eyes.

“At least my wage gap is fictitious,” he said and slumped back against the couch.

“Watch it Cassian, because I make more than you.”

His eyes darted to hers. “Says who?”

Rhys sighed and buried his head in his hands.

“Says the many, many legal documents and payrolls I’ve been gazing over at work.”

“Okay, that’s it—” he went to pluck Amren’s piece, presumably to place her in jail, but Mor slapped his hand away.

“Don’t put your pig hands on her. Us women stick together.” Mor said, arms crossed. Cassian rolled his eyes.

“Exactly.” Amren said and rolled the dice.

“Exactly,” I added from my quiet corner with a nod of my head before taking a sip of wine.

“Fuck the patriarchy,” Mor chanted, fist raised in the air.

“Fuck the patriarchy—” Amren and I repeated, but we were cut off as she counted with her piece until she landed on Boardwalk.

Everyone was silent as Amren looked between Boardwalk, me and her stack of bills, which, though thick, was not enough to pay my rent.

Deadpan, she said, “I’m not paying that.”

“Oh yes you are,” Mor countered, “that’s the rules of life, honey.”

“And to think I was chanting with you just seconds ago.” Amren shook her head, disgusted.

“How’s the patriarchy looking now, huh?” Cassian said, his hands raised with an ‘I told you so’ look directed at Amren.

“Fuck off, Cassian, I can swipe your ass off the board in seconds.”

“But you can’t seem to pay Feyre’s rent.” He refuted pointedly.

“Because I’m not paying her rent. I counted wrong. Oops! I was supposed to land on luxury tax. Seventy-five dollars.”

“If I can’t get my three-hundred dollars from the bankrupt bank, then you have to put your properties up for mortgage and pay Feyre.” Rhys declared, and I nodded along with him. I didn’t give a shit about the three thousand dollars, I just wanted a fair game.

“I’m not paying her three thousand dollars!” Amren cried.

Cassian cooed, “That’s the name of the game, honey! What’d you say? Capitalism is a beautiful world?”

“Yeah, it’s beautiful when you keep landing on all the chance spaces and got all your money from the bank!” Amren stood, fists clenched at her sides.

“You were the one who tried to smuggle fifties at the beginning of the game!”

“You were the one who kept the fifties in your sleeve until we found them five minutes later, jackass!”

From my corner, things were silent. Mor and Rhys got up to interject, and Azriel’s eyes, I could sense, were closely watching me as my heart began to beat faster. All the noise and yelling—

“How about this, how about this! You don’t pay rent, and I move you to where you belong!” Cassian took Amren’s piece and slammed it down on the jail spot.

“Oh, that’s it!” She took Cassian’s piece and dropped it down right beside hers. “Have fun getting your insides rearranged in jail, ass wipe!”

All I could see was his face, yelling in mine, the feel of the study’s floor against my back as I laid there for an hour in agonizing pain, having to cover up my neck with layers of makeup day after day—

Or that last night when he’d thrown the glass and it’d shattered across the wall, how I couldn’t tell the difference between the red wine and the blood on my hands from all the shards—

Then the next thing I knew was the sound of the loud crash, pieces scattering across the floor, and an upset table sitting sideways before me. I looked up at them, mouth hanging open, impending panic completely gone.

Only Amren said, “You know, Feyre, you dug your gave the second you put up a second hotel.”

The phrase rolled so easily off her tongue, an expression she probably used often with friends like this—I didn’t realize it until it played again in my mind. Rhys did, too, because his eyes widened and zeroed on me, then Amren, ready to verbally eviscerate her.

But all I could do was laugh. A full, rich laugh, one I hadn’t let out in a while. It felt good at the start, because just the irony of this entire situation, being in Rhys’s townhouse playing Monopoly with his friends days after I tried to kill myself, was really fucking hilarious. The more I thought of it though, the more it brought me back up on that ledge, back in those moments of absolute agony that I would never shake for the rest of my life. Then, the thought of me, in my grave, and the sad, sad tombstone atop of it. Feyre Archeron. Remembered and loved by no one.

I didn’t realize I was sobbing until I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up and saw Rhys, the pain and fury in his eyes, and quickly pushed off from the chair before turning towards the stairs.

***

Rhys

I released the breath I was holding after I heard the door close quietly upstairs. It took everything within me not to order them out of the house and run up to her, hold her, wipe those awful tears away and just have some damn quiet for once.

The blood in my veins was hot enough to burn this fucking house to the ground as I turned to Amren. She seemed completely unbothered by the entire thing, if not bored. And though I’d risk my manhood doing so, I didn’t care about being an asshole as I seethed, “You can really be an inconsiderate bitch sometimes, Amren.”

Even Mor flinched. Ariel looked uneasily between the two of us, but Amren only rolled her eyes as she examined her nails. “Rhysand, you cannot say I’m inconsiderate when I have no fucking clue what’s going on. How was I supposed to know that death sets her off?”

Instead of losing my cool, which I was very, very close to doing, I let out another breath and heaved my table back into its original position, thanking my past self for buying something more resistant this time. Azriel and Mor started picking up the little pieces as I said, “Feyre left Cassian’s condo Friday because Tamlin was able to track her down.”

“And you were going to tell me that when?” Cassian demanded venomously. Even Azriel looked pissed, equally for Feyre’s safety and for a breach in security.

“Whenever I found the damn time,” I spat back, “because as you can see, I’ve been very short on that recently.”

“How did he find her?” Amren asked, eyes blazing. It was comforting to know Amren hated the prick just as much as me. Judging from the lethal rage in her eyes, probably more.

“She still had her iCloud connected to his account. I wonder why he didn’t show up days before, but then again, he isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.”

Mor snorted. “Fuckin tool. I like that. Tamlin the Tool.”

I blinked, then refocused, but kind of liking the sound of that as well. “Anyways, he found her but she didn’t let him in. He didn’t see her or hear her, but he still thinks that she’s staying there. For now that gives us some sort of upper hand before he finally figures out that she’s living here.”

Cassian said, “That’ll be a nice homecoming gift if I could sucker punch him in the face.”

“Aim for the balls.” Mor commented quietly.

“I don’t get it. He showed up at the condo. What does what I said have anything to do with that?”

I swallowed hard. I hesitated over whether or not I should’ve told them right away, not knowing if Feyre would’ve wanted it or not, or if she would’ve rather telling them herself. But after tonight, I thought a little sensitivity might be best for her.

Saying the words always felt unreal. Thinking of it, being back up on the rooftop, the moment she leaned forward and I could see her dead, crumpled body in my mind, never failed to steal the breath from my lungs. It was like that constant aching feeling, the one that festered in my chest for so long, slowly leaking back in like dark ink spreading across a white sheet.

“When I got there a half hour later, Feyre was in the middle of a suicide attempt.”

Mor dropped the Monopoly pieces. Cassian’s head sunk into his hands. Azriel released a sigh and leaned back into the couch. Even Amren’s eyes dropped, her head turned away to gaze at the window looking out onto the street.

“What did she—” Mor wondered lowly, but I cut her off.

“I’m not saying how, what happened or anything about that. But I got her help, and I’ve been watching her over the weekend. She will tell you if she feels like it when she is ready, and that is that. But I thought you should know. So we could avoid these kinds of…situations.”

There were a few beats of silence. Amren finally pushed off the couch and went to collect her things. She didn’t say a word as she put on her shoes and count then closed the door behind her. It was expected of her; her range of emotions over the years I knew her were limited. But this one was something that didn’t present itself often.

Shame.

After a few more seconds, Mor said, “I should go talk to her.”

“No, I’ll go,” Cassian said quietly. “I’m the one that left her alone. I should’ve been there.” With that, he took Feyre’s glass of wine from her chair’s side table and wandered up the steps. Mor finally looked to me, then came and sat beside me on the arm of my chair, her hand settling gently on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry we ruined game night.” She murmured. I laughed, and put my hand atop hers.

“It’s okay. I knew this was going to be a disaster.”

“And I’m sorry that you were the one who found her, Rhys,” Azriel added quietly. “I know it can’t be easy after…”

I nodded as he trailed off, unwilling to let those memories back into my consciousness either. “Thank you, brother.”

***

Feyre

I laid on Rhys’s guest bed, numb. It’d been only a few minutes since I’d marched up the stairs and closed the door behind me before dragging myself to bed and letting myself drain out.

It was like poison within me, this dread. Soaking through my skin and staining the sheets and mattress beneath me. A cloud that always loomed behind me, far enough not to notice, but ready to rain down upon me whenever the time was right. I drenched in its waters now and let it wash over me with its all-consuming misery.

A soft knock sounded at the door, then Cassian’s head poked around the corner. He took one look at me, then said, “Somebody’s taken my bed as a hostage.”

I threw a pillow at him. He caught it with ease, a smile on his face, before wandering over to my side. I slid over so he had enough space to sit down next to me. Cassian took my hand in both of his huge ones, their warmth leeching into my cold skin.

“I’m sorry about before. I’m just too fucking sensitive and—”

“Feyre, you don’t have to explain yourself.” He sighed and found my gaze. All I could see in his hazel eyes was pain and concern, bleeding for me, I knew. Quietly, he said, “Rhys told us what happened.”

My chest deflated, but the feeling in my chest wasn’t anger. It was relief. Relief that quickly morphed into embarrassment. I could barely look him in the eye, and all I managed to say was, “Oh.”

“I’m not pushing you to tell me anything. I just want you to know that I am here for you. No matter what, no matter when, one text, one call or email or fuck it, I even have a fax machine—”

I chuckled at that. “I get the point.”

“All I’m saying,” he smiled, “is that I am here for you. We all are. And I should’ve been there for you that night at the condo, and I am so sorry that I wasn’t.”

“It’s not your fault, Cassian,” I murmured, covering our hands with my other one. “You couldn’t have known.”

Cassian nodded, but my thoughts clouded over as I thought of that night again, the moment I’d heard his voice through the door. Looking at our hands together, my eyes wandered up his arms to his biceps, nearly thicker than my thighs, and thought of our time together at the gym. When we worked out, when he guided me through each punch, each kick, I felt like lightning incarnate. He’d armed me with all I needed about self-defence, about fending off an attacker. We’d gone through motions time after time, and he’d drilled me with counter-moves, defensive positions, where to strike and when.

But it’d all emptied from my head whenever I’d faced him. In that ring, I felt like fire. But against my fiancee, I felt like a drop of water in the hurricane I was supposed to be.

“What’s wrong?” The question was quiet. Like he knew prodding wasn’t a good idea, that it would unseal Pandora’s box of darkness ready to careen open inside of me. Maybe it was time I let some of the tendrils slip out.

Unable to meet his eyes, I said, “After everything you taught me, after all the hours we spent together training, it all flew out of my head as soon as I faced him. As soon as I heard him.”

There was no need to specify who he was. The hard look on Cassian’s face said enough.

“I should’ve done more. I should’ve told Rhys, convinced you to get out of there sooner, been there at the condo that night—”

“No,” I said, shaking off his protests, because they were fruitless. “Nothing was going to change my mind about leaving, Cassian. Nothing but what happened that day.” More tears pricked at the back of my eyes, and I was so fucking sick of crying. “In the time I needed it most, everything you gave me was for nothing. I forgot what you taught me. I forgot how to live, and I forgot I was strong.”

“You know what I taught you.” Cassian said, his hand leaving mine to settle on my shoulder. His hazel eyes clung to mine with hope and tenacity. “You survived. You got out of there. You are strong.”

“Maybe I was in the past,” I whispered, throat thick with tears, “but not anymore. I don’t know…” I shook my head, closing my eyes. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself, where I’m going to live, how I’m going to support myself in the long run—I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“Come here,” he said, and I leaned up in the bed for him to wrap his arms around me. My tear-stained cheeks soaked his t-shirt. “We’ve been here with you every step through this. You can stay with Rhys as long as you want, because I know for damn sure he doesn’t mind, and you just told us today that we’ve got a job lined up for you right now. Judging by Rhys’s salaries, you will be very well off before the month is up.” I snorted, and he squeezed me tighter. “And about knowing who you are Feyre, well—the best thing about not knowing who you are is that you can create who you want to be from here on out.” He pulled back so he could meet my eyes once more. “You can be anyone you’ve dreamt to be, Feyre. Nothing is stopping you anymore.” He cracked a smirk of his and added, “Just not a pimp. I don’t think I could support you if you became a pimp.”

I let out another stream of laughter as he hugged me close once more. Then I realize he’d brought not only my wine glass, but the entire bottle up with him. We both took turns taking sips, talking and laughing the night away, until the clock read half-past midnight and he said that Rhys would whip his ass if he was late to work in the morning.

***

By my third heaving into the porcelain bowl, Rhys had rushed into the bathroom and was pulling back my hair. I sagged against the toilet, spitting a wad of bile into the water, and let out a low, painful moan.

“Nightmare?” Rhys murmured as he pulled my hair away from my face. I let out what sounded like a grateful sigh, then heaved once more.

“Wine,” I choked out, spitting once more into the bowl.

From behind me, I could hear his chuckle and threw him a vulgar gesture above my shoulder.  He only laughed some more, and kept smoothing my hair back in a calming, comforting way. Another wave of nausea bloomed, and I was vomiting once more.

“Back in the academy, we used to smuggle in alcohol by sewing it into our clothes. Never anything too big, bottles like the ones you get in mini-bars, but enough of them to get us properly wasted. They only every caught us because we’d wake up in pools of our own vomit. We spent those days hosing down our rooms, then doing the old-school toilet toothbrush cleaning in everyone’s bathrooms as punishment.”

I wrinkled my nose as I panted. Even the thought of more alcohol had my toes curling.

Rhys said quietly, “I try not to drink often, though. After the incident I told you about and leaving my job, I got bad for a little while. Obviously you know who came busting down my door after I shut myself in for nearly a month.” His hand was now travelling up and down my back. I closed my eyes and focused on that soothing touch instead of the riot in my stomach. “Vodka. That used to be my poison. I don’t touch the stuff anymore if I can help it.”

“Whiskey,” I said, then spat. “When I was still living at home, that’s what my dad drank. Whiskey. It was like water to him.”

He murmured, “I’m sorry.”

I shrugged my shoulders, then reached up to flush. Pushing off the toilet seat, I went over to the sink and rinsed out my mouth and splashed some water on my face, then popped two Advils just to be safe (Rhys only left five of them in a small container in his medicine cabinet, which I told him was excessive, but he said was cautionary). When I turned back, I saw him sitting back against the wall, his eyes closed. I wandered back over to him, stumbling with the remaining effects of alcohol, and sank down at his side, our shoulders touching. His warmth was intoxicating.

“Nothing to be sorry about.” I dismissed. My head turned to examine him. His eyes were still closed, like he was sleeping. He looked so at peace like this, head tilted back, hair pressed down against his scalp from his pillow, features relaxed.

Beautiful.

Quietly, I said, “You told them.”

He opened one eye, then the other, and told me, “I didn’t know what else to do. And I didn’t mention any specifics or details.”

“No, no, it’s okay, Rhys,” I sighed, closing my eyes once more. My body felt tingly from the lingering buzz. “I’m honestly relieved. I don’t know how I would’ve explained myself.”

“You don’t owe anyone any explanations.”

I snorted. “Suriel said that. He also told me not to drink, but here I am.”

A pause. Then, “Feyre.”

“Oh, Rhys, it was harmless—”

“Feyre.”

“What?” I snapped.

He turned so he was facing me, and put both hands on my shoulders. “If you’re going to get better, if you want to make progress, you have to listen to him. Even though it might be stupid and you feel like it doesn’t seem so bad, you have to listen to him. He is trying to help you.”

“But it was a few drinks!” I cried.

“You were throwing up thirty seconds ago!” Rhys said. His eyes were sharp steel as he said, “I promised I would help you, but you’ve got to put the work in as well. You’ve got to hold up your end of the bargain. Okay?”

“Fine,” I grumbled. “I don’t see how wine will impediment my progress, though.”

Rhys laughed, and his hand reached up to curl a piece of hair behind my ear. “Go to bed, darling.”

That night, I didn’t know whether it was the alcohol or the lasting effects of the night, but I slept soundly.

[vexedtonightmares]

last dance (elu ballet au) chapter deux

Lucas is in his final year at the Paris Opera Ballet School and he’ll be damned if he lets his former friend-turned-rival Eliott steal the lead role in their production of Swan Lake.

aka- lucas and eliott are rivals who are forced to room together for their final year of ballet school before they try to enter the company. we can all see where this is going.  

i. ii. 

ao3

Lundi 4:45

When Lucas awoke groggily at four forty-five the next morning, he almost forgot that he was no longer in the sweet comfort of the flat share he’d grown to love. He almost forgot that on the other side of the wall slept one of the people he hated most in the world. Well, maybe hate was a bit strong, but other than his father, who he really hated, he hadn’t had many reasons to dislike other people throughout the years, especially in his ballet program. For the most part, they were all like one big family, which was one of Lucas’ favorite parts about attending school there.

His alarm went off again and he swore under his breath, jolting out of bed and pulling on his layers of dance attire and warm up clothes as quickly as possible. He wanted to have time for a five mile run if possible before meeting Manon to stretch and warm up before class.

Throwing on his light windbreaker and grabbing his headphones off his desk, he moved to the bathroom, washing his face, using the toilet, brushing his teeth, and fixing his hair enough that it wouldn’t get in his way when he had to dance later. In retrospect, he probably should have gotten a haircut before the year started, he hadn’t had it so long in quite a while, but over the holidays he’d really grown to love his hair a bit longer. Besides, if Eliott could dance with his wild, untameable hair, Lucas could too.

A bit after he’d moved into the kitchen, the sound of Eliott’s door opening caused Lucas to look up with wide eyes from where he was filling up his water bottle at the sink . Fuck, he should have been quieter. What the hell was Eliott doing up at five thirty anyway? He always arrived just in time for classes, but none of the instructors ever said a damn thing. It was infuriating, especially since Lucas was always one of the first people there.

“Morning,” Eliott said, sitting down at the counter. Lucas raised his eyebrows and continued to fill up his water. “What are you doing up so early?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Lucas murmured, already breaking the silent rule he’d made for himself to just ignore Eliott at all costs.

Eliott shrugged and rested his elbows on the table. “It’s performance year. I figure we all need to work a little bit harder, especially if we want a lead role in the show.”

Lucas shut off the sink abruptly, hands clenching around his bottle. If Eliott had awoken early just to try to psych Lucas out, he was shit out of luck. Lucas wasn’t going to let a few taunts psych him out this year. Eliott continued, “Are you going for a run? I could join you.”

“No,” Lucas lied swiftly, “I’m meeting with Manon to warm up.”

“A bit too early for that though, right?” Eliott ticked his head to the side, smirking out of the corner of his mouth.

Lucas rolled his eyes and braced his hands on the counter. “What do you want, Eliott?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Eliott raised his hands in mock surrender. “You’re going to eat before you go though, right?”

“Are you my mother?”

“Are you avoiding my question?”

Lucas sighed in exasperation and took an apple from a bowl labelled Eliott. He took a bite and looked Eliott directly in the eye. “There. Happy?”

Much to his displeasure, Eliott’s smirk grew into a full blown grin. “Very much so, yes.”

Resisting the urge to spit the apple in Eliott’s face, Lucas retreated back to his room to grab his dance bag and put on his tennis shoes in silence, ignoring how Eliott’s eyes followed him the entire way. He continued ignoring the stare as he made his way back across the living room and out the door. The moment before it slammed shut behind him, Lucas heard Eliott’s voice call out, “Enjoy your run!”

Grunting at the fact that his day had already been ruined, Lucas secured his headphones over his ears and blasted his music as loud as it would go, the sounds of Queen filling his head as he tried to clear his mind and ran, ran, ran.

Sometimes he found his footsteps matching the beat of the music and had to resist the urge to stop and dance right in the middle of the street. It was his curse, he supposed, to want to find a way to dance to every song he heard. Not that he was much of a choreographer. He could do fairly well during improv classes or when he’d had to alter a variation for an assignment once, but creating something for a whole cast of moving bodies was dream he’d long abandoned.

Lucas had always known that there would come a time when his ballet career expired and he would be thrown out like expired milk, but there had been a small part of him that had hoped he’d be able to stay in that world, creating movement for others. Unfortunately, that was just a pipe dream. He didn’t have what it took to be a choreographer.

A wet drop on his cheek sprung him out of his thoughts, bringing him back to the streets of Paris as he ran, steady drips of rain now falling from the sky. First the conversation with Eliott, now the rain… was it too much to ask for that his first day back went well?

Ignoring the rain about as well as he’d ignored Eliott, Lucas pushed on, running faster than usual to complete the five miles he’d wanted to complete before heading back inside. Maybe it all would have been ok, maybe Lucas could have gotten over the fact that it was raining, if not for the puddle he didn’t notice on the side of the street. The puddle that he ran right past as a car drove right through it. The puddle that soaked the entire right half of his body, mere feet away from returning to the school.

It was going to be a long day.

Lundi 7:26

By the time Lucas had dried himself off well enough to not look like he’d arrived from the lost city of Atlantis, he and Manon had only had about a half hour to warm up together before class started. They’d spent most of the time talking about nothing anyway, partially him complaining about Eliott, partially her complaining about having to share a bathroom with Daphné, not doing much to actually warm up. It didn’t matter that much on the first day though, especially for the final year. That morning they were going to receive all the information about the winter show each group of students in their last year performed at the end of the fall semester.

Nearly everyone had arrived to class about fifteen minutes before eight, when the class was supposed to start. They were all fidgeting with excitement and nerves, chatting amongst themselves about what the show might be. The year before had done the Nutcracker, and Lucille, the stand out of that year-- and Eliott’s ex-girlfriend-- had played the Snow Queen, dancing the solo so beautifully that Lucas was sure the school would never do the Nutcracker again, not wanting to mar her legacy. Manon had actually played Clara, as one student in their second to last year was allowed to audition for a role in the show each year. Lucas had been so glad it was her and not Eliott.

Unsurprisingly, Eliott had yet to show up. Why the hell would he be waking up so early if he hadn’t planned to show up to class on time? It made no sense to Lucas, though he supposed the reason could have simply been because he knew Lucas would be getting up earlier and wanted to be awake to rile him up.

At a minute before eight, Eliott sauntered into the room casually, meeting Sofiane’s eyes immediately and moving to sit next to him, picking up a conversation as if he’d been there the entire time. Lucas rolled his eyes as he watched them, he had no idea how Sofiane put up with Eliott.

There was a loud clap and everyone sat up straight immediately, jolting to attention as Madame Rigaux entered the classroom. Conversations stopped in an instant and all eyes were trained on her with a sharp, almost hungry focus. Madame Rigaux was a nightmare if she didn’t like you, but her favorites always claimed she was one of the best instructors they’d ever had. Lucas wasn’t quite a favorite yet, but he hoped by the end of this year that he’d get to experience more than the former, which he had grown accustomed to for quite some time.

“Good morning, and welcome back.” She spoke softly, but she knew everyone was hanging on to her every word.

“Good morning Madame Rigaux,” they all repeated in a chorus back to her. The corner of her mouth lifted in what one might have mistaken for a smile had they not known her. Those who did know her knew that look was born of satisfaction, of knowing the hold she had over all of them, knowing each and every one of their strengths and weaknesses and how to exploit them. It was a terrifying look.

“Final year. The time does fly, doesn’t it?” Her question received no response, exactly as she’d anticipated. “This year will be one of the most difficult perhaps in your entire career as a dancer. All the training you’ve been doing up to this point is a walk in the park compared to what’s in store for you this year.”

Lucas unintentionally held his breath as she spoke, not wanting to cause any disturbance in the silence that had engulfed the room. It was so heavy, so deep, that each word she spoke rang out like a bell, echoing through the high ceilings.

“Not only will you be continuing with your general education courses, studying in various styles and techniques of dance, some old and some new, and assisting with some of the younger classes, you will also be auditioning, rehearsing, and performing in this year’s winter student production,” she continued. As if they didn’t all already know that, each of them barely resisting jumping up and begging her to tell them what they would be performing.

“The production, as you all know, was The Nutcracker last year.” She was really going to milk it as long as she could, though Lucas couldn’t say he was surprised. “This year, however, we wanted something a bit darker, more intense, with more depth from the characters to pull from. It will be both physically and emotionally demanding, and something that won’t always make the audience believe in happy endings, something that will make the audience weep as they stand on their feet and applaud in awe.”

Maybe Romeo and Juliet? The last class that had performed Romeo and Juliet was in their final year during Lucas’ first year. It was definitely feasible, it had been quite a long time since then.

“Auditions will begin next Friday, giving you almost two full weeks to prepare, a generous decision made by Monsieur Moreau, not me. If it were up to me you’d begin auditions today, and we’d see who has been keeping up their training during the holidays and who,” she glanced pointedly at a few students, including Emma and Arthur, “has some catching up to do. That all being said, I am pleased to announce that this year’s winter production will be Swan Lake.”

Lucas’ eyes found Eliott’s instinctively. He looked away as quickly as he’d looked in the first place, but not before he saw the same exact emotions he was feeling reflected in Eliott’s eyes. Prince Siegfried had always been Lucas’ dream role, since he’d first seen the ballet as a child. It was one of the reasons his mother had enrolled him in ballet in the first place. Of course, Prince Siegfried was also Eliott’s dream role, it was one of the things they had bonded over as children, arguing playfully about who got to be the Prince, and who played Odette when they practiced with one another.

Lucas had always been on the shorter side, and was thus relegated to the role of Odette. It hadn’t bothered him at the time, laughing giddily as Eliott attempted to pick him up and spin him around, but now those memories felt like a punch in the gut.

Another clap brought his mind back to the present. He realized Madame Rigaux had finished speaking, as everyone was now scrambling for their preferred barre spots. Eliott and Manon were at the front of each of their respective barre’s, of course, the spots left open for them despite the fact that Eliott moved there leisurely, allowing time for anyone to take the front spot if they wanted it.

Lucas realized that his usual spot beside Yann had been taken by Arthur, and there was now only one available spot in front of Imane. Fuck. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Imane, she was great, but she was also intimidating as hell. He wasn’t even sure if she’d allow him to stand by her, even if it was the only spot left.

As anticipated, she frowned as he approached. “It’s the only spot left,” he said by way of explanation.

“Is it so bad to have to stand by me at the barre?” she asked in a falsely casual tone, flexing and pointing her feet aimlessly as she secured her hijab into place.

“No, no, of course not, I just thought you wouldn’t want to stand by me,” he confessed, cheeks reddening as he spoke. Imane smirked and looked him up and down. “Better you than Arthur,” she conceded, turning away from him. Lucas felt himself begin to smile in return, ducking his head so no one would notice as he rolled out his shoulders and placed his left hand on the barre, ready to begin class.

Madame Rigaux only watched Eliott as she began going over their warm up combination, even though everyone was marking the movements along with her. In her defense, it was hard not to watch him, as much as Lucas hated to admit it. The focus in his eyes was so intense that Lucas found himself taken aback. He never usually watched Eliott in class, but he always assumed that Eliott carried an air of nonchalance with him, strolling into class late, being the last to go across the floor, skipping extra practice sessions, but the intensity in his stare at that moment reminded Lucas of just how much Eliott had always loved dance when they were kids. How much he apparently still did.

Too late, Lucas realized he’d been too busy watching Eliott to take in the combination himself. As Madame Rigaux moved to tell the piano accompanist what to play, Lucas turned to Imane with wide eyes. “Imane, what’s the combination?” he asked fervently.

She raised her eyebrows at him. “You weren’t paying attention?”

“I-- I was trying to, but-- Imane, please,” he stammered, looking at Madame Rigaux out of the corner of his eyes. Imane sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“Switch places with me,” she said.

He blinked. “What?”

“Switch places with me,” she repeated in a quiet hiss, pulling him behind her and stepping into his place. “This way you can follow me on the right side, and by the time we get to the left you should know it.”

He could have kissed her. “Imane you’re the greatest. I owe you one.”

“Yeah, yeah, just try to pay attention next time.” She turned around so her back was facing him, but he caught the hint of a smile on her face before she was facing the opposite direction completely. He nodded in acknowledgement, even though she couldn’t see him anymore.                                    

For the rest of class he made sure to pay extra attention to Madame Rigaux, memorizing the combinations so well that there was no way he’d be lost like he was at the beginning of class. It was easy to do once he’d retrained his brain to ignore Eliott completely. By the end, he even received a compliment on his grand jeté, something he’d been working diligently at for years with no notice. It felt great, if he was being honest. Maybe he had a shot at Prince Siegfried after all.

Mardi 2:17

“Lu, you have to be Odette!”

“But I don’t want to. I want to be the Prince,” Lucas whined, crossing his arms in front of him in a huff. “Why don’t you ever have to?”

Eliott nearly bounced as he shrugged, grin taking over his face. “Because I’m taller than you. You can’t lift me, and that’s an essential part of partnering. If we’re ever going to make it as dancers we’re going to have to know how to partner.”

“I’m not going to be the girl when we actually partner, though,” Lucas argued.

“Please, Lu. For me?” Not the puppy dog eyes. Lucas’ will crumbled around the puppy dog eyes. He could actually feel himself giving in to Eliott’s request. Lucas sighed and held out his hands. “Fine.”

Eliott bounced up and down with excitement, grabbing Lucas’ hands and pulling them both to the middle of Eliott’s backyard. It would have been preferable to practice at their studio, but it was closed on Sundays, which annoyed them both endlessly. “Just wait until we’re at school,” Eliott always said, “We’ll be able to dance together day and night, whenever we want!”

Lucas had to admit that it sounded great. Not only extra time in a real dance studio, but also extra time goofing around and having fake turning and leaping competitions with his best friend in the world. They would spend ten whole years at the school together, and Lucas couldn’t wait to start. He wondered who else they would meet there, if anyone would be better than Eliott. As far as Lucas was concerned, no one was better than Eliott.

“Wait a minute,” Lucas said after he and Eliott had run through and failed a variety of different lifts. “If I’m Odette does that mean I get to do the thirty-two fouettes?”

“Lu, you can barely do one fouette,” Eliott laughed. Lucas smacked him on the shoulder.

“Oh, Mr. I-can-do-five-so-I’m-so-fancy. I’m just saying, technically I get the big turn section if I have to be Odette!” Lucas smirked, raising one eyebrow as Eliott laughed softly, eyes resting on the grass beneath their feet.

He looked back up at Lucas. “Well technically, that’s Odile.”

“But they’re usually played by the same person!” Lucas wasn’t going to let up so easily. “That means I get to do it.”

“Hmmm,” Eliott pretended to consider, squinting his eyes for effect. “Ok. You win. Go, Odile, impress me with your fouettes and I’ll see if you deserve a standing ovation.” Eliott wiggled his eyebrows.

Lucas licked his bottom lip and laughed. “Well I’m not going to do them right now. First of all, we’re not even in a dance studio, second of all, like you said, I can barely do one fouette, much less thirty-two.”

“But you just said you wanted to do it!”

“Yeah, but not now. When I’m older and able to do more than one fouette.”

“How old?”

Lucas thought about it for a minute. “Seventeen?”

Eliott laughed and ruffled Lucas’ hair. It was a thing he always did, never able to keep his hands out of Lucas’ hair for more than ten minutes. “Why seventeen? That’s so far away!”

“It’ll be our last year of school.” Lucas shrugged. “Seems fitting. If we haven’t performed Swan Lake by then, I’ll need my chance to show off my impressive set of fouettes. We’ll do our own performance of Swan Lake, just the two of us, but this time you’ll be Odette because I’ll definitely be taller than you by then.”

“Wouldn’t that mean I get to do the fouettes?” Eliott interjected, and Lucas cut him off with a glare.

“No. I get to be the Prince and do the fouettes. It’s only fair.”

“What if I let you be the Prince now? Then, when we’re seventeen, I’ll be the Prince and you’ll be Odette, and you can do all the fouettes your heart desires,” Eliott offered.

Lucas narrowed his eyes at Eliott. “If we ever do an actual Swan Lake production, I’m going to be the Prince.”

“I never said you wouldn’t, this is just for our two-man Swan Lake show,” Eliott amended, eyes crinkling at the sides as he smiled. “Eli and Lu! Two-man world ballet tour!”

Lucas laughed, nudging Eliott’s shoulder with his. “You’re the only one allowed to call me that, I don’t want it on the name of our ballet show. Lucas is more professional.”

“You’re the only one allowed to call me Eli,” Eliott countered, “Other than my mom, but we have to make some sacrifices if we want to be successful.”

“What about Elu? The Elu Two-Man World Ballet Tour!” Lucas suggested, only half-joking. There was no way he was letting anyone call him Lu, or even know that there was someone he did allow to call him Lu.

“Elu?”

“It’s a mix of our names. Eli and Lu, Elu.” It was a bad idea. Eliott was going to hate it.

But Eliott just smiled. “Elu. I love it! Do we have a deal, then?”  

“Ok, we have a deal,” Lucas agreed, holding out his hand. Eliott shook it once before pressing a soft kiss to Lucas’ knuckles, pulling him in and spinning him around. Lucas laughed as they ended up chest to chest. He wrapped his arms around Eliott’s middle and furrowed his brows in concentration, trying to lift him up like the Prince would.

“Ha! See, I told you I could do it, Eli!” Lucas shrieked in excitement, holding Eliott a few inches off the ground. It wasn’t much, but he’d told Eliott he could do it. And he could.

Eliott’s voice rang out just as excited. “I knew you could, Lu! I knew it!”

Eliott’s laughter faded as Lucas bolted up in bed, blinking away the memory that had occupied his dreams. The clock beside him said that it was a little while past two in the morning. Fucking fantastic. Not only was he being haunted by Eliott in real life, now he was being haunted by Eliott in his dreams.

He rubbed his eyes fervently as if that would erase his dream from his mind. Dreams like that happened every now and then, crawling out from the tightest corners of his brain and disrupting the Eliott-less peace he’d grown accustomed to over the past eight or so years. The worst part about them wasn’t that they attacked when he least expected it, no, the worst part about them was that, for one fleeting moment, he missed those times. He missed their easy friendship and the way they knew each other better than they knew themselves. It only lasted an instant, but it was enough for Lucas to hate that he still felt that way, even now.

He had Yann, he had Arthur, he had Manon, he didn’t need to dwell on the past. That relationship had ended for a reason, no matter how much his mind tried to make him forget sometimes. Eliott’s words from the dream repeated themselves in his head, we have to make some sacrifices if we want to be successful. Lucas snorted aloud, falling back onto his pillow. Eliott had been sure to take those words to heart.

Lucas focused on this as he fell back asleep, the fact that no matter the vows they’d made and the lives they’d promised to live together, in the end Lucas was just an obstacle to Eliott’s success. Lucas liked to think that he would have done the same if his and Eliott’s roles were reversed, but he knew he wouldn’t have, even if there was the promise of a principal role in the company waiting on the other side. He didn’t know if that made him loyal, weak, or stupid.

Maybe he was just a combination of the three.

[devilsknotrp]

Congratulations, Honey! You are accepted for the role of Mandy Silverman. This is another sample application for potential applicants to have a look at. You’ll notice that this is quite a long application, but that’s just how I write. You can do whatever you like with yours! If you have any questions about this application or any characters with a connection to Mandy, don’t hesitate to let me know.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Honey Age: Twenty five Pronouns: She/her Timezone: GMT+11 Activity estimation: I essentially work full time and have several obligations, but this group is so tightly organised and planned that I’m confident in participating regularly on the dashboard and as an admin! My admin duties will always take precedence but I will be able to reply to threads several times a week. Triggers: (REDACTED)

IN CHARACTER: BASICS

Full name: Amanda “Mandy” Silverman Age (DD/MM/YYY): Thirty (02/03/1966) - Pisces (Sun), Virgo (Rising), Cancer (Moon) Gender: Cisgender female Pronouns: She/her Sexuality: Homosexual homoromantic Occupation: Adult Education Coordinator Connection to Victim: Mandy did not know the Goode family. She knew of them in the way all newcomers to Devil’s Knot are known: through rumor and glimpses in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot. Mandy had little to do with Linda; she’d seen David and Beth at school, when she’d gone in to meet Mary after work; but she’d never met Brian at all. Alibi: Mandy was at home that Saturday working on a craft project. She ran out of glue at around three, then walked into town to go to the craft store, where she spent a few dollars too many on a crocheting kit. She decided to pick up some coffee and doughnuts then walked back home, where she stayed for the rest of the day.  Faceclaim: Elizabeth Olsen

WRITING SAMPLE

 This is a self para written for the Mandy in 1984.

The Datsun.

It was such a shit little car. Really, it was. Sandy’s miscellaneous paraphernalia littered the dashboard. Her dad’s manuals and work shit stuffed beneath the front seats. Pete had stamped grubby hands all over the back windows - people asked them all the time if they had a dog. “No,” Mandy replied grimly, hoisting Pete up on one hip. “Just a kid.” The motor turned over more often than she could count, which would put her father, ever the optimist, into an agitated but vaguely amused mood. Him, hunched over the wheel, grinding the key, revving the engine, If I… could just... Then, Sandy, cranky and likely hungover, snapping from the passenger side: I told you we needed it serviced! They had about a thousand tapes in the center console, most of them in the wrong cases, with a mix that spanned from Bob Dylan to Pete’s ABC children’s songs. Them, zooming along a damp highway, rain splattering the glass, her dad cheerfully singing, The wheels on the bus go ‘round and ‘round! as Pete laughed in delight. Mandy tries to forget that she’d eventually lose her temper and shout, Can we turn this stupid shit off? as her mother mumbled, Amen, behind enormous sunglasses and a gas station Slurpee.

The Datsun, which was rotting away at the police station right this second. Mandy hasn’t asked when they’ll get it back. It’s evidence, that’s it. She has her bike or her skates and Sandy doesn’t leave the house unless she has a ride (Aisha pulling up front and blasting the horn; Sandy, clattering around gathering her things, muttering, Where’s my goddamn…). Their family car is nothing more than a shell, a marker in the Pete and Phillip Silverman’s trail to murder. Kind of like a pit stop. Wrappers marked with imaginary blood stains littering the cab floor. That clean-sour smell of nervous sweat. Her Dad was always a sweater, mopping his brow and fanning himself, Jeez, it’s hot today. Mandy kind of loved that about him. How when she was looking for him in a crowd, she just had to search for the slightly damp white button-down, the back of his nearly-balding head. His hair was soft, like down, and Pete’s was too. Two twin sandy blonde heads sitting in front of the television, Pete curled into his father’s side, Phillip slowly stroking back those baby-shampoo-soft curls.

So, yeah. The Datsun. Scene of family road trips and midnight grocery store emergencies. A wreck that managed to limp from point A to B, with her dad faithfully in the front, eager to drive her to friends’ houses or cheer practice or a competition two towns over. She still thinks about winding the windows down as far as they could go when they were on the highway. Her dad would look over, catch her eye, and grin in a way that made her think of him as a teenager, a young man, that cheerful abandon of youth that was infectious as a whisper, goose-bumps prickling her arms.

“Shall we see how fast this baby can go?” He’d yell, and Mandy would laugh and laugh: “Go, Dad, go!”

ANYTHING ELSE?

Here is my Pinterest board for Mandy (featuring ‘84 and ‘96 boards, because I’m that kind of person), and her account can be found here.

HEADCANONS

Mandy works at the Community Centre as an Adult Education Coordinator. Which is just a fancy way of saying she organises craft classes for senior citizens. Seriously. Mandy picked up the job mainly to get Sandy off her back. After commuting to Lansing to attend community college, her decision to drop out and live and work in Devil’s Knot was met, unsurprisingly, with a pointedly raised eyebrow and a loud slurp from a glass of wine. And Mandy knew, she just damn knew, that if she stuck around her childhood home any longer, she and Sandy would end up killing each other. The job isn’t taxing: she works a few days a week, has a desk up on the mayor’s floor in the Community Centre, and spends way too much time putting flyers together for their new pasta making courses or adult literacy classes. The administration is what really bothers her, because the students are lovely. Little old ladies she’s known for years; grandfathers who remember her father back in the day. Best of all, they like her. Mandy wouldn’t consider herself a charismatic person, but she is a patient one. She’ll listen to a grandmother’s story a thousand times, nodding in the right places, exclaiming, asking questions. She’s gentle. Around other people it can be a slightly different story. She’s not clipped, exactly, nor is she rude. But she is shy, and Mandy is naturally suspicious. When people stop her to talk, she hesitates. It would be too much to link that back to ‘84, although there’s little doubt that that October and the months that followed succeeded in severing her trust in adult figures for life. No, Mandy prefers to keep to herself, to the people she knows. It’s safer that way; controllable.

Mandy loves movies -- always has. Bobby, Mandy, and Perry always went on about music, talking rapturously about guitar solos and funky beats, all while Mandy pretended to grimace and trade teasing looks with Jenny and Mike. But movies. Mandy’s favourite genre is horror. Surprising, maybe, but she can’t get enough. Sci-fi is her second favourite. Her ritual is to go down to the Videoport on a Friday afternoon and stock up for the weekend. She trails down the aisles, fingers skating over the titles, looking for some weird German expressionist thing or a summer blockbuster she can zone out to. Mandy would hardly consider herself a connoisseur, but she has an encyclopedic knowledge for actors and actresses, and can name their filmography from memory just by looking at them. It’s like, one of her only talents.

Mandy enjoys cooking. She mainly enjoys cooking for Mary, who will always, without fail, praise her skills until Mandy’s rolling her eyes and begging her to stop. Even if it’s crap (which it is a lot of the time; God knows Sandy never taught her to cook; this was all the result of afternoon cable and Reader’s Digest), Mary will come up and hug her from behind, kissing the side of her neck, suffusing Mandy in warmth and her spicy perfume. That was so good. You’re so good to me. Doing things for people is Mandy’s way of showing she loves them. It doesn’t matter what it is -- laundry, vacuuming, cooking -- she’ll find herself doing things automatically. It’s a little funny that she’s turned into a housewife ever since moving out with Mary, but it’s also really damn nice. Mandy looks after their small apartment so tenderly. Watering the plants on the windowsill, buying kitsch ornaments from the thrift store, airing out their cramped bedroom in the spring sunlight. Much of Mandy’s life revolves around domestic duties. She picks up the mail, pays bills, goes grocery shopping. Mary comes too, of course, but doing things together in public can get difficult when all Mandy wants to do is kiss her deeply in the fruit and vegetable section. Mary’s full-time job is also demanding, and Mandy only works a few days a week (despite what you may believe, there are not that many adult education classes to organise; the biggest scandal was when they introduced a salsa class and everyone collectively lost their minds). Maybe, in some way, it’s Mandy’s way of holding up her end of their relationship. And maybe, in a deeper, smaller way, it’s also an excuse. If she’s busy, how can she possibly go back to college? Who’ll make apple crumble and fold the socks? Huh? The pixies? If this makes Mandy sound territorial, it’s because she is. She clings to these chores because it’s far easier than thinking about the alternative, which is to get off her ass and actually make something of her life. She’s thirty years old. Nearly thirty one. And she’s got absolutely nothing to show for it. That hurts more than anything. Maybe that hurts most of all.

Mandy is a lesbian. She knew. Even when she was a teenager, she sort of knew. She and Mike started dating when they were thirteen and just... kept going. Certain things seemed inevitable: prom, college, maybe even marriage. It was so simple to imagine her life with Mike, whose family, the Hawkers, were best friends with her parents; they’d all been born months apart; they were raised together. Most of Mandy’s childhood memories involve Mike and Mary, Jenny. They tumbled around together like puppies, climbing trees and having sleepovers. Then they started to grow up, and Mandy and Mike got together, and the atmosphere shifted a little. Mandy liked Mike. She did. Maybe she loved him, in a way. But it was so, so platonic, and the way she felt when she looked at Mary was anything but. Mary used to scare her; still does, sometimes. She was a force of nature and Mandy was the eye of the storm. Looking back, the signs were obvious, but then again, they always are.

Mandy used to dress the way people expected her to dress. T-shirts and jeans, bleached white sneakers and cheer uniforms. Not feminine enough to please Jenny, who’d wrinkle her nose and fondly say, “Mandy, are you kidding? You cannot wear that,” and not masculine enough for her dad, who’d hand her wrenches as he worked on the Cadillac on weekends, shooting sidelong glances at her squad jumper, mumbling, “You’ll get grease all over you, honey.” Scrunchies and high ponytails. Pale pink jackets and a signet ring Mike gave her when they were fourteen. Just enough to be acceptable; to be palatable. To blend in, fade away, be nothing at all. These days it’s the opposite: Mandy dresses like an amorphous blob. In fact, she’d rather people hazard a guess at what she really looks like underneath her oversized flannel shirts and huge boots. The more clothing she has on, the more protected she feels. Layers upon layers. Band shirts worn soft with too many washes; jeans more grey than black. She still has her pink jacket from high school (Mary hung it up in their wardrobe and shrugged when Mandy found it, saying, “You always looked cute, and I’m a sucker. So sue me.”) Mandy pulls her hair up and away from her face; she doesn’t wear make-up. Still has the signet ring, though. She’s a sentimental doofus, she knows.

Mandy loves arts and crafts. Pottery, weaving, knitting; painting, sketching, cooking. These are things that bring her peace, that quieten her inner world. Growing up, she wasn’t creative in the slightest. Mandy was decidedly pedestrian: the most creative thing she ever did was design banners for the cheer squad or doodle in the margins of her school notebooks. But after Pete was returned, she needed something, anything, to stifle the panic static in her brain. Countless nights were spent sitting on the couch in front of the television, Pete curled into her side, her doing finger knitting or making a collage, eyes darting between her project and the cartoon onscreen. Over the years she’s gotten better -- last winter she managed to knit Mary a hideous scarf -- but her hobbies were never pursued in the same vein as her other achievements. Mandy still remembers practicing for cheer for hours in the cold, or studying in her room until midnight, eyes dry and head aching, quietly panicking about a test the next day. Everything she did, she did obsessively. These days, Mandy just wants to be still. Their apartment is stuffed with half finished craft projects: stacks of coloured paper, jars of beads, wool in miscellaneous piles, flowers drying on the windowsill. Sometimes Mary will come home to find her sitting cross-legged at the kitchen table, a pot of sauce bubbling on the stove, Stevie Nicks in the background, Mandy carefully cutting out prints for her art journal. She started journaling when she was a teenager, mainly to help with her father’s murder and the stress of the subsequent trial, but it’s a habit that has followed her happily into adulthood. Mandy would be lost without her projects, her art. It’s a channel for everything she feels; it clarifies her. And it’s never undertaken with any attempt at perfection. Mandy’s learning, slowly, to let go of unattainable ideas. Life is messy. She’s trying to accept that about the world, herself.

Mandy failed community college. Well, it felt like she failed. In reality, she dropped out. There were only so many classes about psych and childhood trauma that she could take (and ironic, right? That she studied psych? Mandy remembers the day she flicked through the brochure to pick her classes, ticking boxes on the vague notion she’d specialise in children, maybe, in kids who’d been taken or abandoned, and help them find their childhood again). The people were too much. Tons of people like her -- great in high school, but not good enough for a decent college out of state -- and older people too, people who reminded her of her dad (not that he’d gone to college; he used to joke that that was all above his pay grade, No, no, I’m happy where I am! Although Mandy knew how avidly he poured over science magazines, and how impressed he was with Apple and that computer stuff. Maybe in another world he would have done something else, been someone great. Maybe it runs in the family). Mandy felt boring in turning down invitations to parties or even drinks down the campus bar. She’d cite anything -- Pete’s homework, the long drive home, dinner waiting -- and soon that got old. She felt old. Like she’d skipped the fun part of her twenties and jumped right into middle age. It didn’t help that everything after ‘84 melted her brain into goop. The minute Mandy received her final marks from school, she shoved the paperwork back into the envelope and hid it with her dad’s old things. The word failure pounded in her head. How did it happen? How could she have gone from mathletes and cheer to barely scraping by? To holding on by a thread? And why? Why did it all affect her so much; why was she such a damn baby about everything? Pete was back safe. That should have been enough, right? But his return didn’t come with everything. Somewhere between Pete disappearing and that Christmas, Mandy cut herself loose. Swapped SAT prep for making spaghetti for her returned little brother. Watching reruns on TV until it was way too late, tucking him into bed. Some nights she didn’t want to leave him, so she put out a sleeping bag on the floor by his bed between him and the door. Just in case. Mandy always wanted to go to Oberlin for one reason: it was far away from Devil’s Knot (and, okay, she liked the name). Ambition was a thing she wore because it fit, not because she liked it. Watching her dad’s face light up when she showed him her grades was reason enough to try hard; and studying with Bobby made her feel light, if only for a little while, them laughing and whispering about D&D campaigns, teasing each other like siblings. Being smart felt good, even if it didn’t come wholly naturally, and Mandy worked damn hard to keep it up. Giving it away should have been freeing. Instead, Mandy knows she disappointed everyone. She’s just another person who raced to the state line only to stop dead, toes at the edge, and feel fear prick the back of her neck. 

[artificialqueens]

The Language of Flowers 5.5 (Multi) - Albatross

AN: Dear god it’s finally done after like 4 months! Hope you all enjoy it!

To the anon asking about whether or not there’ll be a chapter about the Shinkx date; the answer is ‘Yes, but…’

Yes, I do have a tentative plan to post mini chapters for both dates but…I’m probably not going to work on it right away. Almost definitely not actually. As much as I loved writing this story, I need a break from it for a little while.

As for other plans; Rajadore is almost certainly the next piece I’ll be working with probably Rajila following that. Phianca will be done at some point but I’m having issues with the plot atm so that’s on the back burner. And…I’m about 95% sure I’m revisiting Rajalaskam again. Still in the planning stages but I think I have an idea for a new, final final chapter for their series so keep an eye out for that.

When Jinkx explained their spontaneously decided plan, Courtney was a bit hesitant. Organizing a class to make the same kind of bouquets that got them into this mess and inviting Trixie and Katya to attend at the same time? It seemed rather like a bad idea but deep down Courtney secretly loved the romanticism of the proposal. She kept her concerns to herself and offered Jinkx and Ivy help in any way that she could think of. Still she couldn’t help but feel that it was incredibly unlikely for this plan to actually work. It was quite cliche but maybe with just a pinch of luck they could pull this off anyhow.

Since Jinkx and Ivy were busy constructing the lesson plan and tracking down all of the supplies needed for the class, Courtney took to advertising it. Of course her first thought was to spread the word around Katya’s campus. That seemed to be the mostly likely place to find interested participants. A small part of her toyed with the idea of handing out fliers, perhaps even near the library but she wasn’t ready to see Trixie yet. She knew if she saw her before Saturday she’d end up making things worse by trying to talk to her…and of course she might catch onto the plan if she knew one of Katya’s friends works at the shop.

Instead Courtney reached out to the campus Facebook page and received permission to make a quick post inviting students to attend the fast-approaching course. If nothing else, it would make it seem more legitimate to Trixie and surely at least a few people would decide to attend from that post alone. Courtney also spread news of the class by word of mouth and received a few promises from some of her own friends that they would either stop by or encourage others to do so. Hopefully, there’ll be enough people to make this look like less like a spur of the moment decision and Trixie won’t notice anything out of the ordinary.

With the advertising taken care of, now came the difficult part; ensuring Katya would be attending as well. Though Courtney made herself sound confident when she told Jinkx she could get the younger blonde to the shop without an issue; it turned out to be much easier said than done.

Ever since the scene at the library, Katya had been pretty down on herself. She was hardly leaving the apartment aside from classes or a show and she had stopped frequenting at the library entirely. Though she hadn’t mentioned it, Courtney suspected she was actively avoiding anywhere she might see Trixie and even for their shared classes, it’d be a short guess to say she was probably sitting well on the opposite side of the room from the young woman.

As for her studying, if you can call staring blankly at a page for ten minutes at time 'studying’, Katya just didn’t seem as enthusiastic about it as she had been before. Literature had always been her passion and even studying from textbooks was still fascinating to her yet now it seemed all of that previous spark had disappeared. She was listless and far from her normal energetic self, clearly still thinking about Trixie and not her projects. It hurt to see someone previously so happy and optimistic as broken as this. Even a slight hint of anything related to Trixie caused her eyes to cloud with longing and regret. Silently, Courtney made a wish almost every night that on Saturday everything would be fixed.

On the day of the class, Courtney had been assigned to work the opening shift as this would give her time to head back to her apartment to pick up Katya and make sure she found her way to the shop. At first everything seemed fine; the store was busy so there was hardly time to think about anything other than the customers and fulfilling the day’s orders. That all changed once Jinkx had arrived to start her own shift. They were only together for about an hour due to the sheer number of customers in the shop that she, Ivy and Violet couldn’t handle alone, but just seeing the redhead, never mind not even discussing the class that night, caused Courtney’s stomach to drop and a heavy worry rested on her shoulders even after she was finally able to leave following her shift.

Up until that day, Courtney had been careful not to mention any of the plan to Katya. It was unlikely that she would agree if she knew about it beforehand and would probably arrange to be elsewhere for the duration of the class. At least the one thing Courtney could rely on was that Katya would be at the apartment when she arrived. Her classes were already finished for the day and Courtney doubted she’d want to be anywhere else right now.

The moment Courtney walked into the apartment she heard soft music seeping through Katya’s closed door. Unsurprisingly it was yet another sad song about heartbreak that she loved to torture herself to as of late. Very gently, Courtney knocked on the door and waited until she received a word of acknowledgment before entering. Like she had so many other days this week, Courtney immediately made her way to Katya’s bed and pulled the dejected young woman into her arms. As part of their new routine, Katya rested her head in the crook of Courtney’s neck and let out a sad little sigh.

Running her hand up and down Katya’s back, Courtney asked how her day had gone and made their typical small talk until Katya finally ran out of things to say. Even though there was still a few hours before the class would be starting, Courtney knew she’d have to begin introducing the idea of going out tonight as soon as possible. With enough pleading and puppy eyes, Courtney felt mostly assured of herself to be able to get Katya to agree to go to the shop with her. Under normal circumstances, it’d probably take only a few minutes before the blonde would give in but Courtney had a feeling that right now, she’d probably need every hour she has at her disposal.

“Katy…” she drew out with a slight whine in her tone, “I was thinking we should go out tonight, have a little fun, you know?”

Buried her face into Courtney’s neck, she tightened her grip around the older blonde’s waist and replied, “I wanna just stay here and mope.”

“Come on,” Courtney insisted, “We need to get you out of this head-space-”

“-I like this head-space!” Katya interrupted.

“It’s not healthy though,” the older blonde argued. “We don’t have to do anything big…could go to a movie, eat dinner…Jinkx has her first arrangement course tonight.”

Katya gave a muffled groan of acknowledgment but no other noise indicating that she’d agree to go. Knowing it’d probably be most effective to try and guilt the younger woman into attending, Courtney mentioned, “I’m sure it’d mean a lot if we both were there; she worked so hard on it.”

But Katya would not budge on the issue. For the next hour and a half, Courtney continued to make comments specifically designed to play at the blonde’s heartstrings. A few of her favorites included variations of “We don’t even know how many people are going to show up…”, “I hope there’s at least a few who attend”, and of course; “It’d be a shame for everything to go to waste.”

Slowly progress was being being made; Katya couldn’t stand to look at her or the soft, pleading eyes Courtney threw her way every five minutes. Still though, she had yet to yield to Courtney’s request. If only Courtney had a little more time she was sure she could break Katya’s resistance…But the class started in an hour! Was all this effort really going to be for nothing?

A knock was heard on the apartment door and though Courtney was tempted to ignore it in favor of continuing to persuade Katya, proper etiquette compelled her to see who it was and what they needed. It was quite a surprise to find Willam on the other side looking just a tad amused with a lazy smirk on her face. Feeling herself flush a little bit, Courtney let out a surprised gasp and said, “Oh! What are you doing here?”

“Hey, princess,” Willam called out to Courtney’s annoyance. Once she earned an eye roll from the older woman, she stated, “Vi mentioned you might have some trouble trying to get Katya out of the apartment.”

“And she sent you to help?” Courtney asked doubtfully.

With a secretive and far from reassuring smile, Willam declared, “I volunteered.”

“Uh-huh…should I ask why?” the blonde said with a heavy layer of suspicion in her voice.

Patting the shorter woman’s head, Willam invited herself into the apartment and rebuffed her friend, “Don’t worry your pretty little head with the details.”

As Willam made her way to Katya’s bedroom, Courtney couldn’t help but feel a heavy dose of apprehension as to what Willam’s intentions were. Although if it gets Katya to the shop, how much should she really complain? It was getting down to the wire after all.

Perhaps too closely, Courtney followed behind the dirty blonde as she entered Katya’s room without even an attempt to announce her presence beforehand. The look on Katya’s face was truly a study and a little yelp could be heard right before she pulled the sheets up over her wide eyes. Curling into a tight ball, the blonde huddled beneath the covers as Willam marched right up to the side of the bed with a disturbingly devilish grin on her face.

“Uh-uh,” she taunted as she pulled away the covers with little effort. “None of that.”

“Willam-” Courtney worriedly began to interject until the dirty blonde shot her a quick look.

“Outside,” she commanded in a no-nonsense tone. “I’m gonna have a little chat with her for a minute.”

Immediately Courtney found herself obeying and was sprinting past the door as she pointedly ignored Katya’s call of 'Traitor!’ on the way out.

Reluctantly closing the door, Courtney all but pressed her ear to the faux wood in an attempt to hear what Willam was saying to her roommate. It was a short guess to imagine that she was probably scolding the young blonde for her pitiful behavior and demanding for her to get her act together. There were a few muffled sounds from Katya as though she were trying to defend herself but Willam refused to listen to any such excuses. In what seemed to be no time at all, the pair were exiting Katya’s room with Willam ushering the very harassed looking young woman towards the bathroom with a change of clothes in hand.

“Okay, okay,” the blonde insisted as she entered the communal washroom, “I can do this part myself!”

“And if you don’t come out looking half-decent, I’m fixing it for you!” Willam threatened as the door closed in front of her. Courtney had little doubt that she meant it. More than once Willam had forcefully fixed her own makeup before entering a club so that Courtney 'wouldn’t embarrass her with more lipstick on her teeth than her face.’

There was very little chit-chat as the pair waited for Katya to reemerge from the bathroom. Courtney had taken to nervously braiding her hair to keep from constantly checking the time on her phone. More than once Willam had pounded on the door and shouted a few encouraging phrases to the young woman including 'Hurry the fuck up!’ and 'We haven’t got all night!’ and a rather harsh, 'It’s Spackle on sandpaper; it doesn’t have to be perfect!’

To her credit Katya was finished in just over 20 minutes. Her makeup had been touched up greatly and her hair looked less like a tangled mess of flyaways and curls. Even the outfit Willam had undoubtedly selected for her looked much better than what Katya was likely going to wear. Somehow the dirty blonde managed to find the least gaudy clothes that Katya had owned and created a cute, casual little outfit that she could both show off and work in. Sadly, Courtney got very little chance to compliment her roommate before Willam was rushing them all out the door in order to make it to the shop on time.

As Courtney pulled Katya from the car, she made a quick note that Willam was actually putting money into the meter again. She flashed a quick smile to the dirty blonde as they made their way to the shop front. Understandably they had been the last people to arrive. If you had asked Courtney how many people she would have expected to show up, she probably would have said perhaps 15 or so at the most…that guesstimate was nowhere close to the actual number!

Ivy and Jinkx had somehow managed to fit and divide up 15 tables into three rows on the shop’s floor and provide chairs for all of the attendees. Most of the tables had between three and four people sitting or standing nearby and needless to say; the building was utterly packed. Luckily there still seemed to be a few empty spaces towards the back but aside from that it was safe to say the class was pretty much at full capacity. Courtney was starting to push Katya towards the open chairs but a sudden resistance caused her to stop dead in her tracks. Katya had stood frozen just a few steps past the door and an immensely unhappy groan passed through her lips. Without even having to ask, Courtney could guess that Katya had spotted Trixie at the other end of the room. Her hair was a bit hard to miss after all…

It was no surprise that Katya had almost immediately turned around to leave but a quick glare from Willam sent her meekly shuffling towards the empty table near the back of the first aisle. As they sat down, Courtney ran her hand over Katya’s arm and muttered a few comforting words to console the younger woman who was less than subtly stealing a glance Trixie’s way. She was looking so utterly miserable that they both were here at the same time and undoubtedly was regretting having shown up at all. While Willam hopped on the table behind them and typed away on her touch screen, Courtney snuck a quick look of her own over towards Trixie. She seemed to feel as out of place and unhappy as Katya yet unlike everyone else; she had no one with her to make sure she stayed for the duration of the class. She was clutching at her knee as though she were debating getting up and leaving but to Courtney’s relief Sharon emerged from the break room and her mere presence caused the mindless chatter to lighten significantly.

“About time she showed up,” Willam grumbled as she put away her phone.

Vaguely Courtney thought the two might have been in communication with each other but she didn’t have the attention span to question it. She was too focused on keeping Katya calm until Jinkx could move forward with their plan. To any of the other attendees who didn’t know her, it would have looked like Jinkx was the picture of poise and relaxation but Courtney wasn’t fooled. She knew Jinkx was a nervous wreck on the inside but Sharon’s little nod of encouragement as she began her opening speech seemed to calm some of that inner turmoil.

While Jinkx ran through her lecture, beginning with vague introductions to floriography then onto more specific examples, Courtney couldn’t help but to inwardly cringe at how overt she was being…at least towards the two people this really mattered for. She never would have had the courage that Jinkx had to actually look Trixie and Katya dead in the eye as she all but told them exactly what had gone wrong with the bouquet. She used examples directly taken from that fated arrangement for the class but at least it served its purpose.

As Jinkx’s sight traveled elsewhere, Courtney saw a look of realization that passed over Trixie’s face as she finally got the message. Her cheeks flushed with guilt and embarrassment as she slunk into her seat. As for Katya, she sat in a meditative state for quite some time. Courtney had yet to fully explain the details of what was incorrect with the bouquet but it seemed Katya was well on her way to figuring it out anyhow. While Jinkx was finishing her speech, Katya turned to Courtney for confirmation as she asked softly, “It was because I asked Ivy to use yellow and white flowers, wasn’t it?”

Nodding her head, Courtney replied defensively, “She was following a cheat sheet…some of the meanings on the insert weren’t listed there and-”

“Like what yellow roses can mean?” Katya interrupted with an unusually pensive tone.

“Yeah…”

With that Katya fell back into a state of deep thought, letting her line of sight drift back to Trixie. The younger woman seemed to sense that she was being watched and shifted her head to find an apologetic Katya staring at her. To Courtney’s relief, Trixie appearing to be feeling quite a heavy dose of guilt for automatically assuming the worst with the bouquet Katya had given her. Jinkx’s less than subtle lecture had definitely struck a chord with her. Though Courtney would have loved to see them talking it out then and there, each tore away their gaze and focused their attention on the sheets of paper sitting on each of the tables.

Jinkx had taken the liberty of producing and distributing a more in-depth cheat sheet of various flowers and their meanings, including the negative connotations this time. It was in Courtney’s nature to want to offer Katya help with her bouquet but after the last time she forced her assistance…well, it landed them here. Instead she asked quietly, “What are you going to do?”

Very determined, Katya looked up from the paper and replied, “I’m gonna remake that bouquet…the last one I gave her…I’m gonna do it right this time.”

Smiling brightly, Courtney encouraged her, “I think that’s a very good plan.”

*******

Katya had studied the cheat sheet far longer than Courtney had expected her to, undoubtedly trying to make sure that this one would truly explain how she felt. When she finally felt ready to select her flowers, Willam joined her in the walk to the alcove. Courtney had taken this opportunity to study Trixie just a little bit further. She had already made her trip to pick up the flowers and was now staring intensely at the pile in front of her. Of course the first flowers that caught her eye were the vibrant and plentiful chrysanthemums. They certainly would take up a lot of the attention but aside from them there was a healthy amount of a smaller yellow flower; rue as Courtney soon identified. If nothing else, at least Trixie seemed to be truly apologetic about how she had reacted to the last bouquet.

What gave Courtney the most hope that this would in fact turn out for the best was a bundle of white flowers tucked away with the sparse amount of filler plants Trixie had picked up; rain lilies. Courtney didn’t need to look at the paper to recall what those had symbolized. Her only prayer was that Trixie meant it in the same romantic way that Katya feels, not as a purely friendship based sentiment.

About this time, the other girls had returned from the front of the shop with their own handfuls of flowers. Surprisingly though it wasn’t all for Katya to use. Willam had kept a small amount for herself as she hopped right back up on the near empty table behind Courtney.

Once everyone was in their seats once more, Willam excluded, Jinkx restarted her lecture on the basics of building a bouquet. She stressed that there was no wrong way essentially with how each person went about it; what she was teaching was only some of the techniques she had used frequently in the shop. She advised that it be decided first which of the flowers would be used as the focal point of the arrangement and flesh out the design from there. The main flowers should stand at the forefront and be the first thing the receiver’s eye is drawn to. Other flowers used should compliment that decision, be it with their colors, their shape or their height difference. Everything should come together as a cohesive piece of art, something that will tell the receiver a message even if the flowers selected won’t do that. It should show that time and effort went into the making of the bouquet and that the choice to give this as a gift wasn’t made lightly.

Again Courtney was amazed at how natural Jinkx sounded as she offered little tips and hints to her students. It almost seemed as though her nerves had disappeared by the time she excused everyone to their work. She made it a point to walk around and offer one-on-one assistance with those who needed it but she was very careful to avoid the areas near Trixie and Katya as much as she able to. Both of them were working in earnest anyway and didn’t seem to notice.

Another pair that was being surprisingly diligent in their work was Sharon and Violet. Courtney hadn’t expected them to participate as well yet they appeared to be taking Jinkx’s lesson to heart. Unfortunately, Sharon seemed to be getting frustrated with her bouquet and after disassembling it for the fourth time, she finally gave up to join Jinkx at the top of the alcove. Violet on the other hand was making a rather stunning bouquet focusing heavily on purple, white, and blue flowers. She threw in a touch of yellow among the filler flowers but it was clear she didn’t intend for the bouquet to serve any purpose other than looking good. Ivy hung by her side chatting with her and offering little pieces of encouragement whenever a flower would fall or a stem would break from exceedingly rough handling.

As for Katya, she was very much focused on her own bouquet trying get everything to lay in the vase just right. Every so often Courtney would provide a bit of advice like placing a sturdier flower beneath a smaller one to help hold it up higher but for the most part she was content to just watch. Gradually she was slipping off into her own head-space until the brush of something against her neck jolted her back to reality.

An embarrassingly loud startled noise escaped her, thinking at first that it had been a bug crawling on her until she heard the soft 'Whoops’ that slipped out from the woman behind her. Turning around in her seat, she found Willam looking far too innocent to be sincere. Her eyes raked up and down the young woman’s body as Willam practically dared her to try accusing her of something. It almost worked until Courtney’s eye caught sight of the flower still in Willam’s possession.

At once her own hand flew to the back of her head and to her irritation it almost immediately made contact with something that ought not to be there. Rolling her eyes, she clutched at the flower that had been stuck in her braid and yanked it out for confirmation. Glaring at Willam, she huffed out far louder than she meant to, “Willam! Are you kidding me? Have you seriously been sticking flowers in my hair this whole time?”

Shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly, Willam partially bit back a smirk as she argued, “What? I didn’t have a vase.”

Narrowing her eyes at the pathetic excuse, Courtney shot back, “There’s one right next to you!”

Dragging her braid over her shoulder to begin removing all of the plant life, she muttered in annoyance, “Honestly, I can’t believe you sometimes-”

“Hey, Court,” Katya interrupted as she placed her hand over Courtney’s to stop the disassembly, “Hold on for a minute…”

Running her eyes down the length of hair, Katya stated, “It doesn’t look that bad really…It’s actually kind of cute…”

Feeling her cheeks flush ever so slightly, Courtney asked timidly, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Katya confirmed as she pulled Courtney’s hand away. Picking up the blonde’s phone, she opened the camera app and murmured, “Here, hold on…”

Snapping a quick picture of Willam’s work, she extended the phone back to Courtney with an ardent, “See?”

Carefully studying the image, Courtney had to agree that the arrangement, what she hadn’t disturbed of it at least, did in fact look good. However, that wasn’t the only detail that caught her attention. Her face began to burn as she mumbled, “Oh…um, thanks, Bill…”

She could hardly bring herself to make eye contact with Willam who thankfully seemed almost as embarrassed as she was. The dirty blonde’s cheeks had also become tinted with a light pink as she shrugged her shoulders again and turned her attention to her own phone. Glancing down at the partially crushed bit of toadflax in her hand, Courtney felt her heart practically skipping beats as it hammered away in her chest. Forcing herself to fight against her nerves, she drew her line of sight up towards the dirty blonde and asked softly, “Bill…Would you mind finishing it?”

Willam’s eyes darted back to her in shock but almost immediately she gave a silent nod of her head. Swiftly turning around to allow Willam to continue her work, Courtney’s gaze drifted back to the image on her screen. She bit her lip as she carefully identified each of the flowers Willam had snuck into her braid without her noticing…there was toadflax of course, heliotrope, honeysuckle, and a few violets…All of them had similar meanings, surely that couldn’t be a coincidence, right?

Is this what Sharon meant about the signs?

Courtney found she didn’t have the courage to ask that question just yet, at least not out loud.

For the remainder of the class, she and Willam stayed largely silent towards each other. The most Courtney had said to her following the outburst was another quick 'Thanks’ after she had completely finished her design. As soon as it was done, Willam took a picture of her own and sent it to Courtney for review. She swiftly turned herself away from the blonde as soon as she had received the image and refused to look at her directly for very long.

Around the same time Willam had finished, Katya had also wrapped up her own work. The bouquet looked quite good for her first attempt, perhaps a little lopsided or uneven in certain areas but still an excellent effort for someone with no experience. Once there wasn’t anything further that could be added, Katya’s hands found their way to the leftover stems and leaves and soon began picking them apart.

Courtney recognized the behavior immediately and returned to gently praising the younger woman for a job well done. Almost all of the other attendees had stopped working by this time as well so it was hardly out of place to hear Jinkx calling out, “It looks like pretty much everyone has finished their bouquets so let’s call it a night…Please feel free to take your arrangements home with you…you can keep them for yourselves, give them to someone else-”

Something Sharon had muttered while Jinkx was speaking earned her a quick elbow in the ribs but as soon as Courtney stood up to help clean off the table, a slender hand wrapped around hers and began leading her to the door.

“Bill!” she called out in indignation as she tried to dig in her heels, “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking my bouquet home with me,” she replied back firmly.

At once Courtney felt her cheeks growing hot again, particularly as she saw the determination and nervousness in Willam’s eyes. She was being dead serious in her statement but still she left an opening for Courtney to decline. For a brief moment it felt like the world had stopped as Courtney gazed into her eyes and saw both the hope and fear lurking behind her hard exterior. She hardly recognized the meek, 'Okay’ that had fallen past her lips until Willam was once again guiding her out of the shop. She called out a quick 'Good luck’ to Katya and followed Willam back to her car.

There was little doubt Katya would inform of her of what would happen with Trixie so for now she allowed herself to push that thought out of her mind. As the pair drove through the city, Courtney took notice of the way Willam’s hands were shaking as she gripped the steering wheel. It was all very reminiscent of that night Courtney had caught her in the midst of a make-out session with a woman for the first time.

The blonde absently chewed on the interior of her lip as she tried not to over-analyze the situation just yet. Just because Willam had used certain flowers over others in her hair doesn’t mean that attracted to Courtney…Why would she be? They were polar opposites in most respects. They bickered like crazy at times and even fought worse than a number of couples she knew. Sure, they might kiss each other at night before they go to sleep and again when they wake up and maybe they’ve spent more nights than not wrapped up in each others arms…And just maybe Willam as of late has rebuked any form of sexual contact with other people but that didn’t mean that she was actually attracted to Courtney…right?

By the time they pulled up to Willam’s building complex, Courtney’s head felt close to exploding as she ran through all of the scenarios for how this night could end. She had hardly realized the car had stopped until she heard Willam’s quiet voice, “Court…I-”

Daring to take a chance, she mustered up her courage and interrupted in a hurried tone, “Can we go inside?”

“Um, sure,” the stunned dirty blonde replied as she turned off the car.

The walk was silent but each could hear their heartbeat echoing in their ears as they slowly made their way into Willam’s apartment. Courtney prayed that she wasn’t reading the situation wrong as she followed Willam past the door frame. Almost as soon as the door was shut, Willam began again with an unusual hesitance, “Listen, Court…”

“The flowers,” Courtney asked softly, barely able to look at her friend even as she stood only a foot in front of her, “You chose them for a reason…didn’t you?”

“Maybe,” Willam replied vaguely as her fingers trembled by her side.

“Just maybe?” Courtney challenged as she forced herself to look Willam in the eye and wrap her hands around one of Willam’s.

The dirty blonde’s gaze flickered down to the clinging grip then back up to meet Courtney’s inquiring expression. Very slowly, she found herself leaning in leaving more than enough opportunity for the blonde to pull away or reject her. Stopping within an inch of their lips touching, she gave a hesitant admittance of, “Maybe more than maybe.”

“Yeah?” Courtney asked hopefully as a smile grew across her face.

Returning the smile for a single second, Willam closed the gap with an almost feather-light brush of her lips against Courtney’s. She held herself there for a moment debating if she should press her luck further until Courtney made the decision for her. Their lips danced together in a way that was so practiced yet still so unique from any other kiss they had shared. It was as though every concealed emotion had bubbled to the surface and forced itself to be played out as they worked their mouths in synchrony. Willam’s free hand wound itself in what it could of Courtney’s hair, unwilling to let her draw back until there wasn’t a single bit of air left between them.

Once they were forced to break apart, Willam finally confirmed in a breathy voice, “Definitely more than maybe.”

It wasn’t the most eloquent declaration of attraction but god, it’ll work for now.

Courtney could hardly contain the joyful smile that stretched across her face. Almost at once she reconnected their lips and let every ounce of passion she felt be poured into the new kiss. Willam was stunned by the sudden forwardness but quickly gave Courtney the access she was so desperately seeking. For a few moments they stayed in that spot, simply just letting everything be expressed by that one action, but soon enough Courtney decided that she wanted show Willam so much more tonight.

Carefully taking a step back, Courtney pulled Willam along in the direction of the bedroom until the dirty blonde finally understood what she was implying. The kiss was broken only for a moment to catch their breath then like magnets they were drawn back into each other’s hold. Willam took the lead in navigating their way to her bedroom, doing her best to avoid any miscellaneous furniture or dirty laundry left lying about.

Before they even made it to the edge of the mattress, most of their own clothing joined the various piles on the floor until very little fabric remained to separate their bare skin from one another. While Courtney scooted her way onto the bed, Willam hovered closely over top of her to reaffirm through their broken kisses, “Are we really doing this?”

“Yes,” Courtney asserted. “As long as you want to, too.”

There wasn’t even a pause before Willam’s hurried response came back, “Fuck yeah…”

With that understanding, Courtney allowed Willam to crowd her down to the mattress as light fingers dragged themselves across her skin. Willam’s mouth soon left hers to travel up and down the side of her neck, never settling in one place for too long before continuing further down her chest. Upon meeting the cherry blossom pink bra Courtney still had on, a small noise of annoyance fell from Willam’s lips. She toyed with one of the straps for just a moment before setting her hands to work at removing the offending article.

Once it was gone, Willam’s mouth quickly returned to leaving a dusting of kisses down Courtney’s chest. She felt her head falling back as Willam swirled her tongue around one of her nipples, sucking gently before lapping at the growing bud. The dirty blonde’s hand found its way to Courtney’s other breast, massaging it expertly as she continued to work her mouth until Courtney was squirming in place. Before long she had switched sides and left Courtney all but whimpering for more contact.

Reluctantly, Willam forced herself to resume her journey down Courtney’s stomach but it was at this point the Aussie decided she had enough. With little warning, she flipped them over so that Willam was the one beneath her and Courtney could take back some of the control for herself. A smirk made its way to Willam’s face as she easily pushed herself into a seated position and pulled Courtney firmly into her lap. Almost at once Willam’s arms were wrapped around the older woman’s waist as Courtney’s own rested loosely across Willam’s shoulders in order tug gently at the dirty blonde hair as needed. They shared a brief kiss but after a few seconds Courtney broke the contact in order to leave her own trail of kisses across Willam’s skin. Setting herself on the pulse point, Courtney marked Willam just enough for her to find what she hoped would be a decent sized love bite tomorrow. It would be highly visible the following day; just dark enough that she would need make up to cover it if she chose to do so but Courtney loved the fact that she was finally able to claim Willam as her own after waiting for so long.

Satisfied with her work, Courtney resumed tracing her lips across the overheated skin. She was grinding herself into Willam’s lap hoping the dirty blonde would take the hint and give her what she needed. A hand left her waist to graze deceivingly soft fingertips across her inner thigh but they always stopped short of the one place she wanted to feel them. The most Willam would give her was a light brush against the hem of her panties but even then she would draw back after only a second.

The blonde let out a noise of impatience as she nipped Willam’s neck just enough to make her jump. Undeterred, Willam made no further action and Courtney was left to rut her hips again, silently begging Willam for more. Even before Courtney had pulled away to look, she could hear the smirk in Willam’s voice as she feigned innocence in asking, “What?”

A lone finger was finally running along the thin fabric of her panties but it was nowhere near enough pressure for Courtney. Trying her best not to sound like a desperate and needy mess, Courtney urged her on with an demanding, “More.”

To her exasperation only one more digit was added but still Willam made no motion to remove the remaining underwear. She seemed content just to taunt Courtney through the fabric as she slowly came apart in her lap. Glaring at the dirty blonde, Courtney whined, “That’s not what I meant.”

Unashamedly smug, Willam captured her lips again, flicking her tongue across the seam as she pulled away to order in a hushed tone, “Then tell me what you want me to do…Come on, princess. Use your words like a good girl.”

Despite every effort not to react, Courtney found her breath hitching at the phrasing and she stopped all movement as a light flush rose to her cheeks. The response didn’t go unnoticed by Willam, not in the least. Skimming her lips across Courtney’s collarbone, she teased, “Oh? You like it when I call you that now, huh?”

The blonde was shaking just slightly in her hold as she admitted softly, “Yes…”

She expected Willam to reply back with some sort of taunting remark but to her surprise all she received was a simple, “Good.”

Almost at once her panties were pushed off to the side just enough to allow Willam’s fingers to run along her inner folds. It was still a far cry what she really needed but at this point any change was welcomed from before. She could already feel the heat beginning to pool in her core as she ground down against the two digits. Willam allowed this only for a few minute or two as she laid claim to Courtney’s lips once more. Small noises of restlessness escaped from the blonde’s mouth to Willam’s but she still seemed perfectly fine with just teasing her partner.

Every now and then Courtney felt a soft circling against her clit causing a small jolt to resonate through her body but all too quickly it would be gone and she’d be left to whine at the loss. By the time the pair tore their lips from one another, Courtney was left breathless and embarrassingly wet from what very little Willam had done to her. She could feel herself coming undone while Willam stayed perfect put together and in control of everything that was happening.

Giving in to the ache for more, Courtney tugged just slightly at Willam’s hair and pleaded, “More…please, Bill.”

She could see Willam dying to comply to the request but to her annoyance, the younger woman restrained herself from providing anything right away. Instead she just breathed out, “Tell me, princess…Tell me what you want me to do.”

Her lips were so close to Courtney’s again, she could practically feel them as they ghosted against hers with each passing word. Willam’s free hand traveled up her back until it made contact with the loose and probably very messy braid. Willam deftly pulled the tie out and tossed it aside it order to run her fingers through Courtney’s hair. Flowers fell onto the bed behind her but she hardly had the capacity to care about that. Her focus was on Willam’s nonchalant statement of, “I can wait all night if I have to, angel.”

The newest nickname finally broke what remained of Courtney’s silence. Resting her forehead to Willam’s, she pressed their lips together for one sweet moment before swallowing what was left of her nerves in order to beg, “Please, I want you inside me…I want it so bad. I-”

Here Willam cut her off with another kiss as her fingers withdrew from between Courtney’s legs. She groaned at the loss until Willam silenced her objection with a commanding, “Take these off. Now.”

Courtney wasted little time in complying, hardly leaving Willam’s lap for more than a few seconds to shimmy out of her last piece of clothing before swiftly settling herself back into place. She felt so small and submissive as Willam still remained somewhat dressed but the appearance of two fingers in front of her lips soon changed that. Holding onto Willam’s wrist, she drew the fingers into her mouth and began to give them a thorough coating with her tongue. She hardly felt like she needed it at this point but the way Willam watched with hazy eyes as she worked more than made up for the further delay.

By the end she might have made the display a little more obscene than she ought to as she sucked on the digits and dragged her tongue anywhere it could reach but Willam certainly wasn’t complaining. She let the show go on much longer than necessary before drawing her fingers back from one heat to another.

As the first digit slipped inside, Courtney let out a sigh of much needed relief. It was finally happening and the anticipation and previous denial only made the moment so much sweeter for her. Already this situation was turning into everything she had wanted it to be.

A second finger was soon added and both crooked inside her as they avoided that one particular spot for now. Willam busied herself with placing fresh kisses across Courtney’s shoulders, chest, and neck as the digits dragged their way in and out at a slow and steady pace. Courtney was pushing her hips insistently against Willam’s hand as her panting began to pick up. A light sheen was breaking out across her forehead as little mewls clawed their way from her throat to Willam’s awaiting ears.

Just as Courtney had opened her mouth to lick at her overly dry lips, she felt the first brush against her g-spot and a small whimper filled the room. She found herself begging for Willam to repeat that motion and to her relief the compliance was almost immediate. As Courtney’s moans starting to pick up, so did Willam’s fingers. It was like a nonverbal reward system; the louder Courtney became, the more insistent the pressure and speed of Willam’s digits became.

Every now and then Courtney found Willam whispering a few words of encouragement in the few seconds she was able to pull her mouth away from Courtney’s skin.

“You sound so beautiful, angel.”

“Let the neighbors hear you, let them know who’s making you scream.”

“Tell me anything you want, princess.”

Each call of either 'princess’ or 'angel’ produced a new wave of whimpering from Courtney. She could feel the pleasure building up until her hands were gripping onto Willam’s shoulders so tightly her knuckles had begun to turn white. Her nails were digging into the dirty blonde’s skin but she didn’t seem to care about anything other than Courtney’s pleas for more.

At her request a third finger was added to the slick heat. With another, a hand was pulling on her hair just so as her neck arched back. Then finally Willam’s mouth was working against hers until she barely able to breath between everything that was happening to her.

It was the casual, almost careless circling of Willam’s thumb against her clit that drove home the fact that Courtney wouldn’t last much longer. Her ruts against Willam’s fingers were no longer in sync and soon she felt the pressure in her core reaching its capacity. She gave Willam a quick warning before burying herself into the crook of her neck and closing her eyes as the sensation washed over her. It was so overpowering that Courtney couldn’t stop herself from shaking as her senses became so overwhelmed and a voice she hardly recognized as her own was calling Willam’s name. It took even longer still to realize the dirty blonde was once again praising how pretty she looked as she came and of course peppering in a nickname or two as a shiver passed through the blonde.

The moment she was able to organize her thoughts Courtney crashed her lips back to Willam’s. The dirty blonde was eagerly responding, barely even noticing Courtney’s frantic hands working on removing her bra until it was all but hanging from a single strap. The second it was gone, Courtney lips were replacing it. If anything she was more erratic than Willam had been as her lips traced across every inch of exposed skin she could find. She wanted to touch and taste Willam, to repay her for everything she had just experienced and of course, to finally indulge in those secret fantasies that lurked in the back of her mind during those nights they had spent together.

Her hands were massaging and kneading Willam’s breasts, hardly able to decide where she wanted to be before her mouth was switching from side to another with little to no warning. Willam’s eyes had gone hooded as Courtney covered her skin so thoroughly with her lips it felt like no part of her had been left untouched.

Moving from Willam’s lap, Courtney repositioned herself as best she could on the bed to continue her path down to Willam’s lean and toned stomach. The position was slightly awkward for the time being, at least until Courtney convinced her scoot closer to the edge.

Immediately Willam realized what Courtney was intending to do as she slid to the floor and reaffirmed that she was alright with going this far. Her mind was flashing back to Courtney’s previous admittance of not having done very much with women before and the absolute last thing she wanted to do, especially right now, was have Courtney feel like this was something she had to reciprocate with.

But Courtney was determined either way. It might not be her area of expertise but she wanted to do this. She wanted to repay Willam and she wanted to gain that experience. After all Willam had done for her, the very least she wished for was for Willam to feel just as good.

“It’s not going to be mind-blowing,” she warned, “but I’ll give it my best shot.”

All Willam could do was nod weakly as Courtney guided her hand to her hair and spread Willam’s legs apart. It was here that Courtney finally slowed down and began to take her time with the dirty blonde. Not to tease her, just to explore her body as she became familiar with this new adventure.

She pressed soft kisses to her inner thighs and across the sensitive skin of her hips. Willam was struggling not twitch or otherwise alarm Courtney with any sudden movements. Stroking the wavy blonde hair, occasionally pulling out the flowers as she found them, helped to keep herself in check. The wide eyes staring up at her sent a bubbling warmth to her stomach that left her feeling both anxious yet still craving for more.

Courtney’s fingers hooked around her panties and with a little maneuvering she was able to slid them off and onto the floor. There was a tense pause as Courtney’s eyes flickered up to meet Willam’s and she slowly began leaning in. Willam’s breath caught in her throat as she felt those delicate hands running against her thighs and spreading her just a little bit wider. All at once it was like a sudden wave came crashing down on her as a tentative lick ran against her slit.

She bit her lip to force back any noise that might try to escape but nothing could be done to stop the rising blood to her cheeks. Her fingers twitched in Courtney’s hair as another more confident swipe of the blonde’s tongue passed along her folds. Their eyes remained connected as Courtney slowly grew more deliberate in her actions, trying new techniques to see what kind of reaction they would evoke from Willam. It was far from experienced but damn if the enthusiasm didn’t make up for it.

With her mind beginning to cloud, Willam wasn’t sure if her voice was actually wavering or not as she murmured, “Good girl…Just like that.”

Courtney hummed something in response and the resulting vibrations had Willam biting her lip once more. If she were standing, her legs would have been shaking at the sight alone of Courtney in front of her doing this.

“K-Keep going, princess, you’re doing so good,” she cooed encouragingly.

Though there was no verbal response, Willam could tell from the crinkling around Courtney’s eyes that praise was really working on her. All of her energy was focused on eating Willam out like it was her job and clearly she was taking pleasure in reducing the dirty blonde to as much of a hot mess as she had been just minutes before.

Willam was being drawn closer and closer to edge yet it still remained just far enough out of her reach that it was starting to become frustrating. She wanted her release more than anything and was desperately chasing it anyway she could manage as she continued to whisper sweet compliments to Courtney.

“Use your thumb,” she suggested softly as she teetered just on the brink of completely losing it.

The words were barely past her lips before she felt the circular rubbing against her clit. She had been so close before that moment that it only took a few complete cycles before she was coming apart under Courtney’s touch. As the climax racked through her body, Courtney kept at her pace until she felt the hand in her hair carefully pushing her away. Taking the hint she withdrew from between Willam’s legs and crawled back onto the bed beside her. She was just getting settled amongst the sheets when she felt Willam pulling her close and crashing their lips back to another.

While Willam took charge once again, making sure to lick her way thoroughly into Courtney’s mouth, she had to admit that still being able to taste herself on Courtney’s tongue was more of a turn on than she thought was fair. One of the Aussie’s hands found its way to her cheek, cradling her gently as though she were the most fragile object in the world. It just felt so right to have Courtney’s body melded into hers, she almost never wanted to leave the bed again in favor of making this moment last forever. But eventually the desire for cleanliness won out and the pair made their into the bathroom to share a quick shower. Admittedly there had been more stolen kisses than actual washing but neither had a negative word to say regarding that.

Following their bare minimum cleaning, the pair changed into some of Willam’s clothes and slipped back into bed with their phones in hand. Seems that while they were busy, most of the other girls had been as well.

Courtney found her inbox blown up with messages from both Katya, Violet, and surprisingly Sharon as well. It was almost expected that Katya felt the need to inform Courtney of everything that had happened after she left the shop. The sheer amount of texts was almost daunting until Courtney realized the majority were very simple phrases, including but not limited to; 'Oh my god!’

'We’re actually talking! Like normal people!’

'I think this counts as a date.’

'This is definitely a date!’

'OMG, what do I do?’

'Fuck! Why did I say that?’

'She’s laughing!’

'Damn she has an awful laugh….I love it.’

'She invited me back to her place!’

'I’m going to be late coming home.’

And then finally the last text had come through not even a full eight minutes prior; 'I’m not coming home tonight.’

Courtney couldn’t help but to chuckle as she read through the messages and probably very accurately pictured all the expressions Katya must have worn as she typed out each quick update. With some of the more colorfully phrased texts, Courtney read them aloud as Willam scrolled through her own inbox. Though she didn’t say anything, Courtney noticed a small relieved smile on Willam’s face as Courtney summarized how Katya’s date seemed to have gone.

Coming upon the end of her own inbox review, Willam asked, “Did you see Violet’s picture?”

Courtney shook her head stating she hasn’t made it that far through her messages yet but would look for it next. Unable to wait for Courtney to find it on her own, Willam extended her phone out to the blonde. The picture had already been blown up to cover the screen and immediately Courtney recognized the interior of the shop.

Taken from only a few feet away, it seems Violet saw an opportunity to sneak a picture of Sharon and Jinkx and had not let the moment go to waste. Sharon was working on her bouquet as Jinkx hung close by on the opposite side of the table. They must have been talking because both were gazing at each other with nothing but pure affection on their faces; the kind you never really notice yourself until someone points it out. Both of them just looked so focused on one another that they were oblivious to everything else around them, particularly Ivy who appearing to be in the midst of dropping some broken stems in the background behind them.

Courtney felt a joyful grin stretching across her lips as she returned to her own phone in order to take a look at the messages from the blonde in question.

“Do you think anything’ll actually happen with them?” Willam asked as she continued to smile warmly at the image on the screen.

Courtney thought to herself for a moment as she opened an attachment in Sharon’s most recent message and found her answer already supplied for her. The grin she wore was alarmingly bright as she all but pushed her phone into Willam’s hand and replied, “Yeah, I think so.”

The dirty blonde’s gaze dropped to the new image and immediately a matching smile appeared on her face. Though the picture was very simple, it gave both of the women hope that everything had in fact worked out for their friends. At the very foreground of the image were two To-Go cups of coffee and scribbled on the sides were Jinkx and Sharon’s names. That alone would not have raised any eyebrows but what caught Courtney and Willam’s attention lurked just at the border of the image; half cut off by the angle of the camera, the two could just make out a pair of hands locked together with intertwining fingers. It was a small guess as to who they belonged to and what that gesture was implying.

“Can’t wait to see what Sharon’ll have to say about that tomorrow,” Willam mentioned in amusement.

Placing her phone off on the nightstand, Courtney nestled into Willam’s side and admitted, “I’m just glad one of them finally made a move…It was getting frustrating just watching them dance around each other like that.”

“Yeah,” Willam agreed absently as she drifted off into her own thoughts. She stayed disturbingly silent for a full minute as Courtney traced mindless patterns over her outer thigh. Deciding she ought to do the right thing, Willam spoke up hesitantly, “Hey, um…I need to tell you something before we…go any further with this.”

Turning her head up to look Willam in the eye, Courtney did her best to hide a growing sense of concern as she replied mildly, “Okay…”

Swallowing heavily, Willam began again with nerves tinging her voice, “When…back when we had our…fight…I kind of…”

“Yeah?” Courtney asked as her brows began to bunch up in worry.

“I did something that I think…I think you should know about,” Willam admitted tensely.

Trying her best to remain calm and not jump to any conclusion, Courtney inquired, “What is it?”

“I…I was pissed at you and I tried to-I kissed Sharon! And if she hadn’t said 'no’, I would have gone much further than that. I’m sorry!” Willam confessed in sudden outburst of emotion. “I’m really sorry for what I said that day and for kissing her and trying to get back at you and-”

“Willam,” Courtney interrupted as she placed a hand over Willam’s forearm in order draw her attention back from her own shame. “It’s okay.”

Willam seem unconvinced, chewing her lip as she continued to stare guiltily down at Courtney. Vaguely the blonde wondered just how much this had been eating away at her but that question wasn’t the one she needed answered. Pressing a quick kiss to Willam’s cheek for reassurance, she asked seriously, “Can you forgive me for sleeping with Katya?”

Immediately the dirty blonde was nodding her head as her fingers toyed with a damp curl hanging across her shoulder. Pulling that same hand into hers, Courtney informed her quite sincerely, “Then of course I can forgive you for kissing Sharon…”

A relieved smile broke out across Willam’s face and though there still seemed to be some disbelief that Courtney was okay with everything she had been told, Willam let the subject drop. They pulled each other in for a final heartfelt kiss as fatigue began to catch up with them. Pulling away, Willam stated quietly, “We were both so stupid.”

“We were…” Courtney agreed with a smile. “But I’m still glad this-that we happened.”

Returning the smile, Willam placed a soft kiss to the corner of Courtney mouth and murmured, “Yeah, me too.”

[dreadhaus-literature]

{WC} OC #1 : Kiran Lim

I’m really struggling creatively, right now, so for the first challenge I decided to throw myself a bone, make things a little easier--I opened my music library and decided to create an OC using a song.

The song I decided to use was, “Main Titles” from the Mindhunter OST.

It, from the moment I heard it, invoked a very strong emotional reaction in me and I’m hoping the character I create using it as inspiration does that justice.

☾ Basics ☽

◎ Full Name: Kiran Madhav Lim

◎ Meaning of Name: Kiran means, “sunbeam” or “ray of light”. Madhav means “sweet like honey”. Lim means “forest”.

◎ Nickname: Ki (pronounced “Kai”).

◎ Birth Date: February 3rd, 1680

◎ Astrological Sign and Details: Aquarius “Above all things, this sign seeks the truth. Aquarians are tolerant of every point of view, and can see both sides of any argument. They are independent, yet their great desire to help those around them enables them to make friends easily. However, if they become truly disappointed in someone, they can never truly forgive or forget. They are, by nature, very tolerant, and tend to have high expectations of those around them. Aquarians hide their deep sensitivity and thus have a fear of vulnerability, and it may take a very long time for them to open up, but are always ultimately worth the time and effort.”

◎ Age: 340 years old

◎ Race / Species: Vampire (Energy/Psychic sub-species)

◎ Hair Color: Deep, dark brown (one or two shades above black)

◎ Hair Style: Curly, currently cut short in a halo around his head.

◎ Shape and Features of Face: Round; Kiran’s cheeks were absolutely chubby bunny when he was a child, and though he’s grown more into them by now, there’s still traces of cherubic Kiran there if one looks, especially at his profile. His forehead and chin are on the smaller side, with his eyes just as round as his cheeks, his lips plump and full, and his nose rounded like a tulip bulb at the tip.

◎ Glasses or Contacts: Kiran wears thin, but large round glasses. He doesn’t like contacts.

◎ Eye Color: Lilac when “feeding” or feral. Light Green when passive.

◎ Skin Tone: Kiran’s skin is the color of damp earth, right after it rains. Deep, rich, and somewhat reflective of light, giving him an ethereal appearance especially in low light.

Kiran’s skin also has a lilac sheen to it when “feeding”, especially if he hasn’t in a while. It’s incredibly light, though, and settles over his flesh like a mist.

◎ Scars or Distinguishing Marks: Kiran has very few scars even with his longevity; he has accelerated healing and he typically keeps to himself, out of any frays or battles.

However, he does have a very thin, raised scar over his heart. He was partially staked, only once when he was very small, and was unable to fully heal from it. His heart bears the same scar just beneath the surface of his skin.

◎ Disabilities: Kiran’s partial staking as a young vampire was what caused, retroactively, his poor eyesight. He is partially blind in his left eye, as the retina detached during the attack. He was able to regrow some of it, but not all, and thus must wear glasses to see properly.

The lens on the right side of his eyeglasses is simply glass, as he can see perfectly out of that eye.

◎ Build or Body Type: In his younger days, Kiran was on the chubbier side, but has thinned out as he’s gotten on in centuries. Now, one can see his collar bones, or get a peek of his wrist or hip bones, and his shoulders seem broader than they used to. His weight loss hasn’t necessarily meant he’s bulked up, and as he doesn’t need to use his fangs or put himself in danger to feed, he doesn’t have much muscle mass to speak of.

If anything, Kiran looks like he could outrun just about anyone. He’s thin, quick on his feet, and carries himself that way.

◎ Height: Kiran hasn’t measured himself in centuries, but finds he often has to duck doorways and doesn’t sit comfortably in most vehicles. He’s got long limbs, especially his legs, and finds not a single human can look him in the eye without craning their neck.

◎ Speech Patterns: Kiran is incredibly soft-spoken, but that isn’t to say he’s shy. He speaks when he feels he has something to contribute, and that gives a certain thoughtfulness to his tone that even strangers pick up on. He often projects warmth into his tone, whether it’s truly meant or not, and can make friends with almost anyone due to the smile that can be felt, heard, in his rich baritone.

Kiran speaks formally, sometimes avoiding contractions, but no one is sure if that’s his age or simply his careful way of speaking.

◎ Mannerisms: Kiran has a way of making consideration noises when he’s thinking, “Hm...” or “Mm...” (with “mm” being a deeper sound) as well as resting his chin on his hand.

Kiran also is not very “handsy”. He doesn’t fidget with his hands, and he isn’t prone to touching people or objects unless he knows or owns them.

◎ Weaknesses: Kiran is partially blind in his left eye and without his glasses cannot see much out of that eye--this also affects his depth perception.

Kiran does have fangs, but they’re secondary and not his main way of feeding and thus, they’re smaller than a sanguinarian vampire’s, which means he needs to bite harder to achieve the same end result.

◎ Special Abilities or Powers: Kiran, being an energy or psychic vampire, is an exceptionally gifted telepath. He’s mastered telepathy, can easily access the mind of his prey and bypass most psychic or mental blocks. He “feeds” off life force, energy, and mood--making him an exceptional empath.

Kiran’s favorite moods to feed from are Calm, Romantic, and Whimsical (for dessert of course!).

Kiran’s least favorite moods are Angry, Melancholy, and Lonely.

Kiran has also studied and mastered telekinesis, and due to his age and practice can feed from most humans without them being any the wiser, and without leaving them quite as drained as they might be with a lesser experienced vampire.

As with the majority of his kind, Kiran can cloak himself, compel prey, has amplified speed, strength, and durability/healing, and his vision displays emotional auras in colors, rather than heat vision like sanguinarian vampires.

☾ Characteristics ☽

◎ Bad Habits: Emotional shopping (if Kiran “eats” a bad mood, he’s compelled to shop), talking to himself in public, “snacking” on passersby if he’s bored, snooping in memories and thoughts if he’s curious, drinking/eating straight from containers, being overly critical, being late (being immortal makes time less of a concern), guessing movie/show endings.

◎ Good Habits: Avid reader, exceptional listener, patient when dealing with others, inquisitive and so is always learning some new skill, generally only feeds from others without causing emotional/physical harm.

◎ Best Characteristic: Honest. Kiran is almost too honest and though he’s perfectly capable of lying, even if he should, he probably won’t.

◎ Worst Characteristic: Controlling. Kiran likes things to be just so and he doesn’t quite know what to do if they’re not...exactly how he likes them.

◎ Worst Memory: Unsurprisingly, being staked. He was a toddler when it happened, under five, and it is not only his first memory but his most vivid. He will occasionally revisit the memory in a nightmare and be unable to sleep for days afterwards, too afraid to be that vulnerable.

◎ Best Memory: Inheriting his father’s curio shop. It has been in the Lim family for centuries and centuries, shifting with the changing times of course, but the clientele remain loyal and some of Kiran’s fondest memories are as a child, helping to dust and care for the objects his father collected and sold.

Kiran’s father is now retired, on to other ambitions and dreams, leaving Kiran happily in charge of the Lim Shoppe of Oddities.

◎ Proud of: His ever-growing collection of, you guessed it, oddities. Due to his father’s influence, Kiran collects trinkets and objects that most would find bizarre. He’s got shrunken heads, bone fairy skeletons, and mermaid treasure.

He keeps it all in a vault beneath his home.

◎ Embarrassed by: His partial blindness. His left eye is a slightly milky color and he’s ashamed of it, and often wears his curls over the eye to cover it.

He is also incredibly embarrassed when his depth perception is off and he knocks something over or breaks something.

◎ Temperament / Attitude: Kiran is a man who values silence, and understands the power of speaking. He knows words have meaning, and that once something is said, it can never be unsaid, and so you’ll often find him contemplative. He’ll listen to someone speak for hours if he finds them interesting, but won’t be quite so forthcoming about himself, preferring to direct the spotlight rather than be in it.

Kiran is patient, and while one might not consider him kind, he is polite almost to a fault, having learned to be a gentleman at a time of top hats and petticoats. He isn’t quick to anger as a result, but he has a terrible habit of holding grudges and is not known for his forgiveness.

Kiran is inquisitive, curious for all his intellect, and loyal to the core once someone has earned his trust.

◎ Weakness (Non-Physical): Addictive personality; Kiran can become addicted to certain prey he feeds from. If he finds someone whose moods are to his liking, his tastes, he will become fixated on them and it’s incredibly difficult to get him to move on.

◎ Fears / Phobias: Stakes, people entering his room whilst he’s asleep, thunderstorms, being incompetent.

◎ Secrets: Kiran’s deepest secret is that his curio shop is not always on the up and up. He prides himself in doing good business and being an honest man, but he does deal in “black market” deals of all sorts and given his business runs the gamut of normal to occult, he’s dealt in some pretty shady dealings with some pretty shady people before.

He doesn’t really see it as a problem, though, given that was how his father ran the business. He is simply continuing the tradition.

◎ Feels Vulnerable When: He’s asleep. Kiran’s staking happened when he was asleep as a child and that has developed into something of a fear of sleeping. Kiran will not sleep anywhere he is not comfortable or if there isn’t someone he trusts to watch over him.

Even in his own home, occasionally Kiran will forgo sleep to avoid nightmares or because he’s too afraid to drift off and be left unable to defend himself.

◎ Pet Peeves: Bad hygiene, people who interrupt him when he’s speaking, shoplifters, passive aggressive behavior, unnecessary abbreviations, people chronically in a bad mood, unsolicited recommendations about...anything.

◎ Motivation: Currently, Kiran’s motivation is simply in running his business.

◎ Goals / Hopes: Kiran’s looking to expand his curio shop a bit more, maybe purchase a secondary shop or move some of the business online; he isn’t sure yet, what exactly he wants to pursue, but it’s a new decade and it feels time to upgrade again.

◎ Sexuality: Kiran is bisexual.

◎ Day or Night Person: Kiran likes afternoons and evenings, periods of low light before the sun disappears.

◎ Introvert or Extrovert: Introvert.

◎ Optimist or Pessimist: Kiran refers to himself as a “realist” but it also depends on the most recent victim he’s fed from and what mood they were in.

◎ Talents: Taught himself to be ambidextrous, exceptional at all stringed instruments (including the harp), can spot a fake artifact, item, or object almost immediately, doesn’t need to eat food but spent a few decades perfecting his cooking, expert haggler and negotiator,  and is able to remain level-headed even during the most heated arguments.

☾ Likes and Styles ☽

◎ Music: Kiran listens to Classical (Modern, Symphony, Opera, Orchestral, Romantic), Trance (specifically Orchestral), New Age (Meditation), Soul, and Vocal.

◎ Books: Kiran reads fiction and non-fiction, with a heavy preference for Thrillers. He does read romantic poetry, as well.

◎ Foods: Kiran prefers sweet over salty, enjoying ice cream, puddings, trifles, pastries and cakes, and he often has candy in his pocket for a little “pick me up” if he’s having a bad day.

◎ Drinks: Kiran prefers hot drinks over cold, such as coffees and teas. He doesn’t drink much, alcohol-wise, though he does like red wine with the right meal...

◎ Animals: Kiran is extremely fond of crows. They’re intelligent and crafty, and he finds he relates a lot to them.

He has befriended a few that nest around his shop, and they bring him shiny trinkets every now and again.

◎ Color: Earth tones, with the occasional hint of color. It reminds Kiran of finding gemstones buried far beneath the earth, as if there are still mysteries in the world unsolved.

◎ Clothing / Jewelry: Kiran dresses in a more subdued, almost hipster-style--though it isn’t on purpose. He simply found a style he liked about a century ago and hasn’t...quite caught up, yet. His colors are muted, the fabrics expensive, and he is extremely fond of rings. He wears them layered, and he will wear a ring of any sort, it doesn’t matter the cut or color or style as long as it’s real.

◎ TV Shows / Movies: Kiran enjoys documentaries and true crime, though he has been known to watch a period drama every now and again.

◎ Greatest Want: To know he’s serving his family well. The Lim’s have always dealt in the curio business, and there’s a lot of pressure on Kiran’s shoulders to ensure he’s living up to that legacy. He doesn’t want to ask for the reassurance, the praise, but he wants to be told it all the same.

◎ Greatest Need: Kiran doesn’t know it, but what he needs is support. He’s terribly alone, and he isn’t aware of it--not yet, anyway.

[garretttjvg040-blog]

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With about 70% of American secondary school grads enrolling in schools annually, an university level has actually ended up being a necessary stepping rock to landing a great first work. Yet when it ahead to your earning prospective, not all degrees are developed equivalent. So which majors truly pay the highest? With an evaluation of numerous thousands of resumes and corresponding salary reports, Glassdoor has actually established which majors pay the most throughout the very first five years out of college.

And also, for each and every major, we have actually identified 3 of the most preferred tasks that new graduates actually take upon getting in the real world. The 50 highest paying college majors are: 1. Computer technology 2. Electric Design 3. Mechanical Engineering 4. Chemical Engineering 5. Industrial Design 6. Information Innovation 7. Civil Engineering 8.

Nursing 10. Administration Info Solution 11. Finance 12. Math 13. Biomedical Design 14. Audit 15. Economics 16. Physics 17. Biotechnology 18. Design 19. Haute couture 20. Organisation 21. International Relations 22. Graphic Style 23. Advertising 24. English 25. Political Science 26. History 27. Human being Resources 28. Journalism 29. Marketing 30.

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Environmental Scientific research 32. Social Science 33. Spanish 34. Communications 35. Inside Design 36. Chemistry 37. Songs 38. Movie Researches 39. Public read more Relations 40. Sports Monitoring 41. Education 42. Anthropology 43. Hospitality Monitoring 44. Biochemistry and biology 45. Liberal Arts 46. Psychology 47. Sociology 48. Healthcare Administration 49. Community service 50. Biology So for those drawing their hair out attempting to pick a college significant, what does this mean for you? "If college trainees wish to land a high-paying work after graduation, they should highly take into consideration learning scientific research, technology, engineering, or mathematics," states Dr.

" STEM majors are in need by the technology and wellness markets, which use higher paying work that are better shielded from competitors or automation." Relevant Links: Which city should you transfer to after university? Consider among the very best Cities for Jobs Which company should you benefit? Check out Glassdoor's Best Places to Work Intend to land that dream work? Research these 4 pro tips Just how much money do you make? Share your wage to join the #Share Your Pay activity.

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For a major to be thought about, Glassdoor should hold at the very least 400 distinctive resumes as of 10/03/16, in which a task seeker and/or employee has suggested graduating from university with the matching significant. To establish the median base wage for every major, career progression information, consisting of work titles, within the initial 5 years of work upon finishing from university was assessed with corresponding salary data, sent by workers on Glassdoor.

IBM Information and AI general supervisor Rob Thomas reviews AI being integrated right into the workforce. Ends up, you do not require a bachelor's level-- as well as all the debt that usually comes with it-- in order to bring home a six-figure income. On Tuesday, Smart Asset published a report of the highest-paying tasks that do not require a bachelor's level or one more postgraduate degree.

The web site ranked jobs that require an affiliate's level or much less by their typical yearly income. The greatest paying work that does not need a postgraduate degree is an air web traffic controller, according to Smart Property. An associate's degree is normally required, as well as the majority of people require an associate's level from the Air Traffic Collegiate Training Initia.

Historically, it's been stated that university graduates earn bigger incomes than secondary school grads, but just how much a lot more? If you prepare to embark on one of the highest possible paying jobs out of college, listed here, you might possibly gain 6 numbers right after completing your bachelor's degree. Unsurprisingly, the bulk of jobs on this checklist autumn under the STEM classification.

Usual qualities of these high-earning experts consist of management and also management abilities, advanced mathematical, technological, or engineering expertise, and top-level researching capacities. While a number of the 25 highest paying jobs for college graduates permit entry-level job fresh off of an undergraduate program, some may require graduate or postgrad education and learning to obtain your foot in the sector door.

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These competent professionals first job along with specialists and also scientists to recognize the tank formations, before beginning r & d of boring devices, strategies, as well as other procedures. Petroleum designers may specialize in different locations, including conclusions, dealing with building wells; exploration, identifying the most safe and most reliable exploration treatments; manufacturing, checking the manufacturing of developed wells; as well as reservoir, determining how much gas or oil can be removed from a deposit.

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All actuaries should exhibit top-level abilities in data analysis, info compilation, proposal development, and also teamwork. When individuals think of the greatest paying jobs out of college, nuclear design often comes initially to mind. This customized line of work includes considerable research and also development to develop the processes, instruments, and also systems used in taking advantage of atomic energy and also benefiting from nuclear radiation.

Most of these experts operate in a workplace environment, whether at a power plant, a federal government building, or a consulting company. By having useful abilities in high need, chemical engineers can find work in a big variety of markets. They utilize chemistry, biology, physics, and math to analyze troubles and devise options for the manufacturing of everything from medicine, to food, to apparel, to sustain.

In enhancement to style as well as growth, chemical engineers examine their techniques and may even straight look after facility operations. These experts function in offices, research laboratories, as well as on-site at industrial areas like plants and refineries. The functional abilities of electronics and interaction engineers permit them to work in an incredible selection of innovation sectors.

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Use office hrs to go to each instructor at the very least as soon as throughout the term. If the instructor is instructing a class in your intended or significant significant, spend more time in office hours.

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Wherever their specialty lies, all electronic devices and/or communications engineers concentrate on the layout as well as growth of new as well as enhanced individual technology. This job includes evaluating customer requirements, making individual components, examining entire systems, establishing maintenance procedures, as well as executing examinations as well as examinations to guarantee top technological performance. Job normally occurs in a workplace, with occasional traveling to on-site areas relying on certain market requirements.

[sportsleague365]

Jurgen Klopp celebrating with the Liverpool supporters after the win over Bayen Munich at the Allianz Arena (Getty Images)When Jurgen Klopp was appointed Liverpool manager back in October 2015, editors across the land were falling over themselves in a bid to shoehorn the words ‘heavy’ ‘metal’ and ‘football’ into their headlines. It was Klopp himself who coined the phrase ‘heavy metal football’ during his time with previous club Borussia Dortmund prior to a Champions League game against Arsenal in November 2013 and it was a soundbite subsequently lapped up by the British media. Discussing the differences between his and Arsene Wenger’s footballing philosophies, Klopp quipped: ‘He likes having the ball, playing football, passes … it’s like an orchestra. But it’s a silent song. I like heavy metal.’ He reiterated his footballing preferences in his very first interview after joining Liverpool, saying: ‘My teams must play at full throttle and take it to the limit every single game.’ Heavy metal or full throttle, the idea was that Klopp would implement a fast-paced style at Liverpool based around the high pressing of spaces (Gegenpressing), quick transitions and creating overloads in attack. Essentially, it was pressing an opponent as soon as a ball was lost, winning it back and then immediately flying forward in numbers. Jurgen Klopp coined the phrase ‘heavy metal football’ before Borussia Dortmund played Arsenal in 2013 (Getty Images)That kind of style was perfectly suited to Dortmund, a club that at the time had a nucleus of exciting young talent with the legs and enthusiasm to carry out such instructions and a partisan home crowd, more than willing to roar them on. Having succeeded there, it is easy to see why Klopp was attracted to Liverpool where the conditions on and off the pitch were similar. Somewhat ironically, the most obvious example of ‘heavy metal football’ during Klopp’s opening months at Anfield, came during a Europa League game against Dortmund. Then managed by Thomas Tuchel, Dortmund were slowly moving away from their former manager’s style towards a more possession-based approach, but Julian Weigl aside it was a squad that had been assembled by Klopp. Dortmund flew out of the traps, racing into a 2-0 lead within nine minutes thanks to future Arsenal teammates Henrikh Mkhitaryan and Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang. Divock Origi pulled one back before Marco Reus quickly restored Dortmund’s two-goal advantage. Liverpool needed three goals to progress and they duly came inside the final 25 minutes through Philippe Coutinho, Mamadou Sakho and Dejan Lovren. To view this video please enable JavaScript, and consider upgrading to a web browser thatsupports HTML5 video It was heavy metal football vs heavy metal football, a playground game masquerading as a European quarter-final. Klopp was unsurprisingly thrilled at the spectacle his current and former clubs had managed to conjure up, saying: ‘That was football at its best, a great game to experience for everyone involved.’ Liverpool’s run to last season’s Champions League final had a similarly full-throttle feel to it. They topped a relatively straightforward group containing Sevilla, CSKA Moscow and Maribor, scoring 23 goals in the process before putting five past each of Porto and Manchester City followed by seven against Roma in the knockout rounds. Prior to the final in Kyiv, Liverpool had already broken the record for the number of goals scored in a single Champions League campaign with an astonishing 46 – including the six they scored against Hoffenheim in the qualifying round of the competition. In Mohamed Salah, Sadio Mane and Roberto Firmino, they had three players each on 10+ goals, another record. It was ludicrously entertaining football that embodied the style Klopp had talked up on his arrival. Liverpool’s 7-6 aggregate win over Roma encapsulated their top-heavy approach (Getty Images)Nevertheless, there was a sense throughout their exhilarating Champions League run that for all the quality of their attacking play, Liverpool were a touch too top-heavy, as emphasised during their semi-final meeting with Roma. Liverpool were dominant for all but perhaps15 of the 180 minutes, yet only ended up winning it 7-6 on aggregate, itself a ridiculous scoreline at such a stage in the Champions League. Both at home and away, Liverpool invited Roma onto them in the final ten minutes and on each occasion, Roma scored twice. Even when Liverpool seemed in control they had the capacity to fall apart. The same was true in the final when Liverpool were defeated 3-1 by Real Madrid in what was, for the most part, an even contest. Liverpool’s desire to play fast-paced, attacking football at times left them short at the other end of the pitch and their style has been noticeably reigned in a touch throughout the current campaign with a far better balance struck between attack and defence. That has been obvious during a Premier League campaign in which Liverpool have only conceded 17 goals in 30 games and kept 17 clean sheets in total and it was in evidence again in the Champions League last-16 second leg against Bayern Munich in the Allianz Arena on Wednesday. A 0-0 draw at Anfield in the first leg left the tie in the balance but Liverpool rarely looked troubled during the return in Munich, as a double from Sadio Mane and a thumping header from Virgil van Dijk handed them a 3-1 victory on the night and on aggregate overall. Sadio Mane and Virgil Van Dijk were on target as Liverpool beat Bayern Munich (Getty Images)Having conceded six over two legs against Roma last term, Liverpool restricted a side containing Robert Lewandowski, James Rodriguez and Franck Ribery to just one and even that was scored by a Liverpool player – Joel Matip turning a cross into his own net. It was a performance that was the polar opposite of that helter-skelter meeting with Dortmund early on in Klopp’s reign. Rather than relentlessly pressing Bayern high up the pitch, Liverpool were happy to sit off them in the opening stages with Bayern enjoying 63% possession and completing 340 passes to their visitors’ 194 in the opening 45 minutes. Despite having more of the ball, though, Bayern barely looked like troubling Liverpool’s backline with the midfield shuffling dutifully across to plug any gaps that emerged. MORE: WORLD How will you celebrate Steak and Bl*wj*b day?''Naked carpenter' jailed after delivering Hermes parcels with his penis hanging outAll of the Brexit vote results since 2015 including the EU ReferendumMane’s opening goal – a wonderful solo effort that left Manuel Neuer seeing stars – gave Liverpool the boon of an away goal and although Bayern managed to find a route back into the game, Liverpool regrouped after the break and delivered a masterful counter-attacking display in the second half. Again, Bayern edged possession, but their use of the ball compared to Liverpool’s was sterile. For their 52% of the ball, Bayern failed to muster a single shot on target, while Liverpool had four. They picked their moments expertly, first capitalising on Bayern’s weakness at set-pieces through Van Dijk and then catching them cold late on when Salah’s brilliant ball was nodded in by Mane. Liverpool have enjoyed some memorable European nights under Klopp reaching two finals in three years, but this was by far the most complete performance they have put together in the Champions League during his time in charge. Klopp celebrating Mane’s second goal with his substitute (Getty Images)It was made abundantly clear during both legs that Bayern are a faded force, yet still, Liverpool dealt with them authoritatively and deserve credit for denying them a quarter-final place for the first time in eight years. No team will fancy meeting Liverpool in the quarters. Before the game, Klopp responded irritably to pundits suggesting that Liverpool should lose to Bayern on purpose so as to free up space in their schedule and focus on the Premier League, the suggestion being that they don’t have sufficient depth to compete for both. Liverpool proceeded to make a mockery of that school of thought with an excellent all-round display. It might not be heavy metal football that Klopp promised but this slightly more orchestral style has better-equipped Liverpool to challenge for major honours. MORE: LIVERPOOL FC Jurgen Klopp has turned Liverpool into CL contenders by ditching heavy metal footballVan Dijk names club Liverpool will find 'difficult' in Champions League quarter-finalsBarcelona squad desperate to avoid two teams in Champions League quarter-finals #JurgenKlopp #BorussiaDortmund #ChampionsLeague

[footballghana]

FEATURE: Napoli striker Victor Osimhen’s rise to superstardom

  Just two years ago Victor Osimhen contracted Malaria. He watched the Super Eagles crash out of the World Cup in the group stage from a hospital bed. Even after recovering his body was weakened to the point where he was a shell of the player that scored 10 goals at the U-17 World Cup. He subsequently failed trials at Belgian sides Club Brugge and Zulte Waregem. Now, he is one of the most expensive African players of all time after moving to Napoli.

Malaria wasn’t the only thing that Osimhen beat in order to reach stardom. As is the case with most African footballers who made it to the top, Victor Osimhen had to overcome quite a lot.

Early Days

His story starts in the busy streets of Lagos, Africa’s most populous city. Osimhen was born in a small community called Olusosun. It is home to the largest dumpsite in Lagos.

Victor spent his days growing playing barefoot on the sand pitches of Lagos. He was determined to become a professional footballer despite pressure from his father to pursue medicine.

He recalled scavenging dumps in search of football boots. “Sometimes you see, you found yourself with a Nike on the right foot and then you start looking for the other foot. And finally, you find the left foot and it’s a Reebok! My sister patched everything up and it was good. It was survival.” Osimhen told France Football.

His brother sold sports newspapers and his sister sold oranges. Every day after school Victor sold bottled water and sodas, but he had a higher calling. “This is what I wanted, this is what I was born for.”

Super Eaglets

Despite a drive for success that separated him from others, a bit of luck enabled Osimhen to represent his country. After an impressive performance playing with his youth club Shooting Stars at the National Stadium in Lagos, football agent Shira Ayila (who happened to be watching) approached Victor and invited him to practice with the U-17 National Team.

Along with four others, Osimhen and Ayila traveled over nine hours from Lagos to Abuja to play. “That was the first time I went outside of Lagos, the first time I was leaving my family, actually.” Osimhen recalled.

“I was surprised when I came to the field. There were so many players there. My team was the last to play and you had just 15 minutes to show yourself. I scored two goals in the space of that 15 minutes.”After two days of practice the U-17 National Team coach and Nigerian legend Emmanuel Amunike was convinced of his skill. “You could instantly tell when he came to the Under-17 camp that we have a striker capable of scoring goals and helping the team,” said Amuneke. “He had hunger, passion for the game and extra motivation to succeed. It was not a difficult choice to pick him, and we saw that when he delivered.”

Unsurprisingly, he was called up to his nation’s squad for the 2015 FIFA U-17 World Cup that was to be held in Chile.

His Nigeria side was drawn in Group A with hosts Chile, Croatia and the United States. He scored in the opening game as the Super Eaglets defeated Christian Pulisic’s America 2-0, netted twice in Nigeria’s 5-1 thrashing of Chile, and scored his side’s only goal as they fell to Josip Brekalo’s Croatia.

Nigeria were drawn against an Australia side in the Round of 16 that were no match for Osimhen and Nigeria. Victor hit a hat-trick as they dismantled the young Socceroos 6-0. He scored the first goal in their 3-0 win over Brazil before he scored a late penalty to seal Nigeria’s 4-2 win over Mexico to earn a spot in the finals.

Coming up against fellow Africans Mali, who had only conceded two goals up until the finals, Osimhen scored the decisive goal as his side won 2-0 to lift the trophy in Viña del Mar, Chile.

If you were counting, Osimhen scored 10 times (in addition to assisting two goals) to win the Golden Boot by a margin of six goals. His teammate Kelechi Nwakali won the Golden Ball as the tournament’s best player while Samuel Chukwueze won the Bronze Boot with three goals.

European Journey

After the tournament the likes of Arsenal, Tottenham Hotspur and AC Milan made approaches for the then 16-year-old, but he held out for a move to VFL Wolfsburg. “My chances of developing are best here. Wolfsburg is the best place for me to jumpstart my career.” Osimhen announced at his unveiling just days after turning 18.

Wolfsburg paid €3.50m to Ultimate Striker for Osimhen, and as part of the deal they established a partnership with the Nigerian academy to bring more Nigerians to Germany.

Unfortunately for Osimhen and Wolfsburg, the chances never came for him. His reliance on physical prowess that allowed him to bully defenders at the U-17 level was not feasible in the Bundesliga.

[caption id="attachment_771757" align="alignnone" width="2560"] HAMBURG, GERMANY - MAY 20: Victor Osimhen controls the ball during the Bundesliga match between Hamburger SV and VfL Wolfsburg at Volksparkstadion on May 20, 2017 in Hamburg, Germany. (Photo by Maja Hitij/Bongarts/Getty Images)[/caption]

His time at Wolfsburg was also marred by injuries, as he missed a large part of his initial season with a meniscus injury. In his sixteen appearances in Germany, he played just 363 minutes averaging 22 minutes per appearance, and of these sixteen appearances, only eight were in his preferred position of centre forward, with the rest coming out wide.

Success in Belgium

After failing to score in any of his 16 appearances with Wolfsburg, Osimhen looked for a loan move after two disappointing seasons with Wolfsburg. Unfortunately for Osimhen, he contracted Malaria after the season ended. This weakened his body so much that even after recovering he could not play football at his best. He failed trials at Belgian clubs Club Brugge and Zulte Waregem before Charleroi took a chance on the young Nigerian.

He recalled watching the Super Eagles at the 2018 World Cup from a hospital bed as he fought Malaria. It seems almost certain that he will be Nigeria’s main man for the 2022 World Cup.

The Belgian league suited Osimhen better. After two years in Europe Osimhen scored his first professional goal against Waasland-Beveren on his full debut – and it was a spectacular goal.

Excerpt from The Nation: “After receiving a deep-lying cross in the box, the burly striker in a spectacular show of skill and precision, nutmegged an on-rushing defender and within a twinkle of an eye, he scored with a back heel goal much to the delight of over 8,000 spectators at Freethel Stadion with thousands humming on the social media over the well-executed goal.”

After the match he quoted the hit song of R Kelly: “I believe I can fly.” Flying is indeed what he did during his lone season in Belgium, scoring 20 goals in 36 appearances. He described his goal against Zulte Waregem, the side which refused to take a chance on him after his bout with malaria, as “one of the proudest moments of my life”.

New Levels of Stardom

At the end of the loan Charleroi opted to exercise the option to sign Osimhen permanently, for a fee of €3.50m. Exactly one month later they sold him to French side Lille for €14.00m.

In France, he found even more success. Osimhen was tipped by many ahead of the 19/20 season as one to watch, but nobody could have predicted that the young Nigerian would turn into a goal machine.

He scored a brace in his Ligue 1 debut against Nantes, and Osimhen never looked back. He finished the domestic campaign, which was cut short due to the pandemic, with 13 goals and five assists. His performances were rewarded by winning the 2020 Marc-Vivien Foe prize, which recognizes the best African player in Ligue 1.

Osimhen caught the eyes of many in the UEFA Champions League, especially when he scored against Chelsea.

“Scoring against Chelsea is one of my biggest achievements, because I watched the Champions League as a boy back home in Nigeria.”

Osimhen will play the next season in Italy with Napoli, and the pressure will be on considering his price tag. But considering all that he has overcome, it should be no challenge for the 21-year-old striker.

Source: africanfootballhq.com

source: https://footballghana.com/

[travelguy4444]

Top Ten Places to Go for New Year’s Eve

Updated: 11/20/2018 | November 20th, 2018

New Year’s Eve is the biggest party of the year. It’s a celebration that brings people together to celebrate all the potential that a new year offers. It’s a day of hope and celebration.

And it’s not too far away either!

Soon, people from around the world will be ringing in the new year soon with fireworks, festivals, friends, parties, and songs. It’s a fun holiday that knows no nationality.

If you’re ready to stay up past your bedtime and indulge in the revelry, here are my top ten best places to go for New Year’s Eve in 2018:

1. New York City

Times Square has been a focal point of New Year’s activity for more than a hundred years. Around one million people will crowd into the square to watch the famous ball drop. On top of that, around a BILLION more people will watch from home, making this one of the biggest events of the year — every year!

If you want to watch the ball drop in person, be sure to arrive early (people start gathering in the afternoon to get a good spot) and dress warmly! However, there are lots of parties throughout the city and most New Yorkers try to aim for some of the downtown clubs and bars or a house party!

Check out my free travel guide to New York City for more information on how to get there, save money, and enjoy the city during your visit!

2. Sydney

Australia is one of the first countries in the world to experience New Year’s Eve making Sydney the first major city in the world to greet a new year (sorry New Zealand, you aren’t as big!).  The city hosts one of the largest firework displays in the world. They last almost a full fifteen minutes and are best viewed from one of the boats in the harbor or surrounding hills. After the display, the celebrations usually last until dawn. Locals love enjoying this day as it’s also in the middle of their summer so the weather is always great! Unsurprisingly, accommodation disappears fast so be sure to book well in advance if you want to spend the New Year down under!

Check out my free travel guide to Sydney for more information on how to get there, save money, and enjoy the city when you visit!

3. London

London rings in the new year with an astonishing fireworks display that’s launched from the London Eye. The fireworks can be seen from rooftops and balconies all across London, so you don’t need to leave your hotel to get a good view. If you want to get out there and really experience the display, the best views are from Westminster Bridge and the north embankment of the River Thames (opposite the London Eye).

Check out my free travel guide to London for more information on what to see and do in London when you visit during the holiday!

4. Paris

Paris is the perfect destination for a romantic New Year’s Eve getaway. It has high class dining, clubbing, fantastic fireworks, and the chance to sip Champagne on the Champs-Elysees. Around midnight, you can watch the Eiffel Tower’s light show. Another great place to spend the evening is Montmartre, as it offers spectacular views of the entire Paris skyline.

While you won’t get the same level of epic fireworks as you would in Sydney, there are still great parties through the city and many people light off their own fireworks from the Champs-Elysees. The city stays open late!

Check out my travel guide to Paris for more information on spending New Year’s in Paris! It includes things to do, see, costs, and how to get around! 

5. Ko Phangan, Thailand

Over 20,000 young people cram on Haat Rin beach in Thailand to celebrate the New Year. Backpackers and travelers from around the world dance, paint themselves up, and drink buckets of alcohol from dusk until the first dawn of the new year. They fill the beach and it’s one of the wildest outdoor parties there is on New Year’s.

If you’re looking to start the new year on a beach and plan to be in Southeast Asia, this is one of the best and most fun places to be. I’ve spent three New Year’s here and loved every single one!

Check out my travel guide to Ko Phangan for more information including information on the famous Full Moon Party.

6. Kiribati

What better way to ring in the New Year than to be the first person to do it? This spot in the Pacific is officially the first place in the world to see the New Year. It’s like going into the future! Tourism here has picked up in recent years as the locals have tried to capitalize on that interesting fact but the island remains mostly an untouched getaway. There’s not much to do here and accommodation isn’t by any means luxurious but what better way to spend the new year than on an island in the South Pacific? Be sure to plan this well in advance as few flights go here and limited accommodation makes its difficult to find spots.

7. Tokyo

If a single night of partying isn’t enough for you, head to Tokyo. The capital city of Japan starts celebrating on the 29th of December, giving you a few extra days to let loose and give the year a proper send-off. Not only do they start early, but the party almost doesn’t stop. New Year’s celebrations here continue until January 4th. While most of the major tourist sites in the city are closed during this time, the streets of Tokyo (as well as all restaurants and clubs) are packed with locals and visitors alike. The city offers up numerous fireworks displays, dancing, and all the karaoke you can sing!

Check out my travel guide to Tokyo for more information on what to do, see, and ways to save money.

8. Las Vegas

The city that parties every night throughout the year certainly knows how to throw a New Year’s Eve bash to remember. There are so many clubs, hotels, bars, and casinos to choose from in Las Vegas, Nevada, that it’s almost impossible to not celebrate in style. Outdoors, “The Strip” is closed to traffic so everyone can watch the grand fireworks displays high above the city’s neon lights. If you want to wade through the crowds, make your way downtown to Fremont Street and join the massive block party, complete with confetti, a massive wine toast, concerts by big-name rockers, and a five-block-long illuminated canopy 90 feet overhead, on which state-of-the-art sound and light shows are shown.

Check out my travel guide to Las Vegas for more information on enjoying life in Sin City without spending a sinful amount of money.

9. San Juan Del Sur

This holiday hotspot in Central America is a surfing and beach mecca for travelers of all ages and styles. During New Years, the city is bursting with tourists and locals who come from the surrounding area to enjoy time on the beach, with their families, and party hard (Nicaraguans sure know how to have fun!). This is definitely a place to go if you’re looking to get bit crazy and then nurse your hangover on the beach the next day. There’s usually a giant beach party where locals and tourists mingle, dance, drink, and countdown a new year together!

10. Edinburgh

When it comes to New Year’s Eve celebrations, Edinburgh is one of those places that can’t be beat. Their Hogmanay is one of the most fun parties I’ve ever been too. Each year, over 100,000 people take part in the two-day celebration that involves a Viking procession, fireworks over the castle, bonfires, concerts, and a carnival. It’s out of this world fun. It gets super crowded and you’ll need tickets to the shows so be sure to book in advance. You can even walk the viking procession to the bonfire!

Check out my travel guide to Edinburgh for more information on taking a holiday there.

BONUS: 11. Anywhere your friends are!

No matter where you are in the world, this holiday is about celebrating with friends and family. Wherever they are will be the best place to celebrate. Who wants to spend such a great day with strangers? Paris, London, New York, a jungle, the beach, your home — it doesn’t matter. As long as you are with those you like and love, it will be the best New Year’s party in the world.

****

New Years is an incredibly fun holiday where you can cut loose, stay up late, wash away the old, and ring in the new. If you’re looking for the best places to celebrate new years eve in the world, look no further than this list. But remember, no matter where you are, so long as you are with people you enjoy, you’re in the best place to celebrate!

I’ll be celebrating New Year’s Eve in Colombia so if you’re down there, say hi!

For other top travel lists and destination ideas, check out these posts:

Great Festivals of the World

Top Ten Historical Sites of the World

5 Destinations Under 30 Dollars Per Day

Book Your Trip: Logistical Tips and Tricks

Book Your Flight Find a cheap flight by using Skyscanner or Momondo. They are my two favorite search engines because they search websites and airlines around the globe so you always know no stone is left unturned.

Book Your Accommodation To find the best budget accommodation, use Booking.com as they consistently return the cheapest rates for guesthouses and cheap hotels. I use them all the time. You can book your hostel – if you want that instead – with Hostelworld as they have the most comprehensive inventory.

Don’t Forget Travel Insurance Travel insurance will protect you against illness, injury, theft, and cancellations. It’s comprehensive protection in case anything goes wrong. I never go on a trip without it as I’ve had to use it many times in the past. I’ve been using World Nomads for ten years. My favorite companies that offer the best service and value are:

World Nomads (for everyone below 70)

Insure My Trip (for those over 70)

Looking for the best companies to save money with? Check out my resource page for the best companies to use when you travel! I list all the ones I use to save money when I travel – and I think will help you too!

Photo Credit: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9,

The post Top Ten Places to Go for New Year’s Eve appeared first on Nomadic Matt's Travel Site.

source https://www.nomadicmatt.com/travel-blogs/top-ten-places-new-years-eve/

[angelastic]

A while ago I posted about the difference between couchette cars and sleeping cars in Europe, mentioning that I wanted to compare that experience with the newly-introduced lie-flat sleeper buses in New Zealand. Well, I tried that, but the bus turned up hours late, it was not a sleeper bus because the only sleeper bus had had some water damage, I sat upright without sleeping all night and did not get the promised free onesie until I complained on Twitter, and the bus company has now gone out of business without any help from my hypothetical damning blog post.

However, earlier this year I took a five-day train journey from San Diego to Minneapolis (between JoCo Cruise and MarsCon) so now I can compare that with the European sleeper trains.

The most obvious difference is that in the USA, you can take a five-day train journey and stay in the same country, whereas in Europe, I’ve only ever travelled for one day or night at a time. On European trains, you keep all your luggage either in the room with you or on a luggage rack elsewhere in the carriage, and carry it off yourself, which makes sense for a one-night trip. On Amtrak you can check in your larger luggage, and pick it up from a carousel at the end of your voyage.

I was travelling with Joey Marianer (you know, that guy who sings things I write sometimes!) and we were booked to take the Coast Starlight from Los Angeles to Portland, then the Empire Builder to Minneapolis.

Our train from San Diego to Los Angeles broke down, and then the new engine which had been brought into service to pull us along also broke down. We ended up getting off that train in San Juan Capistrano and waiting for a train to Los Angeles, from whence we took a bus to Bakersfield, and then a train to catch up with the night train we were originally scheduled to be on in Martinez, twelve hours later than we were scheduled to get on it. Our checked luggage made it to our destination despite all the changes of route, and I’m still not sure how.

Luckily, we had a few other JoCo Cruise sea monkeys with us for most of that part of the voyage, so we could commiserate together. I’ll comment on it more in the sections below. Compare them with the corresponding sections in the European couchette vs. sleeping cars post if you want more detail on both sides of the comparison.

Amenities

There were no washbasins in the rooms, as there are on European trains, but there were basins and even showers, with provided towels and soap, at the ends of the carriages. It’s possible that European trains had showers as well, but I never noticed as I shower in the mornings but I always got off the train first thing. Unsurprisingly, they were the kind of shower that only runs for a minute or so each time you press the button, and rarely gets warm. Good enough to clean up when you really need to, but not pleasant.

During the day, we could either stay in our room or visit the observation car, where we had spectacular views of snowy landscapes. Photos from a moving vehicle don’t do it justice, so I captured an hour and a half of video:

Both the train and the replacement bus on the first day had tables, but the tables on the bus were too shaky to play card games on.

Evening Goodies

You’re not given any kind of welcome package on these trains. Given that people could be joining them at any time of day and staying for multiple days, and full evening meals, towels, etc. are provided throughout the journey anyway, such a gesture wouldn’t make too much sense. I’d have appreciated earplugs, though, and I like the newrest slippers from European sleepers as souvenirs.

Sleeping Place

While on European trains I’ve travelled alone and shared a four-to-six-bed room with strangers, occasionally lucking out with a room to myself, on Amtrak you book by the room, and fill it with whichever people you are travelling with. We booked a two-bed roomette — that’s two bunk beds, in a cabin just big enough for someone to stand next to the beds. There wouldn’t have been room to keep our suitcases in the room, but there was a slim cupboard where we could put some things. During the day, the top bunk was folded away and the bottom bunk was folded into two seats facing each other, with a fold-out table between them.

In terms of comfort and bed linen, the beds were closer those in the sleeper cars in European trains rather than a couchette. I’m told that the top bunk was more difficult to sleep on due to movement and noise.

Food

On a European train, your ticket includes breakfast in bed just before you’re scheduled to get off the train, and perhaps a snack or drink when you board late in the evening. When you’ve booked sleeper cars on a multi-day Amtrak voyage, it includes breakfast, lunch, and dinner throughout the trip, in a scenic dining car. There are about five choices for the main course of each meal, and the choices were the same on both trains. You can have whichever meal you want, even with extra sides and toppings, and salad and dessert at dinner; only alcohol costs extra. This was a good way to ease into the real world after being on a cruise ship with unlimited included food — we just had to get used to having only one main course at each meal. Here’s a menu.

Passengers not in sleeper cars can also eat in the dining car, but they have to pay for their meals. We could go to breakfast at any time during a certain time window. Reservations are taken for lunch and dinner, with sleeper passengers getting first pick. Tables fit four people, and we were usually seated with other passengers, which often led to interesting conversations. On our first night, we were seated with a couple who had also endured the replacement train/bus debacle, so we had something to talk about.

On that note, for the first day of our trip, we were not on the sleeper train so did not have access to any of these nice meals. We got a partial refund for that. On one of the trains there were tea, coffee, and mini-muffins available for free, and on one there was an enterprising announcer trying to make more money out of our predicament:

https://twitter.com/macaronique/status/968191639788269568

The sea monkeys we were with shared some of their food (they were not taking a sleeper, so had packed food for their shorter journey), and another passenger shared her home-grown mandarins, in exchange for some ukulele music and IT help from Joey, as I recall. There were many friendly conversations. [Note: these experiences may not be available on your Amtrak sleeper train adventure.] We bought some food at the station in LA while waiting for the bus to Bakersfield.

I’ve now written almost 1200 words, mostly as an excuse to show you my one-and-a-half-hour-long video of scenery. Do look at the description of that video if you like the quality Josh Woodward soundtrack and want to know which songs they are. Also, check out my friend Joseph’s Patreon, as he not only makes music and stories but also provided some great hugs and conversation while we were changing trains in Portland.

If you are still interested in visiting New Zealand despite the lack of motorised beds, read up on some kiwi facts I made up, which were quite popular on Twitter.

Happy travels!

What’s the difference between European sleeper trains and US sleeper trains? A while ago I posted about the difference between couchette cars and sleeping cars in Europe, mentioning that I wanted to compare that experience with the newly-introduced lie-flat sleeper buses in New Zealand.