#Ah well. I shall let this be a lesson in not blocking people when I am interested in hearing more from them

[the-beasts-have-arrived]

I fear I am coming off as a bit of a jerk but I am simply very passionate about Deltarune

[whump-cravings]

Fiz snuck up behind the elf and attempted to lasso him with her whip. He caught the whip around his hand without turning around.

"Aha," Fiz thought in this moment. "I fucked up."

Elf: Very sneaky, aren't you? [Turns around while holding the whip taut] Looks like I have someone competent on my hands.

Fiz: aww shucks <3 But it looks like you got be beat in that department [tugs whip gently]

Elf: Now now, do not sell yourself short! Not many people can sneak up on me.

Elf: Allow me to introduce myself [Drops servant disguise]

Fiz: (ohnohe'shot.png)

Varo: [introduces himself as Varo Valecheuz, leader of prominent mercenary group Hellfire Suns]

Varo: we will have to continue this conversation later--perhaps somewhere more private… unfortunately, I cannot just let you go

Fiz: Ah, well [drops whip and attempts to shoot Varo] Varo: [catches the bullets on magic Shield] [backs Fiz up against the wall and puts her to Sleep]

(His ass was NOT trying very hard to resist the sleep spell, I'm afraid to report, like "oh noooo a hot funky little guy overwhelmed me and put me in bondage, whatever shall I do")

At first the restraints were possibly her own whip and/or ropes but Fiz slipped it. ("Very slippery, as well! I shall have to keep a better eye on you" - Varo) He then instead got placed in Iron Bands of Bilarro, and scored a nat 1 on trying to escape (utter, worst failure possible) and wasn't allowed to make another check.

Since being kidnapped is an average Tuesday night for Fiz, and there has never been a capture scenario that he didn't eventually get out of someway or another, he is THE most laid back captive ever and will NOT be taking lessons away from this experience.

(Sidenote I think he doesn't get to sub very often because he's 6'5", confident, and Experienced™️ so many partners tend to assume he'll take the lead)

When the party caught up, obviously trying to rescue Fiz, Fiz was like, "Oh, they're already way too attached to me." Fiz also got to see Varo in full as a level 14 bladesinger wizard with legendary and mythic actions (very powerful, very cool). (And by this point Fiz had solidly decided he needed to explore that man's body)

And when Fiz was let free by another player character, Varo attempted to enchant him into not fighting, saying, "We do not need to be enemies here." And Fiz resisted the magical charm!

But uh. the natural charm got him.

So, he turned to attempting to block Party Members from attacking Varo. Matilda and Davbar presumed that the charm worked, but Kyoko clocked that Fiz was acting autonomously. (Ohhh and Kyoko's so mad about it)

The party antagonized Varo a bit too much (he attacked no one that didn't attack him first—the artificer actually politely asked him to move (so she could get to Fiz), and he did lmao), and Varo knocked a couple of them unconscious.

But when Varo was Done teaching everyone a lesson, he used Plane Shift to open a portal and Fiz hopped over to Varo, who extended a hand; Fiz accepted and Varo kissed his knuckles, and King Aeisim (the hot enby that had been trapped in the box Fiz found Varo monologuing in front of) put a hand on Fiz's shoulder, and then Varo portal'd the three of them out as Fiz looked back at the samurai with his characteristic Smile™️and was like "See you around, Kyoko," (lying but resigned)

D&D Whumpee: Fizlei Delrem

[id: A woman with short dark brown hair, olive skin, brown eyes, hairy forearms, a straight nose, and a wispy beard. He wears gray high-waisted ladies' pants with suspenders, a belt with a gun holster, and a button-up shirt with its sleeves rolled to the elbows. He points a revolver off to the side with a confident smile. /end id]

(btw those are him titties, not buff pecs)

Fiz (he/she) is a 27 year old intersex demiwoman and an arcane gunman ranger (homebrew subclass).

Fiz flirts and shoots his way through the world with confidence and ease, seldom giving any part of himself away while briefly appearing in others' lives. Everyone is a friend or potential bedmate to this gal—even those on the other side of his guns. Very few things seem to ruffle his feathers, and his charms make it difficult to dislike him.

Once upon a time, the mask of the cowboy Casanova was just that—a façade. But after spending so long this way, Fiz can't be sure anything's beneath it anymore.

—

Roughly 17 years ago, at a little farmhouse in the Dhorosian countryside, Fiz's parents and siblings were consumed one by one by an ooze-type monster. Upon locating Fiz, the last and youngest of the family, it did something decidedly strange—it took on the forms and personas of her family members, attempting to comfort her.

Fiz tried telling neighbors what had happened, but the hysterics of a 10 year old girl are easily dismissed. Those who briefly followed up to allay the girl's fears found no evidence of anything amiss—all the Delrem family members were present, healthy, and able to recount past experiences. The Thing as her parents would apologize and comment on how Fiz was upset with them—"You know how girls can be at that age," it would say with a rueful shake of Ma's head.

[id: 10 sketched portraits of a family of two parents, seven kids of varying marked aged, and a daughter-in-law /end id]

While the aberration's mimicry was flawless, it made no attempt to conceal its nature from Fiz, denying her the chance to pretend everything had been a nightmare.

—

So she ran away.

Unfortunately, Fiz has remarkably poor luck and ran straight into the den of a different monster that eats people. She was placed in its living larder with other unfortunate souls who had wandered into its clutches.

Fortunately(?), Fiz had something scarier following her. The Thing swooped in and kicked the other monster's ass, slurping it—and the other victims—up. It scooped Fiz up, chiding her for leaving home. "The world is much too dangerous for you," it said as Pa, carrying the traumatized girl home. As it patched up her injuries, it found it was able to take on recent memories from ingesting a little blood.

From there, it was careful to keep a better eye on her for a while, and Fiz learned to keep to herself.

—

At 14, she ran away and kept running for a long while, until one morning she was so desperately hungry that she snuck into a chicken coop for eggs. The rooster kicked up a fuss and the farmer (butch he/him lesbian, unnamed) rolled out of bed with a shotgun, only to find a crying girl cornered in the coop, surrounded by broken eggs.

So he (pretending to be gruff and not like he was pitying her) was like, "You gotta pay me back, so come in here and eat so you got energy to work," and brought her inside, where she met the farmer's similar-age daughter, Amara.

Over the course of a summer, Fiz and Amara grew close and well. your honor it started with the hayloft a-creakin. And life was good.

[id: two sketched busts, one of a dark skinned human woman with short-cropped curly black hair and a shotgun, labeled 'Butch lesbian farmer'; and one of a girl with moth antennae, straight black hair in a bob, and monolid eyes, labeled 'Amara?' /end id]

(this was also the point in Fiz's life where she learned she could use whatever pronouns she wanted) (and also found out that she's intersex probably)

Until it caught up.

The sound brought Amara running. And. And yeah they were added to the victim count. and the Thing (also known as "the parent") dragged the heartbroken, kicking and screaming Fiz back home.

[id: a speech bubble reads "So this is where you were," above a drawing of teenage Fiz staring wide-eyed at the viewer. Her hair is in pigtails and her little beard hairs have just started to grow in. "No... You can't—how are you here?" Fiz says, horrified. The other speech bubbles continue, "Took me a while, but I finally tracked you down. You're a clever girl, Fiz, but I have my own resources." /End id]

Farmer lady sensed the disturbance and once again came out with his shotgun, and tried to protect Fiz who was practically a second daughter by now. He got a shotgun blast on it... which only made it mad.

—

Now, the Thing's mimicry becomes outdated after a while—it can't replicate aging and growth. So between non-aging siblings and the increasingly sullen teenage Fiz, neighbors began to catch on that something was indeed wrong. When approached, Fiz told them to mind their own business. Some listened, some didn't, but the Thing parent found out in every case, one way or the other (overt suspicion or something in Fiz's memories tipping it off). Consequently, those neighbors mysteriously disappeared (eaten).

Eventually the entire surrounding population caught on and showed up on the Delrem's doorstep with pitchforks, torches, the like. Fiz begged the Thing to spare them, begged them to leave. but of course that didn't work.

The morning after, all the houses in that part of the countryside were empty.

The Parent moved itself and Fiz far away.

There were rules to running away, each learned at the cost of freedom or someone's life.

—

The Parent always finds Fiz. Sometimes sooner, sometimes later, but always eventually. When it does, it learns everything Fiz has said and done (via his blood).

If Fiz resists returning home once it shows itself to him, the strictness/severity of his 'grounding' increases.

Fiz is not allowed to tell people about the Parent or let anyone become too concerned about his situation.

Fiz is not allowed to have lasting relationships.

(There's also been times where he was thrown into jail for something he may or may not have done and then the jailers got eaten, so Fiz is wanted in several places for murder.)

—

He remembers the last time he fought back.

7 years ago, a young child needed help reaching safety, and Fiz got them there. The details aren't important, but the situation got Fiz thinking on how he would never be able to have a family of his own if things kept on the way they were.

—

Dhoros, his home country, wasn't particularly rich in sellswords, but Fiz hired the ones he could find.

Even with Fiz's aid, they stood no chance. When the confrontation came, the others were wiped out in under a minute, dealing little damage. Fiz emptied the chambers of his guns into the Thing to little avail, and fell back to striking it with his whip until it pinned him and ripped his weapons away.

"Fizlei Delrem," it reprimanded as Pa. "Is this how I raised you, to be hangin' out with folks that'd get you to attack your own family? ... Maybe I ain't been tough enough on you."

Before it took Fiz and left, it caught a few hiding kids who had witnessed the fight. Fiz could do nothing as it ruthlessly subsumed them. "I didn't like doin' that, Fiz, but you forced me to."

It dragged the struggling Fiz every step of the way home that time, binding him in chains and refusing to let him out until he saw reason.

Fiz made peace with his lot in life.

He let go of his anger, buried his grief, forgot his dreams, and made himself content with the meager freedoms allotted to him.

If all he could have was a pretense of connection when between the sheets, then that was what he would have.

If all he had to do was play nice to placate his parent, he would fawn for it.

If all he could do was enjoy the time spent out in the world, that was what he would do.

If all the bridges he could cross had to burn behind him, he would light each fire.

—

@nabanna @acecasinova @flat-san @emcscared-whumps @jblockman1

[devilberries]

~Tears of Themis~

Marius royalty au

Part ii coming out soon with Marius x femMC

Pressure.

Marius Von Hagen knew pressure very well. In fact, he was acquainted with pressure since he was born. Pressure had been holding his hand since he learned how to walk, and it’s always stuck by his side.

Pressure weighed on his back when he became prince. Pressure weighed on his back when he sat with the neighboring royal children. Pressure weighed on his back when his brother ran away. Pressure weighed on his back when he became the crown prince. Pressure weighed on his back when his parents both grew old and ill.

Pressure weighed on his back when he became king.

And here he sat on the throne. It felt uncomfortable, like he didn’t belong there. The elbow rests of the golden chair were cold, unwelcoming. The seat itself was big. He felt like a small child, sitting there.

It reminded him that he was only king in name. At least, that was what people kept saying. He almost believed them. He really should. After all, how could he rule a kingdom he was never meant to rule?

Was this why his brother left? Were the responsibilities too much? Was this why he ran away, leaving all the heavy burdens behind for his pitiful younger brother?

Marius slumped in his seat defeatedly. It wasn’t like he could ask his parents for help when they were both ill in their beds.

But now that there was a change in power, advisors, military commanders, and neighboring kingdoms were watching for a chance to swoop in and eat up Marius. They were waiting for him to slip and fall, using it to their advantage. They would try and try to manipulate Marius, the ignorant younger prince who only knew how to draw.

He heard the whispers in the long halls. He knew of the names they conjured up for him. He could feel the contempt through their fake smiles.

“Your Royal Majesty,” one of the advisors coughed. Marius snapped out of his daze and looked at him. The advisor furrowed his eyebrow and stated, “As the king of this nation, it would be wise not to mindlessly daydream in the middle of a meeting.”

Marius could hear another counselor scoff under his breath, “King? He’s no king. Just a foolish child wearing a crown.”

He raised eyes at the two men calmly.

“Tell me, old man, who is my father?”

The counselor stared back at him with caution as he answered, “His Royal Majesty King Austin von Hagen.”

Marius smirked when he heard his voice quiver. “Alright, and what is my brother’s title?”

Whispers rush between the men along the long table. It was an unspoken rule not to speak of the original crown prince. They could feel the tension suffocate them.

“H-His Royal Highness… Prince G-Giann von Hagen.”

“Good!” Marius smiled, praising the old man, who sat there, sweating buckets of water. “Now,” he stared straight into his eyes, “what is my title?”

“Y-Your Royal Majesty… King Marius von Hagen II.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Marius waved his finger at the counselor. “That’s not what you said a few seconds ago. Tell me, oh, wise counselor.” He walked behind the old man, towering above him. He placed his hands on his shoulders and asked, “What did you call me?”

The silence was loud. Everyone could only look down, ignoring the counselor. Marius could feel the man shake beneath his touch.

He knew this wasn’t the life he was meant for. He knew that he was better off painting somewhere far away from the throne. Marius knew he was an incompetent king.

But a king nonetheless.

When the man said nothing, Marius whispered, just loud enough for everyone to hear, “That’s treason, you know? What should we do with you, hmm? We could,” he traced his finger on the shaking counselor’s neck, “slit your throat. Hang you. Maybe both. Or wait,” he snaked his arm around the man’s shoulder and harshly grabbed the man’s cheeks with one hand.

“We could cut that tongue of yours out.”

As if that triggered something in him, the man began to sputter out words, begging for mercy. He’d be on his knees if he could, but he didn’t dare shove Marius away. The young king cringed when he felt the man’s snot and tears drip down on his hand. Hastily, he pulled away and called for the guards.

As they forced the counselor away, he screamed and cried, but they all fell on deaf ears. Marius turned to the others who sat there with pale faces.

“I think it’d be best to end the meeting here today. Good day, everyone.” He turned to leave, and everyone let out a sigh of relief, until he turned around. They all flinched and attempted to compose themselves. “Ah, by the way,” he eyed each one of them carefully. “I wasn’t joking when I said that was treason. If I hear a single one of you utter a word about my father, brother, or me, I will cut your tongues out, and let it be known that your families won’t be spared.”

He swiftly exited the room and headed to his parents room.

Pressure trailed behind him, so he walked faster. It was a hopeless attempt, as it caught up to him in no time. He paused his movement and clutched his chest, taking in heavy breaths. The shame and embarrassment clouds his vision, while fear blocked his hearing. He was simply alone, facing his fellow friend pressure once more.

He could tell it was mocking him. He could hear its laughs as it pointed at him, calling his crown unbefitting of him, a faux king. He could feel the judgement of its eyes as it stared at him, his glimmering jewels and badges and oversized cape.

Even with all the riches and gold covering him, he felt so naked.

When he felt its hand on its shoulder, he turned and yelled at it, hoping the nightmare would end.

“Get away from me!”

There he was, Vyn, his Royal Tutor, hand in the air as it was shoved away by Marius, and wearing a surprised expression on his face.

He quickly erased whatever trace of shock he had on his face and inquired the boy, “Should we skip todays lessons, Your Royal Majesty?”

Marius blinked back at him, not comprehending what he had just said.

What just happened? Did he shove Vyn?

Vyn saw his visible panic and gently placed his hand on his shoulder. The poor boy looked at him with fear.

“Your Royal Majesty-“

“Don’t call me that,” he whispered with closed eyes. “That’s not me. I’m not…”

“Oh, but you are,” Vyn said. “Let’s talk somewhere more private, shall we?”

No words came out of Marius, so the Tutor pulled the depressed king along with him into a private guest bedroom. He softly pushed Marius to sit on the bed, while he himself sat on the chair, watching the boy.

“How do you feel?”

Marius stared at the ground emptily. “Can I answer you honestly, Vyn?”

“Of course. You can tell me anything… Marius,” he added that at the end carefully. The boy let out a relieved sigh once he heard Vyn drop the honorifics.

“You really don’t have to call me all those things in public either, Vyn.”

He smiled, “That would be rude and almost treasonous. Didn’t I teach you that?”

“Argh,” Marius bent over, covering his face. “Don’t even mention the word treason near me again.”

“Why? What’s wrong with that?”

Marius looked up, and Vyn chuckled at his distressed expression. “I may have gotten mad at someone for talking shit about me, so I sent him to the chambers and threatened to cut his tongue off…”

Vyn raised an eyebrow, “Was it someone from the Council?”

“Yeah, it was,” Marius sighed.

“Well, it was very irrational to say, at the least, but at least you took the initiative to use your power. That’s the first step of being a ruler.”

“But I don’t want to be a ruler, Vyn. You know that. This,” he got up and spread his arms out, pointing to himself, “none of this stuff feels right. Being King doesn’t feel right. I don’t feel right. Everything is just so…” He trailed off, rubbing his eyes hard to stop the tears.

Vyn sat there patiently. He watched as the boy just a bit younger than him fall apart. He knew it would happen one day. No, in fact, he hoped it would happen. Perhaps this was Marius’s way to free himself from this mess of a kingdom he was born it.

The Tutor was smart. He was intelligent enough to be a military strategist, maybe even be King, but he was unlucky. He was born with commoner blood, yet maybe he was grateful to have been a mere peasant, a mere servant to serve a spoiled prince because he realized being born with royal blood didn’t mean you were lucky; you were just crushed even more by the endless expectations of thousands of people who entrust their lives to you.

He knew what Marius was going to

Everything was just so suffocating.

———————————

It took a while for Marius to stop crying. Vyn chuckled to himself thinking about it. How old was he? Twenty-one, right? Twenty-one and still weeping like he was five.

“Marius.” The boy who was sitting down on the bed, hugging a soft white pillow, looked up with puffy eyes. They decided it was best to stay until his eyes were a bit better in case word spreads that the King is a big baby. “If the pressure makes you too anxious, how about visiting the Themis Temple?”

“Temple? But I’m not religious,” Marius sniffed.

“I know that, but it might calm you a bit. Visiting the temple may bring peace and tranquil for your mind. Plus, I heard the priests and priestesses there are very kind and welcoming to all, despite social and economical differences.”

The boy raised his eyebrow when he heard the words “welcoming to all, despite social and economical differences.”

Was there really such a place that would overlook such things?

“Plus, I hear that they have this intriguing… we’ll call it ‘tradition.’”

“What do you mean by that?” Marius questioned.

“Well, you see, they believe that all the Head Priestesses that are born inherit Themis’s blood. I hear the Head Priestess as of now has a daughter who is coming of age to become the next Head Priestess, so they’re having this event, almost like a ritual to perform on the girl.”

Marius furrowed his eyebrows. “Ritual?”

Vyn nodded, “Yes, a ritual. I’ve only heard rumors, since the last one was forty years ago, but, apparently, the girl gets hot water poured all over her. It’s suppose to symbolize inheriting the burdens of the last Head Priestess and to make her feel the injustice of this world weigh down on her.”

Marius frowned. That sounded more like torture. He felt pity for the girl. She seemed similar to Marius, born with responsibility and pressure, with a role she never asked for.

“How about you go with me right now? We can use our study time to see whether or not you’ll like it. Plus, I believe it’s an opportunity of a lifetime.”

“But won’t people recognize me?” He inquired.

“The question you should be asking is not that, but if you ‘want’ people to recognize you.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t want people to know,” he grumbled.

“Then we shall dress as normal aristocrats. Come now, I have plenty of clothes that will suit you. You’ll have to make due with a commoner’s clothes, Your-“

“Don’t even think about addressing me like that,” he sneers. “And I don’t mind about wearing commoner stuff. I don’t care for this social hierarchy at all.”

Vyn whistles, “How cute, coming from a person of privilege.”

“You know that’s not what I mean!”

“Right, right, of course. I’ll just have to trust your word then. Now, shall we get dressed?”

The two exit the guest bedroom and head to Vyn’s, which was a couple doors down the hall. They walked side by side. Though the servants and maids whispered among themselves, Marius was occupied with his thoughts.

He couldn’t get his mind off of the girl. Perhaps it was infatuation, or genuine curiosity. He created an illusion in his mind.

In his fantasies, he would speak with the girl. He would ask if she felt proud to be part of this bloodline of Goddess’s, or if she felt as if such a position did not suit someone like her. In his mind, she would hesitantly tell him her true thoughts, that she didn’t want to burn under the wrath of the burning water. He would say he felt the same, that he had always been crushed by the constant expectations of the people. He would hold her hand and promise that he would save her, that the two of them could run away together, and she would agree. And together they would-

“The advisors weren’t wrong about you and your constant daydreaming,” Vyn chuckled as he flicked his forehead. Marius flinched, groaning out loud as he slapped his hand above his eyes. The Tutor turned the knob and held the door open. “Hurry now; we wouldn’t want to miss the performance, would we?”

Marius huffed and stepped in, shoving the Tutor along his way. Inside, Artem sat at Vyn’s desk, reading a few documents. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned, and his face wore a tired expression with the visible frown and disheveled hair.

It would be best not to piss off the Royal Justice.

“Artem,” Vyn called out. The grumpy man turned away from his papers and nodded at Vyn. When he noticed Marius, he heaved himself up to properly greet his king, but Marius quickly stopped him.

“Hey, sit down. I don’t need to hear any more honorifics than I should, and I would really hate hearing them from you.”

Artem sighed as he sat back down, pinching his nose bridge. “Sorry, I’m just completely exhausted right now. Work has been so swamped lately.”

Marius softened his eyes. “Is there anyway I can help you?”

The Royal Justice shook his head, “No. If you assisted me, word would spread that I am incompetent. There’s already enough rumors spreading around the castle.”

He had already known how brutally honest Artem was. Still, he could never get used to it. It ticked him off how Artem brushed him off like that; it felt insulting.

Before Marius could say any retort, Vyn placed a hand on his shoulder. “Artem, how about we all take a break?”

[echoghost1]

The Baldr to My Odin

Word Count: 2300

For: @sailor-toni

Summary: Pariah has recently acquired a son and wants to get to know him better. This is a sequel to Fool's Errand!

You can read it on AO3 or down below the cut

Pariah leaned against the doorframe of the bedroom and watched him sleep. After all the things that had happened in his afterlife, he never expected to find himself in this situation.

Never in all his wildest dreams, and he had his fair share during his entombment in the sarcophagus, did he picture himself as a father.

His son sighed in his sleep and rolled into a new position. The boy’s mouth fell open and the small breath that escaped made his fringe billow slightly.

Pariah couldn’t help the fond smile that graced his features and crinkled the scar under his eye. There was so much he wanted to teach the boy, so much he wanted to see the boy do for the first time.

There were so many ‘first times’ he had already missed.

Adoption was both a blessing and a curse in that way. He wasn’t sure what the child had experienced already. He really didn’t know what things he didn’t know about.

Although that was in itself its own challenge. It could even be fun to discover these things.

Pariah was drawn from his musings as he felt something encroaching on his territory. The boy gasped in his sleep and woke instantly. He jumped up from the mound of overstuffed pillows and blankets and hovered above the bed, awake and alert.

“You sense that too?” he asked.

Phantom looked to him and nodded, “Please tell me you were expecting visitors?” he asked with worry tilting his brows together and mouth into a frown.

Pariah simply shakes his head, “Let’s go see who this intruder is then, shall we?”

The boy nods and floats along in Pariah’s wake.

Once they reached the entry hall they could hear some fool shouting at the closed doors. Their words are muffled by the thick wood and stone bricks but the intent is easily grasped.

“Doesn’t sound like a welcoming committee.” quips the boy, “I was kind of hoping it would be someone with presents.”

“Why would there be presents?”

“Well, I was recently adopted so that’s like a birthday, right? And I was crowned Prince, so maybe a party for that too?”

Pariah laughed good-naturedly, “I suppose a coronation ball could be arranged, but we should wait on that a little. I did raise a bit of hell when I woke up after all. Let them lick their wounds before telling them to celebrate our good fortune.”

“I guess that’s fair.” the boy relents.

“Good. Now, wait here while I greet our unwelcome guest.”

Pariah waits until Phantom has landed silently on the stone floor before finishing the journey to the door.

It opens with a thought and reveals a small band of animalistic warriors. Their bright white fur glistens just like the snow from the frozen wasteland that they call home.

They hesitate upon seeing him there.

Good.

He makes quick work of the small army but decides not to finish them off completely. That’s an awfully violent thing to do with his son watching.

It was also completely unnecessary. He merely needed to show them that he was still the king. He was still just as powerful as he had always been.

It would be easier to let them run away and spread the news than to let the rumor spread slowly if they didn’t return.

He waited until the last of the icy beasts had disappeared on the emerald horizon before he turned back to his keep.

“Were those yetis?”

“Yes? They are the denizens of a region called the Far Frozen. Old enemies of mine from before your time.”

The boy simply nodded before changing the subject. “I don’t see many ghosts use ice. Is that a common or uncommon thing?”

“I would say uncommon. Fire tends to be the most common elemental aspect.”

The pair walk back into the keep and Phantom continued his curious line of questioning. “What do you think I’ll be?”

Pariah paused in the hall and thought, “It’s hard to say,” he paused again and looked down at the boy, “You haven’t shown any inklings towards anything? Wait,” he looked the smaller ghost over, “When did you achieve ghosthood?”

“Uh, if you mean when did I become a ghost?” Pariah nodded and the boy continued, “I guess that was about a year ago, I think? Maybe a little less.”

Pariah just blinked as he tried to process the information. How could such a young ghostling be so strong? He couldn’t believe that something the equivalent of a baby had nearly bested him in a one-on-one battle?

And he’s so little.

Where does he even store all of this endless bountiful power?

And there’s no reason why he wouldn’t get more powerful as he ages.

“Uh, Dad? You okay?”

Pariah blinks and refocuses his attention on his overwhelmingly powerful child, “Yeah, I’m fine.” He takes a breath to recenter himself so he can stop worrying his son, “I just hadn’t realized you were so young.”

Again, the joys and surprises of adoption.

“Let’s get you back to bed.”

“Aw come on! I just had a nap. I’m not tired.” the boy pouts as he floats to sit cross-legged in the air.

That was unexpected. The boy had been so obedient earlier, what changed?

The battle.

Had he been that ready for a battle he now was wide awake? That must be it.

“Have you ever used a sword before?”

The boy crosses his arms so his elbow resting in his hand and a finger to his lip as he ponders, “Well I’ve held the Fright Knight’s sword a couple of times and there was this one time I used the neck of Ember’s guitar to fight Youngblood when he had a sword. Other than that, no.”

If anything was constant about this boy, it was how full of surprises he was.

“Well then let us see how much you have to learn.”

The boy floated upward and beamed, both literally and figuratively, with excitement.

How was it that this child was exactly what he had always wanted despite having never wanted one before he found him?

He was both powerful and graceful. The fluidity of his movements as he flew along besides Pariah as they walked to the training grounds made him wonder if maybe the boy was made for this. Was it his destiny to be a ghost? Born only to become something greater?

So rare and seemingly impossible. He was a perfect dichotomy.

Pariah grabbed two short swords, tossing one to the boy, “Let your training commence.”

===============================================

The pair dueled for several hours. Pariah made sure to hold back just enough to not overwhelm the child, but not too much so that he wouldn’t learn anything.

“I’m impressed with how well you are picking this up.” Pariah encouraged as he went in for a quick counter-strike on the boy’s unguarded left side.

“Really?” Phantom replied as he just barely dodged out of the way.

“I don’t give compliments just to stroke egos.”

“Isn’t that a waffle?” the boy says as he parries

He nearly misses the easy block in his confusion, “What?”

“Oh wait, I’m dumb.” The boy lowers his sword as he floats backward in thought, “I’m thinking of Eggo’s. Am I hungry?”

Pariah doesn't think he can continue this lesson if the boy is so distracted. Although it was very wise of him to float out of range while he lowered his guard. He sheaths his sword into the course dirt beneath him, “Are you hungry?”

“No?” He hums to himself in thought, “maybe if I think about it more.”

“Are you often unsure of your own needs?” he asks gently taking the sword away from his son and placed it near his own.

“Sometimes. I think I just get distracted by other things, you know? Like if I’m super focused on something I literally can’t think of anything else. Bodily functions included.”

“Ah, I see.” Hyperfocus was great for battle, but could easily be an Achilles heel if not monitored.

“Wait that actually made sense? I’ve tried telling other people that but they didn’t know what I was talking about.”

“I’ve felt the same way myself. A good way to keep that in check is to be around people you trust. That way if you work yourself too hard, they can pull you out of it.”

The boy smiled. He had the sweetest smile.

But then he wavered, his body sinking to the dirt below as he tried to steady himself.

“Whoa, I got kind of dizzy for a second there.” he blinked and shook his head as if that would make it go away. Instead, he stumbled forward into Pariah’s waiting arms.

Pariah brushed back the boy’s fringe and noticed he was much warmer than before. They might have been training for an extended period but he was sure he hadn’t worked the boy that hard.

“The suit.” the boy’s breath was shaky as he gripped onto his father for support. “I think it’s still on. I, it,” he stammered and his words started to slur together, “gotta get it,” he was panting now, as if the effort of standing was more strenuous than an uphill run, “get it off. Gonna,” he looked up and his eyes were full of fear, “please?”

Before he could finish the boy passed out. Pariah easily scooped him up and took him back inside.

He took the boy into his bedroom and gently lay him in the nest of blankets and pillows. He ghosted his hand down the boy’s arm. The energy of the armor buzzed and he could feel it as it tried to leech from him as well.

The boy was right, the armor was poison. Donning it was dangerous, but the thought of leaving him exposed seemed even more so.

Especially after they had already been attacked once before since he had been here.

There was only one ghost he could think of that would have the answers, but he wasn’t someone he was ready to see just yet.

Phantom whimpered in his sleep and Pariah sighed. He really hoped this wouldn’t backfire.

Pariah went to his study and picked up the broken pocket watch. He clicked the release on top to open the small timepiece. The glass was cracked and the time was stopped. Stopped at the moment he had been betrayed.

Pariah pushed down his resentment and wound the clock.

“I didn’t think I’d be receiving a call from you so soon,” a familiar voice spoke from the doorway.

“So soon?” Pariah turned to face his guest, “Was it truly inevitable that we would meet again?”

Clockwork smirked that knowing smirk of his, “Of course. Now, what’s the question you want me to answer today?”

“Don’t you already know?”

“Yes, but I do prefer to hear it from you.” he admitted then added, “In real-time.”

Pariah shook his head, “It’s easier to show you.” he led them to the boy’s room and waited.

“Do you really need my advice on this?” Clockwork asked. His tone wasn’t demeaning, just curious.

“I don’t know which would be better for him. I feel both options are equally terrible.”

Clockwork hummed to himself as he floated closer to the boy.

Pariah tried his hardest not to get defensive. He did his best to not attack someone he had just invited into his lair. It was difficult to just stand back and let someone as powerful as Clockwork be so close to his child.

Difficult, but not impossible.

“Remove the armor.” He turned to Pariah, “Unless of course, you wish to kill him outright?”

“If death is the result of inaction, that doesn't sound too terrible.”

“For you maybe, but he isn’t going to like it.”

“He’s already a ghost.”

“True. But he’s also a child, he’s still alive. The living aren’t all that excited about the concept of death.” Clockwork floated back over to Pariah, “besides he’s currently the most perfect anomaly. Would you really wish to destroy that?”

“I suppose that is true.” Pariah easily walked past the other ghost to his son’s bedside. Certainly, he was strong enough to keep the boy safe without needing to swaddle him in such dangerous protection.

He reached forward and through the armor. He pulled the boy up and out of the cursed metal and relaxed with the child.

Using his other hand he waved the offending armor aside with his ghostly energy and placed the boy back down to rest.

Once he was settled in, he transformed back into his human form.

This didn’t make Pariah feel any more at ease but he resisted putting the armor back on.

“Let the boy rest. He’ll be alright.” Clockwork consoled as he hovered dangerously close to Pariah himself. “You know, fatherhood looks good on you.”

Pariah turned to the purple-clad timekeeper, “And what exactly does that mean?”

“It means it’s been an awfully long time since we were alone and I think there’s a lot we need to catch up on.”

Pariah did not miss the coy implications of that statement. He was merely taken off guard by them.

“And what makes you think I forgive you?”

“Time heals all wounds.”

“Even the sting of betrayal?”

“Especially that.” Clockwork’s smile softened, “Now come, let’s give the boy some privacy while we get reacquainted.”

Surely a private conversation wouldn’t be too bad. He had missed the company of the other, but he didn’t think they would ever be as close as they once were.

Clockwork wasn’t one to move too quickly, there was no reason to worry about any trickery or line crossing.

They walked back to his study, it was Clockwork’s favorite room after all, and talked casually, like old friends.

He missed this.

[joontier]

The King’s Guard | Chapter 5

pairings: kim seokjin x reader ; jeon jungkook x reader ; min yoongi x reader

rating (chapter): NC-17 | genre: fluff, humor, aNGST

warnings: DRAMA, swearing, slight violence depicting a fight

word count: 5.8k

g/n: HAFLKAJSFKLASFLAKSJFLAPWO. That is all I have to say. Thank you for listening to my TED talk. 

The King’s Guard - Masterlist  ||  navi.

The King’s Guard | Chapter 5 

The highly anticipated Chuseok Festival finally arrives – and you can practically feel the thickness of excitement in the air. There’s already a stead beat of the drums from a distance and you can picture the people bustling around, each borne with a task just as significant as the other.

Much to your agitation, your body won’t seem to cooperate with you on the day you need to work the most. You’ve risen early dawn this time with a sick feeling in your stomach, and ever since Chaeyoung caught you throwing up in bed, you hadn’t been able to sleep another wink.

“Call the royal physician,” you order meekly to the worried court lady beside you, messily wiping away the remnants of your state of unwellness this morning. As you shift your position so your back is resting comfortably against the wall, you close your eyes and take deep breaths, praying for your lightheadedness to go away anytime soon.

“Could it be, Jungjeon-mama?” Chaeyoung whispers, eyes wide and hopeful.  

“Perhaps, Chaeyoung. Perhaps.”

As the court lady stands up to leave, you grab hold of Chaeyoung’s wrist. “Under no circumstance should you tell anyone of my condition. Please. If they insist, make them work in the kitchen for the entire morning.”

As Chaeyoung quietly exits the hanok, sliding the doors behind her, Jungkook and Yoongi call her attention from the stairs, startling the poor court lady out of her wits. At the surprise, her footing gives way, but Hoseok deftly catches her in his arms. The two lock eyes for the first time since the southerners had arrived in the capitol, and the general finds himself staring at the court lady more than he can admit. Chaeyoung, seemingly just as lost in the general’s eyes, subconsciously gulps as she feels Hoseok’s grip on her waist tighten a little.

Yoongi coughs ultimately bringing the two back to reality. Ever the hopeless romantic, the smile on Jungkook’s face falters, scowling at his brother for ruining the moment, and of course, at his hyung’s incapability to allow people to enjoy themselves even just for a while.

The two abruptly stand up, poorly averting their gazes somewhere else. The general retreats to his place beside the southern king, while Chaeyoung busies herself with smoothing the invisible creases on her dang-jeogori.

“Has the queen risen already?” “Is Jungjeon-mama awake?” The brothers ask in unison, both looking at the court lady expectantly. Chaeyoung is momentarily taken aback by their sudden concern, but is quickly reminded of your strict orders.

“The queen is already awake, but she wishes to be left alone to pray for a little while.” Feeling slightly defeated, the two start to depart from the entrance of your hanok. The court lady, willing to test all of her luck today, thinks of a brilliant idea to get the three to help out with the palace’s very own Chuseok preparations. “She did mention something though, in case you would have been looking for her this morning…” Yoongi looks at her with a raised brow, “Jungjeon-mama requests for your assistance with something.”

Jungkook nods, ready to be of help with anything, especially when it concerns you. Meanwhile, Hoseok looks at Yoongi warily, unsure if his king was willing to do you a favor. “Of course. It’s the least way we can show our gratitude for having welcomed us warmly at the capitol.”

Smiling widely, Chaeyoung bows her head a little to show her thanks, “Very well. Would you all please accompany me to the palace kitchen?”

Thankfully, the royal physician arrives quickly even on such a short notice. Yunho leaves shortly after escorting the visitor, leaving you some privacy with royal physician Kim Taehyung in your room. The usually bright man sets his things on the table beside your bed and pulls a chair next to you.

“Ah, Jungjeon-mama it’s been a while since I last saw you. Tell me, what truly happened that it suddenly warrants my presence in the palace?” Taehyung asks, rummaging through his bag.

“Everything is just fine and dandy, Taehyung. How about you? Have you been well? We haven’t met each in a long time!”

“I believe I should be the one asking questions here, Mama. And if by “fine and dandy” you mean waking up from your slumber just to throw up, then all of my studies would have been put to waste.”

Unable to stop your giggles at his remark, you thank him silently for his visit. The royal physician’s presence always brings such a light mood wherever he may be.

Despite being the only brother of the reserved Kim Namjoon, these two were as close as two peas in a pod even when they have contrasting personalities. While Namjoon was more on the timid side, Taehyung was more playful and cheery – the two siblings polar opposites but it all seems to work out for the better.

The two brothers are distant cousins of Seokjin, hence their inclusion in the higher nobility class who freely visited the capitol’s palace. You hadn’t officially met Taehyung until you were wed to Seokjin but you weren’t a stranger to the stories your husband used to tell you about their notorious trio.

Most of the older court ladies had confirmed their reputations as major headaches while they were still kids growing inside the palace. The three would escape from their assigned guardians of the day, roam the city and would not come back until it’s time to eat, and run off to play one more time.

Adolescence took their time from each other, as this would usually be the time when boys would take lessons and become apprentices of their parents’ choosing. With Seokjin taking significantly different lessons from the other two as heir to the throne, the time they used to spend running away was now dedicated to learning the way of the scholars, swordsmanship, and politics.

“Playing was for kids anyways,” King Seokwoo would say as Seokjin gazed at the other boys his age who were free to do as they pleased. It saddened Seokjin to have let go of his youthful years like that, but with the great guidance of his father, the young man accepted his fate as the next king in line.

“Wangbi, if you don’t mind…I need you to take off your jeogori as I have to check your pulses properly.” With a hand reaching out to the ribbon on your dress but you stop midway as you notice the royal physician still staring at you. You blink owlishly at him, hoping he gets the message. “Oh! Right! Sorry, Mama.” He apologizes sheepishly before turning around to let you undress the outer garment.

You tap him on the shoulder once you’re done and as Taehyung turns around to face you, he looks anywhere but your eyes. “It’s alright, Taehyung. You can…look. I’m not exactly naked after all…” Stating matter-of-factly, you point a finger at your undergarments, still affording you an adequate amount of modesty. Your reassurance only serves to make the awkwardness in the air more palpable. “Sorry, that didn’t help, did it?”

“No, Mama,” he laughs, although admittedly endeared by your concern to make him as comfortable as possible, “But you don’t have to apologize, I am the physician after all and it is my duty to properly check my patients, so I was bound to ask that at some point.”

“Sorry,” you apologize meekly, again, and the both of you burst into peals of laughter. “I will check your pulse now, Mama,” you nod, sitting up straighter.

Taehyung places two of his fingers on your neck, just below your jaw as he checks your pulse. He remains quiet as he transfers them onto your wrist, humming as he observes your pulse one more time. The royal physician takes out a scroll and a brush from his bag and borrows an ink block nearby. Brows furrowed in concentration, Taehyung starts recording his observations.

“I will be asking a few personal questions, Mama. Please do not worry much for only I will be seeing this scroll, and what we have discussed today will only be between you and me – you know, physician and patient confidentiality.” He gives you a warm smile, one you cannot help but return.

“Have you been intimate with the King recently?”

His query definitely throws you off guard, but not because of reasons it ought to be. You’re surprised at how much of the truth his question was going require from you. Needless to say, your acts of unfaithfulness had never struck you as hard as it did today.

You hesitate for a moment, hoping your momentary silence would not be taken wrongly by the royal physician. You decide on answering the physician with half the truth. “Yes.”

“And have you bled during the past full moon?”

“No.” He nods, humming as he continues to write his diagnosis on the scroll. Taehyung pauses as he thinks for a moment, then gets on with jotting down some more. Finally, he takes out two small woven pouches from his bag and hands them to you.

“I need you to pee over these seeds, Mama, as they will determine the truth of your present condition. I will have my apprentice collect them later. I shall be able to conclude the results in a few days’ time, even though I think you and I already both know the answer. For the meantime, I need you to rest and eat plenty, my Queen. You’re going to need it.”

Silence suddenly blankets over the kitchen as Chaeyoung appears with three men behind her who all seem to cower under the unprecedented stare of the ladies in the kitchen.

“Gungnyeonim-dul, please continue with your chores. Jeonha, his general and our captain had come to assist us with the preparations – as recommended by Jungjeon-mama.”

The ladies of the kitchen, with too many tasks at hand and with even less unwillingness to question your orders, curtly bow in greeting to the three before going continuing their chores. Hoseok grimaces inwardly at the sight, knowing very well he’s just going to end up embarrassing himself in the kitchen.

The two brothers, who equally had experience helping their mother in the kitchen, likewise guided by her wise words ‘cooking is a life skill everybody must learn, regardless of gender’ head over to one corner to rinse their hands. Hoseok follows suit after an awkwardly escaping from a staring match with an elderly court lady.

Jungkook spots Haesoo across the room and as the captain sends her a small smile, Haesoo’s cheeks flush, getting shy at the small forbidden interaction. “It seems like everybody already knows what they have to do. Is there anything else we could help with?”

Yoongi speaks up, offering an idea, “This is the perfect time to boast about our city then – as the south makes the best songpyeons in the whole of Korea. Perhaps a southerner’s touch can make the capitol’s better? Not that I’m saying your rice cakes are worse, but…” Yoongi shrugs, raising the cover of a pot to check what’s boiling inside.

“As you wish, jeonha,” Chaeyoung bows, heading over to one of the tables to grab the ingredients needed. “’Least way to show your gratitude’,” Jungkook huffs, mocking his older brother’s words. “Really? By openly telling the cooks their cakes are bad? Inside the kitchen?”

“You and I both know mother’s songpyeons are better even without having to use the fancy ingredients they use here.”

Jungkook sighs in defeat, knowing his brother only spoke the truth. Nothing beats the south’s rice cakes. “Yes, I know. But you really did not have to—” The sound of food falling onto the floor causes everyone to look at culprit who’s holding onto a log used as a cutting board as a shield from an elderly court lady.

“I’m sorry, gungnyeo-nim! Please don’t hurt me!”

The old woman glares at poor Hoseok, who’s still holding onto the cutting board for dear life. “You call yourself a general, yet I’m still better with knives than you.” Hoseok looks at Yoongi, desperate for help, but the king of the south shakes his head as he laughs at his general.

Taehyung offers to walk you to the kitchen as soon as you deem yourself ready to face the day, much to your adamance, and Taehyung’s dismay. You’d caught yourself up with the cheery physician’s life on the way to the kitchen, and as you were laughing at a certain story of his patient Taehyung was animatedly talking about, you notice a crowd of court ladies standing by the entrance of the kitchen.

The physician’s supposed punchline falls into deaf ears when you ask what was going on inside that was enough to have court ladies gather around like this. The court lady you asked won’t even bother to look at you, to engrossed in whatever she was looking at inside. “See for yourself – it’s the captain and the king of the south competing about who can knead the dough better, though I’m pretty sure it’s us ladies who are enjoying it very much,” she says, pouting her lips as she nods to the two inside.

Taehyung holds his laughter in as he sees your confused expression, and tries to see the match for himself. How did they even get here in the first place? What were they doing in the kitchen and what’s with kneading the dough?

As you finally take a peek inside, your mouth drops slightly in shock as you see, lo and behold, Jungkook and Yoongi busy with kneading the dough. But, that’s definitely not what caught everyone else’s attention. The two had taken off their jeogoris, both now left in their sleeveless undergarments, with their sinewy arms on display.

You can’t stop the blood rushing to your cheeks as you catch yourself staring at them – or their arms rather. “Would you excuse me, please,” you call out to the women in front of you who were crowding the front door. “But we’re still-“ the court lady turns to complain, but as soon as she sees you, she immediately kneels. “Jungjeon-mama!” The others hear and soon follow suit.

“It’s okay, it’s okay!” You reassure them, understanding where the momentary distraction was coming from. They make way for you, and as you enter, you spot Chaeyoung by a table, likewise watching the competition between the two.

“Chaeyoung,” you call the court lady who immediately bows as she turns to face you. “Please enlighten me how these two got here.”

The young court lady then proceeds to tell you how she managed to coax the two into helping with the Chuseok preparations. From initially having different tasks, they eventually got to do this together instead after so many arguments on which colors should the rice cakes be, what filling should be best inside, court lady Oh suggested they do something that won’t cause any further unhelpful squabbles.

You exhale deeply, already wondering how long this day was going to be.

The first day of Chuseok goes by pretty well, spending the rest of your afternoon, leaving the palace grounds to visit your subjects to wish them a good harvest. Apparently, the competition between the captain and the southern king didn’t end with the dough. The whole time they insisted on joining you as you pay your citizens a visit was also a competition guised as accompaniment.

It’s been a long day and as much as you wanted to relieve yourself of your aching legs from all the walking, you realized you still had a few scrolls to catch up on, so you head to Seokjin’s office to read a few before retiring to your room.

“Jungjeon-mama! Jungjeon-mama!” Astronomer Lee runs as fast as his feet could carry him, running towards your office in stunted breaths. He sees Yoongi coming from the other end of the hanok, bowing briefly in his direction before demanding the royal guards outside your hanok to let him in.

“Her Royal Highness doesn’t want to be disturbed right now.” Two guards bar him from entering the court, using their bodies to stop the anxious astronomer from coming in.

“No! No! Please, it’s an emergency! Jungjeon-mama!”

As you continue your reading, you give one look at Yunho who curtly bows before you before heading outside to check the commotion. As soon as Yunho steps out of the hanok, the astronomer clings onto his arms, frantically tugging at his sleeves.

Worry crosses Yunho’s features, not expecting the astronomer’s arrival at all. Minho would only come visit you only, and only if you called for his presence. He was never one to pay regular visits, nor was he expected to run to court, all the while screaming out your title.

Minho attempts to peek through the doors that were slid open, waving his arms to get your attention. Yunho blocks him promptly, “My sincerest apologies, astronomer Lee, but we are under strict orders of the queen to not let anyone disturb her at the moment.” The guard extends a hand out, placing it on the astronomer’s chest to prevent him from taking another step.

“Let him in,” comes your authoritative voice from inside. With a sigh, Yunho makes way, but not before Minho pushing away the former’s arm harshly from his chest.

Minho, seemingly distraught as ever, calls for you once more before falling on his knees. “Jungjeon-mama…apologies, disturbance…must see…”

“Astronomer Lee, breathe. Please,” Jungkook advises as he nears him, placing a hand on his back. The astronomer shakes his head furiously in reply, despite having difficulty catching his breath.

Likewise taking advantage of the open doors, Yoongi enters with Hoseok quietly, much to Yunho’s dismay. But all eyes and ears are focused on the astronomer right now, whose current state is worrying all around him. The pair of southerners warily watches the astronomer while Jungkook silently eyes his brother sideways, jaw clenching at the unwanted presence of his hyung.

“What brings you to the court, Minho?” Standing up from your seat, you descend slowly down the stairs from the throne. You take the astronomer’s queasiness, getting more anxious at his actions. The usually reserved Minho was never one to take a hurried pace, much less scream your title loud enough from the whole palace to hear in the middle of the day.

He lifts a bag with trembling hands – like the small pouch has demanded from him great effort to carry such a thing. With every moment that passes, trepidation gets heavier inside the room.

“What’s inside the bag?”

Minho opens his mouth to reply, but nothing else comes out but a deep exhale so you nod to Jungkook, signaling him to tell him to check what’s inside. Maintaining your distance, you watch the captain untie the knot, hand dipping inside to feel its contents.

Craning his head to check what’s inside, you instantly see Jungkook hesitate with his actions so you take a step closer, fear slowly gradually taking over your thoughts. He pulls out a garment, a blood-stained blue and pink durumagi in his hands. You’d recognize those clothes anywhere.

Seokjin.

Everything around you seem to stop altogether, including your heart. You snatch the clothes from the captain’s grasp, falling to your knees as you clutch the fabric close to your chest.

Minho’s head falls as you let out a scream that resonates throughout the entire hanok, your cry audible even in the neighboring ones. Hoseok looks away, while Jungkook calls you, reaching out his hand to your knelt position on the floor.

The grief that spreads throughout your body is indescribable, like your heart has been ripped from your chest and crushed right in front of your face. Your vision is blurry and tears are flowing freely down your cheeks. Even with daily prayers and offerings to your ancestors, your worst fear has come true, and at the worst time possible.

Memories of your husband flood your thoughts, all of which end with the vivid image of Seokjin’s lifeless body.

“Leave,” you order weakly, voice muffled against the blood-stained garments of your husband. Nobody moves, undoubtedly shell-shocked at the news. Jungkook notices Yoongi and Hoseok share a look, and the captain balls his fists as he keeps his anger at bay, just knowing these two have something to do with the king’s death.

Your order seems to fall into deaf ears of those in front of you – torn between wanting to reach out and comfort you, but at the same time, also wanting to give you the space you deserve. You don’t give them a choice. “I said leave! All of you, out. Now!”

The guards inside file out one by one first, the two southerners follow after Minho, and Jungkook was the last to leave, looking back at you before sliding the doors closed.

The world seemingly just crashes down on you when you’re finally alone in Seokjin’s office. The weight of his loss brings you bending your body further, closer to the wooden floor. Sobbing with all your might, you yearn for your husband with all the energy left inside you.

Chest heaving as you wipe at your tear-stained cheeks, you head to your husband’s throne on your knees. You don’t even make it to the second step, bursting into another round of tears. With blurry vision, you look up at his chair, imagining he’s seated right in front of you as you call out to him.

You sob, silently pleading him to come back to you, to have him in your arms one last time. “Why did you have to leave me alone like this?” People would assume you’re talking to yourself, but you sure hope Seokjin was listening somehow, someway.

As you bring the garments close to your face, the strong metallic smell of blood hits your senses harshly, but you could care less – desperate to feel the presence of your husband one way or another. “You should’ve listened to me, my love. I already told you they were going to hurt you,” you scold his throne, wishing Seokjin was listening.

‘You told me you wanted to start a family; we could have had as many children as you wanted.’ As you gaze at the inanimate garments of your husband, you force a smile onto your face, yet in mere seconds your features distort into grief once more.

As soon as the rest of the guards and the two southerners leave the room, Jungkook tells Yunho to do his rounds by the western gates. Your attempt to keep your grieving inaudible to those outside the hanok only causes Jungkook’s heart all the more, wishing you had allowed him to stay inside to at least hold you while you cried.

The captain waits until Yunho is out of his sight before trailing after his brother. “You!” Jungkook calls out, surging towards Yoongi. The present king of the south, still unaware of what is, or who is, rather, coming onto him. Hoseok feels someone else’s presence behind them and stops the infuriated captain just in time, blocking Jungkook from hurling himself at the king of the south.

Jungkook doesn’t let the southern general stop him, delivering a punch straight to Hoseok’s face. The older man staggers backwards at the strength. Jungkook jabs at his brother afterwards and throws another, bringing them both to the ground. Hoseok quickly recovers, pulling the captain and his wrath away from Yoongi.

“What the fuck is your problem, Captain?” Hoseok hisses as he touches his now bruising cheek, moving to shield his king as he stares Jungkook down.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you both that? You come here to the palace to…to…” ‘Fuck the only woman I love before my very own eyes.’ The words die in his mouth. Jungkook clears his throat, regaining his composure. “Should I believe that it’s purely coincidence that you arrived here just when Seokjin left the palace because of you?”

Yoongi scoffs loudly, dabbing at the corner of his lips, feeling a wound slowly forming. “Why does everyone actually think we’re the ones responsible for this?” Jungkook gets taken aback, quickly hiding the surprise on his face upon hearing his brother’s words. “What do you mean by that?” the Captain asks, rubbing at his now bruising knuckles.

“What else do you think it means, Captain Jung?”

Hoseok doesn’t mean to interrupt, but the nosy general couldn’t help it – “Jung?! We’re from the same clan? Are you perhaps the son of the infamous Jung Minseok? The same man my King has slain?”

“No, he’s not,” Yoongi answers, giving his brother a knowing look. Jungkook rolls his eyes. Was Yoongi expecting a ‘thank you’ from him for answering his general’s inquiry? “You still haven’t answered my question, southern king,” Jungkook continues, muttering about Yoongi always having to answer in riddles. He was smart, yes, but that doesn’t mean he’d have to regard everyone as a scholar like him.

“I told you to stay in the south, and we could’ve risen to power with no obstacle. Now, I’m guessing you’re not entirely enjoying being the clueless captain now, are you?”

“I am not clueless. I know for a fact that it’s your city that’s causing all this turmoil and you’re here to cover up the fact that you’re the one who killed him. I know, Yoongi, because I also sent someone to check on the king’s troops so—”

“I wasn’t the one who killed him. We may have encountered each other on the way here and I may also have wounded him, but it wasn’t me who killed him.”

“You… and you didn’t even bother…helping him?”

Jungkook immediately regrets his question, wanting to probe the southerners, but unfortunately sounding unintelligent while at it. “I wanted to, but how could I possibly have when we were both attacked?”

“And who would have wanted to attack the two kings of powerful cities at the same time?”

“I am not certain of that fact yet, but I will get to the end of this sooner or later.”

Jungkook stares at him intently, silently pondering on his brother’s words. At this point, he could no longer tell if his brother was bluffing or not. “Why am I supposed to believe you?”

“You know me well, Jeon Jungkook. Lying is not one of my best traits. Especially not to you.”

“Jeon…” whispers Hoseok from the side, connecting the dots together. It couldn’t be. The southern general’s eyes widen in realization – curious orbs darting back and forth between the two. It couldn’t have been possible? Or could it now? Was the Captain of the King’s guards really the lost brother of Yoongi?

Only few people knew of how Yoongi came to be the king of the south, and even fewer people knew that he had a younger brother, one to succeed the throne, lest something happens to the present southern king.

“Wangseje,” Hoseok bows immediately, acknowledging the presence of the southern city’s crown prince.

It’s been a couple of days since the news of your husband’s death, and inevitably, your duty calls for a council meeting for a discussion. 

Even before you reach the doors, you already hear the councilmen talking within themselves in hushed voices. These men never learn. They gossip just as much as their nosy wives. Nodding to the guards, they push both panels of the door open at the same time, the sudden noise startling the entire council. They scurry towards their positions and form a straight line to acknowledge your presence.

You walk slowly down the aisle they’ve provided, watching every man in the room, yet not a single member dares to look you in the eyes. You find it strangely hilarious that these men are brave enough to spread rumors about you behind your back, but once you’re in the room, they’re as quiet as the little rats that occasionally pay the palace grounds a visit. Oh, right, you’re still talking about the advisors.  

“Jungjeon-mama.” They bow, greeting you in chorus. The head of the royal advisors, Chief Advisor Park steps forward. “Jungjeon-mama, we are saddened by your loss,” he states lowly, bowing from the waist. The rest of the council follow suit. Just your loss? What about the country that had just lost its king? During the most anticipated festival of the year on top of that? What about the citizens who will no longer have a ruler who was ready to sacrifice his life for the sake of their safety? What about the lives of your people that will be put into care of these filthy, lying men?”

“Ah, such a great loss of our country as well, my Queen. King Seokjin was a ruler that will never be forgotten.” The relatively young man adds. You’re thankful that your mourning cap provides you with a fine sheath of silk that covers your face, or else the entire room would have seen your face contorted in anger.

You sigh exasperatedly, albeit quietly. Just the presence of these pompous men already makes you want to retire to bed at once – royal protocols be damned. “Our loyalty and support remain with you during these trying times, Jungjeon-mama.” Their sugar-coated words of encouragement continue, lie after lie after lie. You resist the urge to laugh at their empty statements.

What kind of pathetic fool did they take you for?

The death of your husband might have brought about an immense weight of emotion on your shoulders but your personal sentiments are not to be mistaken as a deterrent from your royal duties. You may be a widowed queen now, but that fact never made you any less of your title.

You start to seriously consider wearing this headwear more than special occasions so you can freely make faces at people who are courageous enough to lie through their teeth in front of you.

“Daebi-mama,” Slightly grimacing at your new title, you tilt your head a little, urging him to continue to voice out his concern. “The news of King’s Seokjin’s passing had not been announced yet, under your orders, but we must address to you the imminent worries if our citizens, Daebi-mama.”

Here it goes, the words determining the wretched fate of women in the country. “As you are well aware, a king’s absence may be seen as a sign of vulnerability – a sign of weakness that has been proven throughout history.” Chief Advisor Park Jimin holds his stare – a look that speaks in volumes. He knows you, out of all people, would know that fact. It is, after all, the incipient cause of your existence.

Even though he has chosen his words with caution so as not to reveal his intended denotation, is he not aware that you can see straight through his words that are dripping with ingenuine concern for your people?

Just as if the rest of the council hear your thoughts, Advisor Kim adds, joining Park “Please do not misunderstand, Mama. We do not wish to contend or question your sitting on the throne…” You swore, if he did not only share your husband’s surname and thus having been regarded as a distant member of Seokjin’s family tree, you would have dismissed this uselessly man from his duties a long time ago. At least you have proof that they are somewhat genuinely related: they both can’t look straight in your eyes when lying.

Advisor Oh joins from the other side of the aisle. Ah, the infamous lying trio. “We worry for your safety too, Jungjeon-mama.” Oh, really now? The rest of the men share murmurs of agreement. Chief Advisor Park adds to the older man’s statement, “If you don’t mind me saying, Mama…we fear the king of the south might be…overstaying his welcome.”

“He won’t be able to do anything anytime soon, and not while I’m still sitting on the throne.”

“Jungjeon-mama, I hope you understand that this is a pressing matter. The country desperately needs a king right now.” Oh adds, getting a few nods from the council. Do these people really comprise the council? Or it’s just three people who brought their coerced worshippers along with them?

“I am well aware of what sort of dishonorable duty this society has imposed upon women, I, of all people would be most knowledgeable on that,” you reiterate your point.

“Unless we have an heir to the throne, my Queen, the city will remain in unrest.” There’s the truth they’ve been itching to tell you. Did they really have to go through all those lies just to get to this point? As Chief Advisor Park takes another step forward, Jungkook moves as well, hand already on hilt of this sword, ready to wield his weapon just in case the former decides to move closer.

Yoongi, who was passing by the court heard your voice, deftly sliding a window slightly open to see you. If he thought you were endearing when you were drunk, there was nothing else compared to his attraction towards you now that you were seated on your husband’s throne.

It’s the only place you were only ever meant to be, nurtured and trained to be the queen, and an even better wife of the king. Too bad it wasn’t him on the throne, yet.

When you raise a hand at the captain, he backs away, fixing his sword back to its scabbard. Park Jimin smirks. “I would be most willing to help you with that, Jungjeon-mama.” At his proposal, you’re unable to control the scoff that escapes your lips.

“That offer would be most tempting, Chief Advisor Park…” the man visibly straightens at your words, a brow raised at your unexpected remark, “perhaps to someone who shares the same degree of desperation as the proposer.”

The rosy tinge of shame fills the man’s cheeks while you hear Jungkook and the other guards behind you suppress their snickers. You are smiling widely as well, and as Park Jimin gets a glimpse of your pearly whites through the fine silk of your headwear, he gives you the cold shoulder and walks back to his row.

Yoongi, enjoying being inconspicuous from outside the hanok beams at you, immersed in the amusement he finds in watching you put these men in their places. Behind the mirth, he knows that the chief advisor was not totally ingenuine with his concern.

It’s the unspoken truth – a kingless city was as vulnerable as a deer in an open space, surrounded by hunters. He had never doubted your prowess once, nor did he question your capability to look after your subjects. But the world was a cruel place and a kingdom without corruption is almost a concept far from reality.

“Nevertheless, the need for an heir is already out of the choices…” Whispers are shared amongst the crowd of men in front of you. Confusion arose from the councilmen at your words. Even with their numerous plots to rise to the throne, you’re still surprised at how they can’t seem to understand simple implications. Taking into consideration their perplexed expressions, you decide to state the obvious.

“Yes. I am pregnant.”

Jungkook and Yoongi look up at you from where they’re stood, just as shocked as the rest of the council.

[taglist] : @aretha170​ @strxwberri-milk @vivpurple7 @wheredoiwhaaat25 @hodginss  

(c) joontier 2020

[highfunctioningflailgirl]

My Lethal White episode 1 recap

After having had a lot of fun recapping episode 2, I went back and did episode 1 as well. It got a bit out of hand and is a loooong post...

Under the cut, because, evidently, there will be ALL THE SPOILERS! 🚨

*SQUEEEEE!!!* THEY’RE BACK!!! 🤗💃🏻🙌🏼  (Yes, I’m still squeeing, although this is a rewatch)

Let’s look at the title sequence, shall we? They’ve added a few new details: There’s the wooden cross from the dell, the White Horse of Uffington and Robin’s Houses of Parliament guest pass. The child from Billy’s memories and the pink blanket. Someone’s already mentioned the ‘whore’ swirling in the coffee cup, and then later we have a fencing icon in the pint. Cool hints. 😎

Cut to tired, head-achy Cormoran at the wedding. Strike has a slightly different haircut, and I wonder: they dye Tom’s hair darker for the role, but he has a glint of natural first grey at the temples that I’ve seen on Tom pre-Strike. How did they keep that? (Sorry about the hair kink digression…☺️)

Pet peeve of mine they carried over from Career of Evil: in the book, Donald Laing slashes Strike’s palm, but it didn’t happen in the series. There was no blood on his hand when he called Robin, and his glove was intact. And yet, Strike has his hand bandaged. I know it’s a silly pet peeve of mine, but stuff like that pulls me out of the moment. And Strike wouldn’t slap on a bandage just for a little bruising. *steps off soap box*

“You look beautiful.” - “And you look terrible.” - “It’s this jacket, needs taking in.” 😂

“I want you back.” - “What?” Augh, the double meaning of it all, Strike’s softness and Robin’s initial uncertainty of what he means. 🥺

When she realizes that Matt deleted Strike’s messages, there’s a tear spilling from her eye, and she quickly wipes it away. 😢 Such good acting. Such a brave girl.

A few of us have already addressed this in the chat: did Matt BLOCK Strike, or delete his calls and messages? Or both? They’re frustratingly unclear about this detail, and it makes a difference in terms of Strike being able to reach her or not. (I’m a continuity nerd, sorry)

Sarah standing next to Matthew. *gags*

Robin looks so beautiful! And so very sad. (Holliday is acting her heart out of this season, can’t say it enough). This is award material, hands-down. 🏆

Her look across the room at Cormoran while they’re eating! And he’s… just been staring at her all through the meal? Good god. These two.

If Cormoran falls asleep before dessert he’s got to be really, REALLY tired.☺️ Poor baby.

We’ve got to work on your fine dining skills, Cormoran darling! It’s very cowboy and rugged, handling cutlery like that, but you would SINK during an aristocracy under-cover op. Maybe the Comte de la Fère is available for a lesson?

The first chords of The Calling’s “Wherever you will go”. Ack. They really went for the original, and as someone who’s always been ridiculously in love with that cheesy song, I AM HERE FOR IT.

Cormoran walking slow-mo past the bridesmaids, looking at Robin dancing with Matt The Twat. My heart…💔

When I’m gone you’ll need love to light the shadows on your face… *sniff*

Cormoran’s FACE during the dance. I can’t. He looks like a puppy about to get shot. 🥺

(and what a juxtaposition to the little lady with the funny hat bobbing happily next to him, to everyone looking awww and being completely ignorant of the drama that’s playing out. Ugh. I’m dead.)

Matthew moves like someone who’s (painstakingly) learned exactly one (1) dance, and for their wedding only, and why is he even smiling so proudly? They must’ve just had the biggest row in history? Is he really so full of himself?

Even Robin is smiling, although staring longingly at Strike. I bet they did that so Strike would be a little mad at her and want to walk away.

AND HE DOES! 😟 You can just see the “Fuck this” from the book crossing his face as he turns around and leaves. Ack. I’m dead again.

If I could then I would, I’ll go wherever you will go

(Perfectly placed, kudos) 👏🏼

And she runs after him, looking like a fairy-tale princess. Did you see how frigging COLD it must’ve been, judging by her breath?! Poor Holliday must have been freezing to death during the shoot. And then to pull off such a heartbreaking scene…

(Also, the lawn in the park? A shitload of rolled sods. No grass looks this lusciously green in winter, and you can see the edges everywhere. Some landscaper had a field day there!)

“Are you sure?” - “Yeah. I am.” About WHAT, you idiots?! *wrings hands* To her coming back to work, of course, but there’s so much more to their statements. And I’m sure that non-book-readers thought they were about to kiss and elope, but - alas! - we know that’s not going to happen.😔

But at least we get The Hug™️, and it’s everything we hoped for: Robin crying, digging her fingers into his jacket; Cormoran closing his eyes… God help us, we are all DOOMED sailing this ship! 🙈💔

I was a little miffed upon first watching that they faded out of that hug so quickly. That was it? No, it wasn’t, as we now know, and I love, love, love that we’re getting all these extended flashbacks that reveal more and more of what happened to us!

ONE BLOODY YEAR LATER (I still can’t get over that time jump)

Lol at the subcontractor crashing his moped into the cab! It was only briefly mentioned in the book, and turning it into an actual dialogue was a fun idea.😂

And there’s Denise (that IS her, right?), completely uninterested in doing her job. Good grief - Strike and Robin are BAD a picking employees! 🙈

Robin looking not-jealous-at-all at Strike walking off with Lorelei. Ouch.

I like Lorelei, btw. They chose the actress well, and she’s nice and mature. Which doesn’t mean that I’m not secretly flinching every time she kisses Cormoran. It’s just not right.

Billy. Joseph Quinn does an incredible job playing him. 👏🏼 As dangerous as he appears at first, his despair and his efforts at holding himself together are heartbreaking. That battle he wages against his mental illness is on full display, and his scared big eyes are killing me. 🥺

Cormoran is admirably unfazed by Billy’s appearance - is that his Army training kicking in? Robin, though, is shaking but braving it out, recording with her phone although her hands are trembling. Good acting by Holliday.

Good riddance, Denise.

The good ole’ pencil trick. “I didn’t know people still did this.” 😌

I was surprised that Cormoran chose to simply break into the house on Charlemont road. It’s breaking and entering for no good reason. Could’ve been anybody’s home.

He’s not going to- EWW! He’s sitting down on that filthy couch. And plucking hairs from it. EWW!🤢

Robin: “...and some porn.” 😂 Says it as if it’s what they always find. The usual. Men… 🙄

Who’s the guy taking pictures of Cormoran? I seriously don’t remember this from the b- Oh, WAIT! Reporter guy. Patterson. Yeah. Him.

The CORE members are as cliché in their looks as are Chiswell’s upper class folks. It’s all a bit on the nose for my taste, but then clichés are clichés for a reason.

Cormoran needs to work on his disguises. Not fitting in at all with the CORE crowd, age-wise or in his look. No wonder they don’t trust him. He does it better in the books.

Oh Robin. I actually think you need a lot more therapy to work through your shit.

Ah, here we go. Seaborn bacteria. But first, Matt’s got to be a prick again. 🙄

Chiswell with his arrogance and his rudeness and his finger-snapping. *shakes head* I think if Cormoran hadn’t known he could make some serious money with this case, he may have walked out on him.

Btw, the “large” jacket is making Strike look slimmer instead of bigger. 😄 They’re so desperately mentioning Strike’s largeness, as if beating it over our heads could actually make us not see barely-6-foot and slender Tom Burke.

“Couple more potatoes wouldn’t hurt.” And his FACE! 🥰

Glenister is a really good actor. I always listen to the Strike audiobooks that he narrates, and I was worried hearing his voice in the show would be confusing, but it’s not because he sounds so different. Can’t wait for him reading “Troubled Blood” to me! 🎧

Is it a coincidence that Drummond’s art gallery has a painting of a horse in its front window? I think not.

I love that soft blue shirt they put Cormoran in. Makes him look very huggable. *blushes*

“Not sure I would make a convincing goddaughter either.”😂

So in England you can just walk up to a minister’s house and ring the doorbell without any security people stopping you? Interesting.

Chiswell just shutting the door in Cormoran’s face. RUDE.😠

The brown contact lenses. 👀 Okay, they make her look different, but not THAT different. It’s her sudden posh accent that’s the real stunner.

The panic attacks. Holliday plays them so well, I almost feel like I can’t breathe myself. 😧

I was expecting the Houses of Parliament to look a little less like a stuffy basement full of old junk. *ducks*

Barclay! Definitely looking more attractive than his description in the book. And I thought I’d gotten food at understanding Scottish. I haven’t. *turns subtitles on*

Izzy is the only Chiswell offspring who doesn’t make me want to immediately vomit.

“Venetia. Like the blinds.” Oh God. 🙈

Winn is such a creep. 🤮 Poor Robin. GET AWAY FROM HER YOU LEECH!

Of course Matt doesn’t want Robin to wear the Green Dress. Twat.🙄

The house warming party. I always wonder why Robin doesn’t have friends of her own. I have a feeling Matt has something to do with that.

The earrings. So we will see Robin finding out Matt’s cheating on her! I can’t wait for her to rip him a new one! 😈

Robin calls Cormoran - and it’s not Coco but Lorelei who picks up. That’s a smart change from the book. And it makes her the rebound girl. Which she doesn’t deserve, but it is what it is.

“And she bakes.” 🥴 Is it just me wondering how Lorelei got that cake into the tin without ruining the icing?!

Flashback to The Hug™️. God, their faces are so close. Cormoran is so soft. Nnnnhhhggggg.

Enter the plaid shirt. Lumber!Cormoran is a good look on him! 😍

The Armchair of Sadness™️. Of course that’s where the devastating phone call to Robin’s house happens! The disbelief and disappointment on Cormoran’s face is heart rending. 😢💔

@lulacat3 and I have already established the continuity error with Cormoran’s facial injuries suddenly missing when he’s reached the pub. (And they should still be there; he’s still wearing the plaid shirt from that same evening.) If I were the makeup person I would have been deeply regretful of having missed dabbing fake injuries on Tom’s face again.

The Uffington Horse. Robin’s in appropriate Wellingtons, weather jacket and a beanie for their outing. Cormoran is wearing what he always wears, and Tom clearly wishes he had a beanie. At least he gets to wear a t-shirt under his eternally blue shirts this season. REVOLUTION! 😄

Sure. Let’s just go and dig for a corpse with a shovel so conveniently available! Just the two of them - one delicate Robin and one invalid. And then Robin finds the bones after ten seconds of digging. No further comment. 🙄

But I like the change with Cormoran’s leg. As stupidly heroic as he acted in the book, I like it better in the show where he has to acknowledge his handicap and Robin takes charge.

The bones. Dun-dun-DUN!

(Good first episode, although all in all the pacing wasn’t quite right yet, and compared to the book it all felt a bit rushed. I liked episode two better.)

[cordonian-literature]

The Aftermath - Ch. 3

More Visitors

Summary: The Beaumonts find out about Riley’s condition

A/N: I know the last chapter was Liam and Drake, but their first encounter with Riley is actually here, in the preview. Check it out if you haven’t yet!

Word Count: ~3.4k

Warning: Mention of character death

*All characters belong to Pixelberry, except those that are unique to my story (I’ve also used some characters and fictional instances from Donna Tartt’s “The Goldfinch”)*

Catch up here!

Tags: @captain-kingliamsqueen @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @gkittylove99 @lovablegranny @loudbluebirdlover @mom2000aggie @kingliam2019 @queenrileyrose @shanzay44 @cordonianroyalty​ @hopefulmoonobject​ @hopelessromanticmonie @cinnamonspongecake

- Maxwell - 

“If it be true that thee shall not cease insulting mine own family nameth, then I dare thee to a battleth!”

“A hurlyburly thee sayeth? Well, then I'll seeth thee on the dueling ground!”

“Ah, but this isn't a normal battleth, because I dare thee to a breakdance hurlyburly!” 

“But I knoweth not how to doth the breaketh danceth!”

“Thou art a blinking idiot, and were bound to loseth!” 

“Uncle Max, why do I always have to play the character that loses?” Bartie tosses his copy of the script on the coffee table. 

“Because I’m the one with the killer dance moves!” Maxwell strikes a pose. “You only get to where I am after a lifetime of practice, muffin, and you’ve still got a long way to go.”

“But can’t you lose to me at least once?” Bartie picks up the booklet and starts flipping through the pages. “Like how you pretended to lose to Count Appleton in a rap battle, but then won against him in another rap battle in the next scene!”

“That was to catch him off-guard! I gained his trust and then his respect,” Maxwell argues

“Don’t you want my character’s trust and respect?”

“Your character keeps insulting my character’s family name!” Maxwell cries.

“Whatever.” He throws the booklet back down. “I’m going go to my room for a little while.” 

“Wanna run through your fork placement again?” 

“No, I’m okay. I’ve got it down. Thank you, though.” Bartie heads up the stairs towards his room.

“I’ll see you at dinner, muffin,” Maxwell calls. He plops onto the couch and begins to reread his script as Savannah walks into the room. 

“So how was rehearsal?” she questions. “Did you get a chance to teach Bartie that move you were talking about?”

He shakes his head. “No, we didn’t get to it. Don’t think the little muffin is interested in breakdancing, so I won’t bother him anymore.” 

Savannah doesn’t say anything. Maxwell had started working on his breakdance opera years ago after he tried to finish his novel but then gave up on it, claiming the topic was too depressing. He tried his best to get Bartie interested in his opera, even though Bertrand said it wasn’t appropriate for a boy of his status to be learning how to breakdance instead of perfecting the Cordonian Waltz. In the beginning, Bartie was thrilled that he got to spend more time with his Uncle Maxwell, but as time went on the boy became bored and started to look more towards Uncle Drake for some fun — which Bertrand thought was even more inappropriate (”My boy should be learning how to properly host the royal family, not learning how cut wood or put up a tent!”), though he allowed it after Savannah insisted — and so Maxwell felt increasingly alone at Ramsford.

He could spend some time with Liam and Drake in the capital, but both men were so closed off lately that the air around them would become stifling. He wanted to plan a trip to Shanghai so the Beaumonts could visit Hana, but Bertrand was always so caught up with maintaining the estate — and he never let Maxwell help him — that a moment to relax as a family was uncommon. 

At dinner, Bartie half-heartedly explained to his father how his lessons had gone. Bertrand asked Bartie if he wanted to do some work with him tonight, just to get a feel of what it was like to run the estate, but Bartie simply shrugged and walked off without finishing his dinner. 

Bertrand was about to go after him and demand Bartie to return to his seat, but Savannah put a hand on his shoulder and told her husband to let the boy go. 

“He’s not feeling too well lately,” she reasoned. “Let him go. If he wants to talk to us he will.” 

“There is no reason for him to be behaving in such a manner. I will remind him tomorrow morning, and I will make sure he sits with me... he needs to learn how to run the house sooner or later, and the former would be most preferable.” Bertrand took a sip of his wine. 

Even though House Beaumont’s finances had improved tremendously over time, Bertrand was still obsessed with keeping everything in order, almost desperate to make sure there was no chance of any sort of decline happening again. He wouldn’t hear anyone who tried to tell him that he should take a break or loosen up a little.

“Go easy on him,” Maxwell suggests. “He’s been working really hard on his lessons and barely gets any time to go outside.”

“He needs to spend his time learning all he can so he can be a reputable duke when the time comes!”

“Bertrand, please,” Savannah says. “He’s just having a couple bad days. It’s normal.” 

Bertrand sighs. “I don’t understand why he feels this way. Just last week he was fine. What happened now?”

“He went to Drake’s this weekend, so maybe he misses him,” Savannah speculates. 

“I’ll call him up later,” Maxwell declares. “It’s been a while since I’ve talked to my old pal. I kinda miss him, too.”

The three finish their meal in quiet, but Maxwell sits impatiently for the moment he could jump up and go call Drake. 

After their plates were taken away, Maxwell said his good nights to Savannah and Bertrand and raced up the stairs towards Bartie’s room.

He knocks on the door and waits for Bartie to unlock it. “Yes?” Bartie says. 

“I thought we could give Uncle Drake a call! It’s been a couple days since you’ve seen him and it’s been a while since I’ve talked to him.”

“It’s barely been two days,” Bartie scoffs. “But alright, I guess.”

Bartie goes to sit next to Maxwell on the edge of the bed and leans in while they wait for Drake to answer the FaceTime call. 

He declines the call. Maxwell calls again, Drake declines again.

“Maybe he’s busy?” Bartie wonders aloud.

“It’s more likely that he just doesn’t want me bothering him.” Maxwell’s phone vibrates. “He texted me!”

On flight. Will call in morning.

“He’s traveling? Where? Do you think His Majesty sent him away again?” Bartie asks.

“I don’t really know. Hopefully he’ll keep his promise and call back in the morning. Until then there’s not much we can do.” Maxwell sighs and stands up, ruffling Bartie’s hair. “Good night, muffin. Sleep well.”

In his room, Maxwell lays in bed thinking of all the places Drake could be going. Olivia was the one who led independent investigations and never told anything to anyone else until she was sure of what she had, so it was unlikely Drake had gone to find something upon her suggestion. Maxwell had tried to reach out to Riley through social media, but soon after he contacted her, she’d deleted all of her accounts, blocked his number, and blocked his email — then when they tried to trace her number through Olivia’s phone, they reached a dead end. 

Drake on the other hand, did work together with Maxwell and Olivia, but also with the division of the King’s Guard that Liam had made to search for Riley. Their king was constantly sending out people to thoroughly examine every place that yielded even the smallest hint of a lead. Rarely was anything found, and when it was, it was either useless or highly questionable.

Recently, they were having difficulty finding new leads — they had already checked so many places around the world that it was hard to think of any place they may have disregarded. That was when Liam and Drake started distancing themselves even further. Maxwell knew they usually spent time together near the end of the week, but when Drake suggested Bartie visit over the weekend, Maxwell knew that both men had started losing hope.

The next morning during another quiet meal, Maxwell noticed Savannah stealing glances at her son.

“Did Uncle Drake call you back yet?” Bartie directed his question towards Maxwell.

“No,” Maxwell said, his mouth stuffed with blueberries and waffles. “I’ll check in on him in a few.” 

Bertrand continued the conversation by telling everyone what he planned to do for the rest of the day. Maxwell could tell that he was trying to get Bartie to want to work with him. He was glad Bertrand wasn’t pushing Bartie too much, and was sure that Savannah had probably talked to him about it last night.

After breakfast, Maxwell gave Drake a call, but it went straight to voicemail. Maxwell left a message asking Drake to get back to him. 

In an attempt to get Bartie out of the house before his tutor showed up, Maxwell went to his door and tried to persuade his nephew to go on a jog with him.

“Maybe later,” Bartie called out from inside his room. “I’m a little tired right now.”

Some time after noon, Drake still hadn’t called back. Finishing his lunch, Maxwell decides to give Drake a call to make sure everything was alright.

The phone rings for so long Maxwell thinks Drake isn’t going to answer, but then hears his voice from the other side: “Hey, Maxwell.”

“Drake!” Maxwell shouts. “What’s happening? You said you’d call this morning but then you didn’t.”

“Sorry about that,” Drake’s voice doesn’t seem directed at Maxwell, who can tell that he’s distracted. “Got caught up.” There’s people talking in the background, but Maxwell can’t tell who it is or what they’re saying.

“So where did you fly off to?” he asks. 

Drake doesn’t answer. The people in the background keep talking. After a few seconds, Drake’s voice is more purposeful when he says to Maxwell, “Listen. Liam and I are in New York. We’re with Riley.”

The rest of Drake’s monologue cuts out as her name echoes through Maxwell’s mind. 

Riley? Our Riley? They found little blossom? How long has it been? Ten years? Almost eleven? Feels like a hundred.

Are they there to bring her back? Does she even want to come back? Would she want to see me, the person who set in motion the series of events that led to her name being dragged through the mud, to her disappearance, to heartbreak?

“New York?” Maxwell finally brings himself to speak through the lump in his throat. “Little blossom’s in New York? When did you find out?”

“Like I said, we found out just last night.” Maxwell didn’t want to mention that he wasn't listening when Drake had said that. 

“Is... is she alright? Have you talked to her? What did she say?”

“Pay attention, Maxwell,” Drake scolds through his teeth.

“I was paying attention! But if you would be so kind as to repeat what you said....”

“She was visiting a museum and there was a bomb. She’s in New York Presbyterian, and we’re here, too. She got a serious head injury and had surgery on Sunday. Her legs are pretty beat up, but the doctor says some rest will help her get back on her feet within a few weeks.”

“Where is she?” Maxwell yells. “Are you with her?”

Drake sighs. “No, not at the moment. The doctor and a nurse checked her and said they wanted to take her for another CT scan to see if there was anything they might have overlooked.”

“So you... you didn’t speak to her at all?”

“I didn’t, no, but Liam did before they took her away. He won’t tell me what she said.”

“So she is talking, right? She’s alright, technically? Nothing permanent?”

“I don’t know, Maxwell. I’ll let you know what happens when they bring her back.”

“Let me talk to her. I want to see my little blossom,” Maxwell requests. Drake says something, but his voice is far away. He’s talking to someone else, and doesn’t bring the phone back to his ear. “Drake? Hello?”

The line disconnects. Maxwell stands there, shocked. His feet were rooted in place as he stares down at his phone. 

Did they really find Riley? If they did, could they convince her to return?

I was the one who convinced her to come to Cordonia in the first place. I should be there helping bring her back.

“BERTRAND!” Maxwell shrieks, running out the room towards the study.

“What happened?” Savannah screams as Maxwell flies past her. 

“BERTRAND!” he calls again, announcing his arrival.

When he opens the door to the study, Bertrand is on the phone, staring at Maxwell with a grim face. “My apologies, sir, but I will have to call you back,” he says to the person on the other end, hanging up. He stands. “What on Earth was that Maxwell? I’m on an important phone call and you come dashing in, screeching my name like a banshee! Do you understand how incompetent that looks?”

Maxwell knows he’s about to be at the receiving end of another one of Bertrand’s never-ending lectures, but he doesn’t care. He’s jittery and out of breath, but in between pants manages to say, “Liam and Drake found Riley. They’re with her right now. We have to go.”

Stunned, Bertrand takes a step back. “Riley?! Uh, er... Lady Riley?” He clears his throat, composing himself, but can’t get the words out. “They’ve... they’ve.... Where is she? His Majesty is with her?”

“In New York. Yes, he's there with Drake.” 

Bertrand blinks. He finally manages a solemn voice and asks, “She is well, I hope?”

Maxwell shakes his head. Moments pass, with Bertrand deep in thought. Maxwell worries about what his brother will say next.

“Everything alright in here?” Savannah walks in. “Saw Maxwell run past and wanted to make sure that nothing was wrong.” 

“His Majesty and Drake have found Lady Riley.” Bertrand’s voice is more prominent now.

“What?” Savannah brings a hand over her mouth.

Confidently, he declares, “Maxwell and I will be joining them in New York as soon as possible. I am sorry to leave you and Bartie, my dear,” he sighs, “but we must go. She is still House Beaumont, after all.”

After a moment, Savannah says, “We’ll come with you. I want to see her, too, and I know Bartie would enjoy the trip.” 

Bertrand’s mind is already racing, and he doesn’t have the heart to tell his wife that he wants her to stay here. She seemed certain of herself, and so he would not dissuade her. “Alright then,” he replies.

“Aw yeah!” Maxwell cries. “Family vacation!” 

“Yes, yes, now go pack,” Bertrand commands. “I’ll prepare a flight for us. We must go quickly. Time is of the essence.”

... 

On the flight, Maxwell and Bertrand anxiously look out of their windows. Savannah talks to Bartie about the appeals of New York — after him and his mother had come back from Paris, the family had never taken Bartie out of Cordonia, and since Bertrand was persistent in having Bartie receive his education at the hands of tutors, the boy was never given the time to travel with his family, nor did he have any friends who could either relate to him or tell him tales of their travels.

Eventually, Bartie gets tired and takes a nap. Maxwell feels tired as well, but the excitement to see Riley again doesn’t stop sending jolts through his body. They were so close to her. So close to having her with them, and having everything be the way it should have been from the beginning.

Hours later, he wakes up Bartie and tells him that they’ve landed.

Once they’re out of the airport, Bertrand manages to tag down a driver. They drop off Savannah and Bartie at the hotel where they got a last minute reservation. When Maxwell and Bertrand are outside the hospital, Maxwell jumps out of the car and races inside. 

“Maxwell!” Bertrand calls in a stiff whisper. Maxwell slows down and matches Bertrand’s pace. They walk up to the receptionist, who’s having a discussion with a doctor. They wait for her to notice them, and after a few moments Maxwell debates running off to try and find Riley’s room himself, but Bertrand clears his throat and asks, “Excuse me, could either one of you direct me towards Miss Riley Brooks? She’s a patient here, I believe.”

The doctor looks up. “Are one of you her designated support person?”

“No, not exactly—.”

“We’re family.” Maxwell chimes in. “We just heard what happened and flew in from Europe.”

“Visiting hours are over,” the doctor says. “You fellas can come back at nine in the morning. ‘Til then I can’t help you.” 

“You will tell me where she is or you will face the wrath of House Beaumont’s lawyers!” Bertrand shouts.

“Beaumont? That your last name?” the doctor interrogates.

“Yes and—.”

“The lady’s last name is Brooks. Clearly, you guys aren’t family. I’m gonna need you two to leave. Unless you want me to get security?”

Bertrand looks at the doctor, fuming, ready to give him the worst tongue lashing the man has ever experienced, but someone grips his and Maxwell’s shoulders. 

“They’re with me, Doc,” Drake says. “I’ll take them to Miss Brooks and there’ll be no more trouble. Sorry for the inconvenience.” 

Drake leads the two of them away from reception and towards the ICU. 

“Drake!” Maxwell exclaims, putting an arm around his friend’s shoulder. “Thanks for that. We really needed it.” 

“Yes,” Bertrand adds. “It was much appreciated. Now, where is Lady Riley?”

“Did they find everything alright after the CT scan?” Maxwell asks. 

Drake sighs. “Riley’s asleep right now. Today must have been stressful for her, I imagine. You guys can talk to her in the morning.” 

Maxwell is about to repeat his question when he notices Liam sitting in the ICU waiting room, looking at the floor. “Liam!” he calls. 

When Liam looks up, Maxwell looks in shock at his red, swollen eyes. 

“What happened?” Maxwell breathes. The air in his lungs is suddenly painful.

“She—,” he looks back down and speaks slowly, as if every word sent a stab to his chest. “She didn’t remember me. She looked me right in the eye and asked me who I was.” His voice cracks, and he puts his head in his hands.

Maxwell takes a seat next to Liam, but says nothing. Bertrand stands in shock, staring at his king breaking down. Brows furrowed in confusion, he looks at Drake. “What does that mean?”

“She lost her memory.” Drake answered in a quiet voice. Every word seemed to break him. “The doctors didn’t tell us everything, but they told us that they doubted she even knew who she was. After they brought her from the CT scan and explained everything to her, she started crying. Her mother was there, too. She’s actually a nurse here. They’ve decided to question her tomorrow, to try and figure out what she remembers and doesn’t remember. Some detectives are also coming in to question a couple victims. They’re hoping to find some information, or at least something that’ll help them connect some dots.”

“Little blossom doesn’t know who we are?” Maxwell asks, as his shoulders begin to shake. 

Bertrand manages to maintain his composure, though his voice cracks a couple times when he says, “Well. There’s nothing... there’s um... nothing we can do at the moment.” He clears his throat. “Have you two been able to acquire any accommodations?”

Liam sits up, his face wet. “Yes.” He sniffles. “Though we haven’t actually been to the hotel yet. We’ve been here for... oh, a little less than ten hours.”

“Your Majesty I believe it would be wise to spend the night at the hotel and rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day. Perhaps the doctors will let us ask questions as well.”

"Thank you, Duke Bertrand, but I would rather stay. Drake, if you want, you can go and get some sleep. I'm sure you need it. I'll be fine right here."

Drake, Maxwell, and Bertrand share a silent look, then take a seat near their friend. Bertrand sends Savannah a text, telling her that him and Maxwell will not be returning to the hotel tonight.

[yukiwrites]

A Way to Unwind

For CorrianderWeek 2020, Day 1: Training. IT’S HEREEEE, THE BEST WEEK OF THE YEAR!! Let’s have a blast this year too, folks!

Xander had been educated to follow through his father’s kingly footsteps from infancy. He was no stranger to paperwork and the dreadful weight of carrying the lives of thousands of his own people at the tip of his pen or at the top of his tongue.

That did not mean that nothing would get to him.

No. Even the recently crowned King regent of Nohr and Valla was prone to succumbing to stress.

Or rather, precisely because he was the King, it was indispensable for him to have an outlet or two from his pent up stress and pressure. Though Xander had a most dreadful tendency to hold it all in and let it consume him until there was smoke coming out of his ears, so it fell to his wife, Kamui, to nudge him towards the right places so he could take better care of himself.

Having said that, the Queen got up from her seat at her jointed desk, right beside Xander’s in their shared study, soundlessly walking behind him so as to place both hands on either of his stiff, oh-so-stiff, shoulders.

“You were a tad harsh there with that man, you know.” Kamui hummed, smoothing her hands from her husband’s shoulders to his chest, then crossing her arms around his neck in a tender hug.

“Hahh…” The King sighed, leaning his head against his wife’s soft cheek, closing his eyes as he already felt a headache forming in the bridge between his eyes. “Was I truly? I shall make amends to that right away…” He meant to move back to his papers, not even allowing himself to rest for a minute inside his wife’s arms, but what he didn’t expect was Kamui not moving from her spot, trapping him in her hug. “Kamui, please.”

“‘Please’ is my line, Xander.” The Queen huffed, letting go of her husband so as to circle his chair and sit on the desk right in front of the documents he was about to go over. “Look at you: If I weren’t there last night, I would say you haven’t been sleeping for weeks! You look dreadful. Even your crown is crooked.” She twisted her lips as she spoke, at least putting his tiara back in place. “You can’t keep on working like this.”

His frown ever so present over his brow, Xander simply closed his eyes further, feeling the headache pulsate inside his skull. “What do you propose I do instead, Kamui? There are many things of which I am responsible as a King-”

“As do I as your Queen and Chief of State of both our kingdoms. We share our burdens, Xander, and we work together to not let them take the better out of us; which I know they are doing to you at the moment.”

Xander hardened his jaw, a sign he usually did whenever Kamui hit the mark but he was too hard-headed to admit that he needed to take better care of himself. After a few moments, however, he deflated, letting out the air he hadn’t noticed he had taken in as he rested his body on the backrest of his chair. “What do you propose we do, then, my Queen?”

As he asked that, Xander finally looked straight at his wife’s eyes, feeling her worry and love overflowing through them and piercing right through his heart. To top it off, the moment their eyes met, a mischievous smile grew at the corners of her lips as a curious glint shone in her gaze.

“I know exactly what we need to do to help you, well, unwind.” She scooted closer to him while still seated on the desk, placing both arms over his chest. The heat of her body made Xander wonder if she really did mean what she seemed to be implying, but…

He placed one hand over hers, ready to thank her and decline her offer when her smile grew into a childish grin.

“Let’s go spar!”

“Wh- spar?” The proposition came so suddenly it left the King wordless. Those were surely not the words he thought he would hear from his wife’s lips.

“Yes! It’s always when you’re dealing with unpleasant thoughts that it’s better to just unwind by swinging your blade, isn’t it?” She patted his shoulders before sliding down from the desk to stand beside him, reaching out one hand to help him up from his seat. “And maybe we can do the other thing you were about to refuse after you’re feeling better, heehee,” she giggled deviously, making the King clear his throat before accepting her hand without even thinking too much about it.

The moment his eyes ran through his full desk, however, he stopped himself in the middle of standing up, staying at an uncomfortable position.

“The offer is delightful, Kamui, however-”

“Nooo!” Kamui pouted, jerking him up fully, almost tripping back with the amount of force she needed to use to do that. “You can’t make a clear judgement with a clouded mind!” She lectured, throwing back the words he often told her during her training days right at him.

“Ahem,” his body rock-solid, he promptly held Kamui in his arms when she was about to trip from pulling him, so he simply cleared his throat, loosened his cravat and nodded. “Fair enough. Lead the way, my Queen.” He smiled at last, the shadow of his frown still ever present, but Kamui was about to erase all of that soon, so she was happy to see at least a more relaxed expression on him.

“Great! Let’s go to the Northern Tower!” Still within his arms, Kamui stole a peck on his lips before hopping to the floor, pulling him by the hand.

Infected by her enthusiasm and eagerness to help him, Xander simply allowed himself to be led by his small wife, sometimes mirroring a most jovial smile that he only flashed in Kamui’s presence.

Look at them! King and Queen of two realms, Conquerors of the Forgotten God and Those Who Ended the Endless War with their neighboring kingdoms… just sneaking around the palace, hand in hand, like they were two pages running away from their lessons! And they weren’t even about to do… unsavory activities, like the ones he previously thought his wife was going to suggest, no: they were going to spar! The absurdity of the situation alone was hilarious enough to make Xander smile to the point of forgetting that he had had a headache just a few minutes ago.

Kamui muffled her laughter during the entire way, making sure to pull her tall husband to hide behind a pillar or around a corner whenever she saw someone coming from the opposite side, to add even more mirth to their situation.

Once they arrived at the Northern Tower’s training grounds, Xander’s steps picked up -- now he was walking right beside his wife, properly infected with the desire to swing swords with her. Kamui held the hem of her dress with her free hand, biting her lower lip in anticipation as they reached the changing room -- not wasting any time, the couple quickly picked the first garments that fit them and changed as fast as they could.

By the time they were at the storage room to pick their training weapons, they were already running, as though racing to start their sparring session even one second earlier.

Without his crown and his face flushed from the run, Xander already looked 100% better than he had been one hour ago, back inside their study. He was now full of life, the frown over his brow one of concentration rather than of preoccupation. Smiling, Kamui dove with her shortsword towards her husband, not even allowing him to take his proper form to start their training.

However, Xander was a trained warrior who had been wielding a sword at the same time he had been learning how to write -- so he simply blocked her attack by lifting his broadsword, the familiar ‘clang’ of their practice weapons ringing inside his ears and making him feel ALIVE for the first time in a while.

“Ukh, your defense is as solid as ever!” Kamui gasped, being pushed back by her husband’s overwhelming strength.

“If it were not for the width of my blade, I would have fallen to your, ah, quick jabs,” he spoke as he dodged and defended himself from his wife’s fast attacks, knowing all of her movements due to, well, him having been the one to teach them all to her back in the day.

“Haha! If you were wielding Siegfried, I would’ve simply done this,” she stabbed his sword right in the middle, though he simply turned his wrist to rotate the weapon to the side, pushing Kamui back, “and I would’ve been able to tuck my blade in the middle of it and throw it out of your hands!”

Xander smirked, using the back of his hand to dry some droplets of sweat sprouting on his forehead -- and Kamui had to force herself to focus on the match instead of simply admiring how manly, strong and - and viril her husband looked at that moment; full of life with his chest going up and down with the effort of their training.

“No normal weapon can pierce through Siegfried’s energy field,” he declared as though he were taking a walk in the park and not swinging his towering sword towards Kamui, forcing her to take long jumps backwards to escape its grasp. “It would have melted in the very moment you’ve attempted such a foolish action.”

“Yato can pierce through it, though.” Kamui wriggled her eyebrows, brandishing her weapon to start her counterattacks. Xander bobbed his head to the sides, acknowledging her claim.

“Indeed, I do believe it could.” He prepares to defend from her flurry of jabs, his attentive eye making note of her every movement in case she thought of using any opening from his sides to take a winning shot at him.

It was as though they were in the middle of their courtship days all over again -- the way they had to pay attention to one another’s every movement; the shifts in their breathings or the way they grasped their respective weapons… The way a similar fire was ignited in both of their gazes and how only they could recognize one another’s wordless signs…

Ah, truly they were made for each other.

Xander’s smile widened as he watched his wife approach, his head no longer clouded and his heart fully prepared to thank Kamui for always showering him with her love and to tell her for the thousandth time that he truly, deeply loved her.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars CIX (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

Words: 4,144 

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘Better Me, Better You’ -Clara Mae & Jake Miller

Chapter Seven: Dolores Umbridge.

"First years line up over here, please! All first-years to me!" Professor Grubbly-Plank shouted over the noise.

"Where's Hagrid?" Harry asked anxiously.

"I don't know, but we'd better get out of the way, we're blocking the door," Ginny urged them.

"Oh yeah..."

"D'you think something happened while he was out?" Mel asked as they moved forward.

Harry shrugged. Both of them momentarily forgot about what was going on between them as they continued to talk quietly about Hagrid and where he could possibly be. When they reached the carriage, Harry stopped and stared at it strangely.

"Where's Pig?" Ron arrived quickly after them.

"That Luna girl was carrying him," Harry replied, turning to look at him. "Where d'you reckon —"

"— Hagrid is? I dunno– He'd better be okay..."

"Malfoy was being absolutely foul to a first-year back there!" Hermione appeared looking angry. "I swear I'm going to report him, he's only had his badge three minutes and he's using it to bully people worse than ever... Where's Crookshanks?"

"Ginny's got him," said Harry. "There she is..."

"Thanks! Come on, let's get a carriage together before they all fill up..."

"I haven't got Pig yet!" Ron said, Mel and Harry decided to wait with him.

"What are those things, d'you reckon?" Harry asked them.

"What things?"

"Those horse —"

"Here you are," Luna handed back Pig. "He's a sweet little owl, isn't he?"

"Er... yeah... He's all right," said Ron reluctantly. "Well, come on then, let's get in... what were you saying, Harry?"

"I was saying, what are those horse things?"

"What horse things?"

"The horse things pulling the carriages!" said Harry.

Mel stared at the front part of the carriage, looking at... nothing.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about — look!"

Harry grabbed Ron's arm and wheeled him about so that he was face-to-face with the winged horse. Ron stared straight at it for a second, then looked back at Harry.

"What am I supposed to be looking at?"

"At the — there, between the shafts! Harnessed to the coach! It's right there in front — Can't... can't you see them?"

"See what?"

"Can't you see what's pulling the carriages?" He said worryingly.

"Are you feeling all right, Harry?"

"I... yeah..."

"You don't look like you're okay," Mel frowned.

Harry just shook his head, looking more confused than ever.

"Shall we get in, then?" said Ron reluctantly.

"Yeah, yeah, go on..."

"It's all right," said Luna. "You're not going mad or anything. I can see them too."

"Can you?" Harry asked with concern.

"Oh yes. I've been able to see them ever since my first day here. They've always pulled the carriages. Don't worry. You're just as sane as I am."

"Lovely..." Mel murmured.

"Did everyone see that Grubbly-Plank woman?" asked Ginny once the carriage was moving. "What's she doing back here? Hagrid can't have left, can he?"

"I'll be quite glad if he has," said Luna. "He isn't a very good teacher, is he?"

"Yes, he is!" They all replied.

"Erm... yes... he's very good," Hermione said quietly.

"Well, we think he's a bit of a joke in Ravenclaw," said Luna.

"You've got a rubbish sense of humour then," Ron growled.

Mel felt anxious about being back. Most of the students were staring at her like she could burst into flames at any moment. She heaved a sigh, the girl was used to saying it every year but now she really had to get a grip. She wasn't going to give anyone the satisfaction to call her crazy, fickle, or whatever it was they deemed her to be. Ginny and Luna left to join their friends, when they sat down, Harry said grimly:

"He's not there."

"He can't have left," said Ron.

"Of course he hasn't," said Harry.

"You don't think he's... hurt, or anything, do you?" said Hermione.

"No."

"But where is he, then?"

"Maybe he's not back yet. You know — from his mission — the thing he was doing over the summer for Dumbledore."

"Yeah... yeah, that'll be it," said Ron.

"Who's that?" Hermione questioned.

"It's that Umbridge woman!"

"Who?"

"She was at my hearing, she works for Fudge!"

"Nice cardigan," Ron sniggered.

"She works for Fudge? What on earth's she doing here, then?"

"Dunno..."

"What d'you think she's doing?" Mel made a face. "Keeping an eye on my uncle, of course."

"No," Hermione gasped, "no, surely not..."

Professor McGonagall entered followed by a bunch of first-years. She remembered her first night there, and for some reason, that made her want to cry. She pushed it all deep inside just in time to listen to the hat's song:

In times of old when I was new And Hogwarts barely started...

The Hat continued on, until the last lines:

And we must unite inside her Or we'll crumble from within. I have told you, I have warned you... Let the Sorting now begin.

"I wonder if it's ever given warnings before?" said Hermione.

"Yes, indeed," said Nearly Headless Nick. "The hat feels itself honour-bound to give the school due warning whenever it feels —"

Nearly Headless Nick interrupted himself when McGonagall stepped forward.

"To our newcomers," said Dumbledore, "welcome! To our old hands — welcome back! There is a time for speech-making, but this is not it. Tuck in!"

"Excellent," said Ron with relief.

"What were you saying before the Sorting?" Hermione asked Nick. "About the hat giving warnings?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, I have heard the hat give several warnings before, always at times when it detects periods of great danger for the school. And always, of course, its advice is the same: Stand together, be strong from within."

"Ow kunnit nofe skusin danger ifzat?" said Ron.

"I beg your pardon?" said Nearly Headless Nick.

"How can it know if the school's in danger if it's a hat?"

"I have no idea. Of course, it lives in Dumbledore's office, so I daresay it picks things up there."

"And it wants all the Houses to be friends?" said Harry. "Fat chance."

Mel scowled at him.

"If you ask me, judging people because of their house is stupid. The hat's right, it does nothing but divide us. What if we have different beliefs half-way through? Are we supposed to just ignore that and never change?"

"Sorry, but it was you who said you'd refuse to be in the same house as Malfoy," Harry replied in annoyance.

"I was a kid when I said that," She retorted in the same tone. "It's exactly that childish mindset what Erick and I have to–"

"Ah, Flint," Harry rolled his eyes. "Forgot we're not allowed to breathe too hard around him..."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, now, you shouldn't take that attitude," said Nick, trying to break their argument. "Peaceful cooperation, that's the key. We ghosts, though we belong to separate Houses, maintain links of friendship. In spite of the competitiveness between Gryffindor and Slytherin, I would never dream of seeking an argument with the Bloody Baron."

"Only because you're terrified of him," said Ron.

"Terrified? I hope I, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, have never been guilty of cowardice in my life! The noble blood that runs in my veins —"

"What blood? Surely you haven't still got — ?"

"It's a figure of speech! I assume I am still allowed to enjoy the use of whichever words I like, even if the pleasures of eating and drinking are denied me! But I am quite used to students poking fun at my death, I assure you!"

"Nick, he wasn't really laughing at you!" said Hermione.

"Node iddum eentup sechew," Ron replied, his mouth full of food.

"Well done, Ron," Hermione scolded when Nick left in outrage.

"What? I'm not allowed to ask a simple question?"

"Oh forget it," said the girl.

"Hem, hem."

The small voice made several heads turn, Dumbledore cut his speech and looked to his right.

"Thank you, Headmaster," said Professor Umbridge in what had to be the most unsettling voice she'd ever heard, "for those kind words of welcome. Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say! And to see such happy little faces looking back at me! I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I'm sure we'll be very good friends!

"I'll be her friend as long as I don't have to borrow that cardigan," Parvati whispered.

"The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance," She let out all of that at once. "The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction..."

Mel knew right away where this was going. 'Careful instruction' meant putting a stop to whatever Dumbledore was doing according to Fudge's ideas. She hadn't thought about it before, but she wondered if she was about to have her private lessons cancelled.

Umbridge sat down once she finished. Dumbledore clapped, Mel was amazed at the patience he showed after such a clear speech of censorship.

"Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating."

"Yes, it certainly was illuminating," said Hermione sharing a grim look with Mel.

"You're not telling me you enjoyed it? That was about the dullest speech I've ever heard, and I grew up with Percy."

"I said illuminating, not enjoyable– It explained a lot."

"Did it?" said Harry in surprise. "Sounded like a load of waffle to me."

"Well, it certainly was a load of something..." Mel grumbled.

"There was some important stuff hidden in the waffle," said Hermione.

"Was there?" said Ron blankly.

"How about 'progress for progress's sake must be discouraged'? How about 'pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited'?"

"Well, what does that mean?"

"I'll tell you what it means. It means the Ministry's interfering at Hogwarts."

"We're no longer running on free will," Mel added, glaring at the short woman.

"Ron, we're supposed to show the first years where to go!" Hermione gave a start.

"Oh yeah. Hey — hey you lot! Midgets!"

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed over Mel's laughter.

"Well, they are, they're titchy..."

"I know, but you can't call them midgets... First years! This way, please!"

"It suits her, doesn't it?" Mel smirked. "Finally found where to use her bossy nature."

Harry chuckled, and she realized that once again they had been left alone. It was a dreadful walk, not so much because of him, but because people were once again staring. At some point, Harry grew tired of it.

"Fancy taking a short cut?"

"Merlin, yes."

It took them longer to get to their tower, but Harry finally found an opportunity to talk to her.

"I was stupid to think things would go back to normal," He said darkly. "I know how it must've looked– Emerged from the Triwizard maze clutching the body... claiming Voldemort was back... then refused to speak about it, gave the whole school enough time to tell their own versions."

"There's no point on sulking about it," Mel replied. "You know how they are– Wouldn't have mattered... they think you're desperate for attention and I'm a nutter, so what? I have more important things to– Shit! We forgot to ask Hermione what the password was!"

They were staring at the Fat Lady, who didn't react kindly to Mel's swearing.

"No password, no entrance."

"Guys, I know it!" Neville ran up to them happily. "Guess what it is? I'm actually going to be able to remember it for once — Mimbulus mimbletonia!"

Once in the common room Mel spotted the twins pinning something up on the notice board, she marched up to them, not hearing the timid 'G'night' Harry mumbled to her.

"What's the matter? You look absolutely — oh for heaven's sake..."

Mel looked at the sign that Hermione had just noticed on the board.

GALLONS OF GALLEONS!

Pocket money failing to keep pace with your outgoings? Like to earn a little extra gold?

Contact Fred and George Weasley, Gryffindor common room, for simple, part-time, virtually painless jobs

(WE REGRET THAT ALL WORK IS UNDERTAKEN AT APPLICANT'S OWN RISK)

"Did you know about this?" Hermione asked her.

"Oh, yeah," Mel shrugged. "They told me their plans for this year..."

The girl decided not to mention she was also going to help them.

"They are the limit," said Hermione grimly, taking down the sign. "We'll have to talk to them, Ron."

"Why?"

"Because we're prefects! It's up to us to stop this kind of thing!" She huffed as they left the tower. "Anyway, what's up, Harry? You look really angry about something."

"Seamus reckons Harry's lying about You-Know-Who," said Ron.

"Oh, does he know?" Mel gave Hermione a knowing look.

"Lavender thinks so too," Hermione lamented.

"Been having a nice little chat with her about whether or not I'm a lying, attention-seeking prat, have you?" Harry muttered.

"No. I told her to keep her big fat mouth shut about you, actually. And it would be quite nice if you stopped jumping down on our throats, Harry, because if you haven't noticed, we're on your side."

"...sorry," He mumbled embarrassingly.

"That's quite all right," Hermione continued in a steady voice. "Don't you remember what Dumbledore said at the end-of-term feast last year? About You-Know-Who. He said, 'His gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust —' "

"How do you remember stuff like that?" asked Ron.

"I listen, Ron," said Hermione.

"So do I, but I still couldn't tell you exactly what —"

"The point is that this sort of thing is exactly what Dumbledore was talking about. You-Know-Who's only been back two months, and we've started fighting among ourselves. And the Sorting Hat's warning was the same — stand together, be united —"

"And Harry said it last night, if that means we're supposed to get matey with the Slytherins, fat chance."

"Well, I think it's a pity we're not trying for a bit of inter-House unity," said Hermione crossly. "As Mel said, not everyone is so terrible, just look at Erick!"

"You two can adore that conceited twat all you want– He has both of you wrapped around his finger!"

"If I were you, I'd shut my mouth before I seal it shut," Mel scowled. "You know I don't care about the bloody badge."

Just as if to prove the boys' point, a bunch of Ravenclaws caught sight of her and Harry and hurried away.

"Yeah, we really ought to be trying to make friends with people like that," said Harry sarcastically.

"Hush!" Mel snapped. "I'll prove you two wrong..."

"Listen, I don't care if you insist on living in little fairyland–"

"This has nothing to do with fairytales, you idiot!" She hissed at Harry as they entered the Great Hall.

"Well then, what's your plan? Going to hire little dwarfs to sing us songs about friendship like Lockhart did?"

"You'll have to eat your words by the end of the year– It'll be as if the articles mentioning me never existed, everyone will want to be my friend, you'll see... I know how to win people over now."

"Because you're so patient and polite?" He said with heavy sarcasm in his voice.

Mel was so angry she had to bite her tongue so she wouldn't yell at him in front of everyone. She refused to talk to him for the rest of the morning.

"Dumbledore didn't even mention how long that Grubbly-Plank woman's staying," Harry commented as they sat down to have breakfast.

"Maybe..." said Hermione.

"What?"

"Well... maybe he didn't want to draw attention to Hagrid not being here."

"What d'you mean, draw attention to it? How could we not notice?"

"Harry!"

"Oh– Hi, Angelina."

"Hi, good summer? Listen, I've been made Gryffindor Quidditch Captain."

"Nice one," Harry smiled.

"Yeah, well, we need a new Keeper now Oliver's left. Tryouts are on Friday at five o'clock and I want the whole team there, all right? Then we can see how the new person'll fit in."

"Okay," He said.

"I'd forgotten Wood had left," said Hermione. "I suppose that will make quite a difference to the team?"

"I s'pose. He was a good Keeper..."

"Still, it won't hurt to have some new blood, will it?" said Ron.

Mel caught him staring eagerly at Harry and she knew at once he was planning to try out. She definitely wanted to see how that would play out.

"Look at today!" groaned Ron as McGonagall handed them their schedules. "History of Magic, double Potions, Divination, and double Defense Against the Dark Arts... Binns, Snape, Trelawney, and that Umbridge woman all in one day! I wish Fred and George'd hurry up and get those Skiving Snack boxes sorted..."

"Do mine ears deceive me?" said Fred, arriving with George and sitting next to Harry. "Hogwarts prefects surely don't wish to skive off lessons?"

"Look what we've got today! That's the worst Monday I've ever seen."

"Fair point, little bro," said Fred. "You can have a bit of Nosebleed Nougat cheap if you like."

"Why's it cheap?"

"Because you'll keep bleeding till you shrivel up, we haven't got an antidote yet," said George.

"Cheers," Ron pouted, "but I think I'll take the lessons."

"And speaking of your Skiving Snack boxes," said Hermione, "you can't advertise for testers on the Gryffindor notice board."

"Says who?"

"Says me, and Ron."

"Leave me out of it."

"You'll be singing a different tune soon enough, Hermione," said Fred. "You're starting your fifth year, you'll be begging us for a Snackbox before long."

"And why would starting fifth year mean I want a Skiving Snackbox?"

"Fifth year's O.W.L. year," said George.

"So?"

"So you've got your exams coming up, haven't you? They'll be keeping your noses so hard to that grindstone they'll be rubbed raw."

"Half our year had minor breakdowns coming up to O.W.L.s," said George. "Tears and tantrums... Patricia Stimpson kept coming over faint..."

"Kenneth Towler came out in boils, d'you remember?"

"That's 'cause you put Bulbadox Powder in his pyjamas."

"Oh yeah– I'd forgotten... Hard to keep track sometimes, isn't it?"

"Anyway, it's a nightmare of a year, the fifth," said George. "If you care about exam results anyway. Fred and I managed to keep our spirits up somehow– and the Lady here helped us a great deal, even if we insisted we didn't need it."

"Yeah... you got, what was it, three O.W.L.s each?" said Ron.

"Yep," said Fred. "But we feel our futures lie outside the world of academic achievement."

"We seriously debated whether we were going to bother coming back for our seventh year, now that we've got —" Mel noticed how Harry's eyes widened and George stumbled over his words. "— now that we've got our O.W.L.s. I mean, do we really need N.E.W.T.s? But we didn't think Mum could take us leaving school early, not on top of Percy turning out to be the world's biggest prat."

"We're not going to waste our last year here, though," said Fred. "We're going to use it to do a bit of market research, find out exactly what the average Hogwarts student requires from his joke shop, carefully evaluate the results of our research, and then produce the products to fit the demand."

"I can't believe this is your last year," Mel pouted. "I can't imagine the school without you two..."

"Cheers Lady, you'll have us for a whole year before that happens!" George smiled.

"But where are you going to get the gold to start a joke shop? You're going to need all the ingredients and materials — and premises too, I suppose..." Hermione questioned.

Harry dropped his fork and dived down the table.

"Ask us no questions and we'll tell you no lies, Hermione. Mel gets it, she agreed to help us no questions asked."

Mel choked on her meal and grimaced, waiting for the blast.

"You're helping them?!" Hermione gasped.

"C'mon, George," Fred got up abruptly. "If we get there early we might be able to sell a few Extendable Ears before Herbology."

"I'm going to kill them..." Mel grumbled.

"Why would you do something like that, Mel? You know it's not allowed–"

"Well, 'Mione, because I broke my back for four years only to be merely considered for the prefect position! I think I deserve a break," She tried to sound as grumpy and serious as possible so Hermione would feel bad for her. It worked.

"What did that mean, though?" Hermione quickly diverted the subject. "'Ask us no questions...' Does that mean they've already got some gold to start a joke shop?"

"You know, I've been wondering about that," said Ron. "They bought me a new set of dress robes this summer, and I couldn't understand where they got the Galleons..."

Mel and Harry shared a look but she was still mad at him, so she did nothing.

"D'you reckon it's true this year's going to be really tough? Because of the exams?" Harry asked, trying and succeeding as well as her in distracting the others.

"Oh yeah– Bound to be, isn't it? O.W.L.s are really important, affect the jobs you can apply for and everything. We get career advice too, later this year, Bill told me. So you can choose what N.E.W.T.s you want to do next year."

"D'you know what you want to do after Hogwarts?"

"Not really," said Ron. "Except... well..."

"What?"

"Well, it'd be cool to be an Auror," said Ron.

"Yeah, it would," said Harry.

"But they're, like, the elite. You've got to be really good. What about you, Hermione?"

"I don't know," said Hermione. "I think I'd really like to do something worthwhile."

"An Auror's worthwhile!"

"Yes, it is, but it's not the only worthwhile thing," said Hermione thoughtfully. "I mean, if I could take S.P.E.W. further..."

"An Auror's not the elite, though," Mel had been talking about her future with Sirius and Emily during the summer, so she had everything planned. "You know who's the real deal? The Unspeakables. Those are really something..."

"I thought you wanted to be an Auror too..." Hermione commented.

"Thought you wanted to be a Magizoologist?" Ron raised a brow.

"She wanted to be all that," Harry said under his breath.

"I can be all of it," Mel brushed it off. "But Aurors are only good if they have the right intentions, like Tonks, Moody, or Kingsley. However, it would also mean working for the Minister, and that man–"

"The Unspeakables work for him too."

"Not really," She smiled. "All I know is that whatever I end up doing, it won't be under any stupid man's orders."

"Suit yourself," Ron shrugged. "That'll be hard to get, though."

"We'll see."

"Hello, Harry!"

It was Cho Chang and what was more, she was on her own again. This was most unusual: Cho was almost always surrounded by a gang of giggling girls; Harry remembered the agony of trying to get her by herself to ask her to the Yule Ball.

"Hi," said Harry.

Mel had to drown a very loud groan when she appeared.

"You got that stuff off, then?"

"Yeah– So did you... er... have a good summer?"

"Oh, it was all right, you know..."

"Is that a Tornados badge?" Ron asked abruptly. "You don't support them, do you?"

"Yeah, I do," said Cho.

"Have you always supported them, or just since they started winning the league?" Ron insisted.

"I've supported them since I was six. Anyway... see you, Harry."

"You are so tactless!" Hermione exclaimed as Cho disappeared around the corner.

"Dunno 'Mione, Ron has his moments..." Mel said in amusement.

"I only asked her if —"

"Couldn't you tell she wanted to talk to Harry on her own?"

"So? She could've done, I wasn't stopping —"

"What on earth were you attacking her about her Quidditch team for?"

"Attacking? I wasn't attacking her, I was only —"

"Who cares if she supports the Tornados?"

"Oh, come on, half the people you see wearing those badges only bought them last season —"

"But what does it matter?"

"It means they're not real fans, they're just jumping on the bandwagon —"

"That's the bell," said Harry grumpily.

Mel got up quickly, accidentally hitting his shoulder. She didn't stop to say sorry.

It wasn't that she disliked Cho. She didn't, especially not after remembering she probably still thought Harry and her were a thing. However, the way Harry would react around her compared to the sulky comments he'd send her way, or the way he would dismiss her ideas, that was definitely a good reason to be mad. After all those years of friendship, he was going to favour another girl!

Well, two could play the same game.

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world

[lady-divine-writes]

ACITW AU one-shot “Downward Facing Doubts” (Rated M)

Summary: Kurt convinces Sebastian to join him, Olivia, Julian, and Cooper in a yoga class. 'Bribe' is actually the more accurate term. But whereas the endorphins released during exercise usually make people feel good, this time, they bring all sorts of doubts to the surface. (3760 words)

Notes: Takes place some time after 'Under the Fireworks' and references 'I Was Praying for You and Me'.

Part of ACITW AU extended verse

Read on AO3.

“Extend your arms out to your sides, then raise them over your head …” Yogi Cecile instructs, her soothing alto voice threading through the airy music playing over circular speakers scattered in Feng Shui formation throughout the studio. “Bend your back gently into a crescent moon …”

Sebastian breathes in sharply as he attempts the move, his shoulders quaking involuntarily as he tries to deepen the stretch. He finds his balance point, quite by surprise, then fights to hold it, difficult since his focus keeps drifting, his eyes darting to the side to check out the competition. He scowls, not thrilled at being one-upped by Julian who, infuriatingly, performs the move like an expert. But of course he would, Sebastian thinks with a bitter roll of his eyes, one that gives him a major headache with his head pulled back. Didn’t he claim that he attended some month-long yoga retreat in the High Desert for the sole purpose of fellating himself?

Even if Sebastian is a bit fuzzy on the particulars, his head swimming with a mixture of dizziness and pain that’s one more deep breath away from making him puke, that definitely sounds like the kind of thing Julian would do.

Olivia and Kurt, lined up to Sebastian’s right, switch from pose to pose without breaks, extending their arms and bending their backs as if standing on one leg and staring horizontally up at the pale pink ceiling were the normal position for, say, grabbing a coffee or looking at shoes. At least Sebastian isn’t faring the worst in their group. No, that honor goes to Cooper. Capping off their row to the far left of Julian, Cooper starts losing his balance, teetering forward dangerously towards a handful of innocent strangers unaware of the 180 pound man on the brink of bowling towards them.

“How …?” Sebastian starts, talking on the crest of an inhaled breath he’s running out of as he contorts into another ludicrous pose.

“Did you let me talk you into joining a yoga class?” Kurt finishes, sliding smoothly from a crescent moon into the next forward bend. “That’s easy. You’ll do anything for a blow---”

Olivia clears her throat loudly when she spots their instructor heading their way, eyes originally glued to Sebastian’s crooked posture but hopping to Kurt’s smug grin when the word ‘blow’ sneaks past his lips.

“Straighten your spine … lean forward … brace your hands on the mat in front of you … and extend one leg back to a half downward dog.” Cecile circles their quintet twice and Kurt thinks she’s about to scold them. They haven’t been properly engaged since the start of class. But then she hurries off to help another young lady square her hips.

“I refuse to believe that I’m that simple-minded,” Sebastian grouses, working on stabilizing his own hips before he extends his leg. He dips to the side but manages to catch himself. Cooper isn’t quite as lucky, careening forward like a downed Cessna and smacking the bridge of his nose on his cork yoga block. He drops to his knees, shaking his head to clear the stars out from behind his eyes. Julian falls out of formation to give him a hand up and helps him restore his stance.

“Well, I promised you that bj for after this class and you’re still here,” Kurt says, lips curling into the shadow of a smirk. “You draw your own conclusions.”

“You draw your own conclusions …” Sebastian mimics. He wobbles once. Then twice. He sucks in his stomach to save himself without locking his knees (since Cecile told them at the start of class that locking their knees was bad). But his foot rolls and he’s forced to put the other down to support himself. He tries again … and again … but Sebastian doesn’t successfully execute the move before they’re changing positions.

Kurt rotates up on one leg and transitions into a picture perfect tree pose. He opens an eyelid and peeks at Sebastian, taking in a deep breath through his nose and schooling his face into a mask of meditation so he doesn’t laugh out loud and disrupt the class more than Sebastian’s fumbling through the stances already has.

“Maybe it’s because … mmph … I’m so tall … grrr … that I’m not getting it,” Sebastian offers, stuttering upright in stages, ending in a slumped, unsteady tree.

Kurt turns his head left and looks at Sebastian directly beside him, meeting him eye-to-eye. He arches an eyebrow.

Sebastian pulls an undignified face.

“Sometimes …” their yoga instructor says as she makes the rounds, correcting the posture of the needier students. She has already been to help Sebastian five times during this one-hour lesson, and Cooper too many times for Kurt to count. She flashes Julian an impressed smile and a nod. He winks at her in response “… it is not the balance outside that is needed, but inside.” She puts a hand to Sebastian’s back and one to his stomach, pushing together to force him straight. “The anxiety in your life, the stress, the regrets of your past - they settle in your core.” She pats Sebastian on the stomach. Removing her hand causes his belly to stick back out a hair, and he sways dangerously in Kurt’s direction. Cecile shakes her head and sets Sebastian straight again. “Negative influences roll around and throw you out-of-whack. But yoga and meditation will set you right again.” She stands back and appraises the two men standing side by side, so similar in appearance but obviously a couple with the way they’ve been playfully bickering, and gives them a smile. Then she continues on her way.

“Doesn’t that sound familiar?” Kurt says with a fond grin.

“Yeah.” Sebastian grunts. “Why is it we’re forever getting life advice from graduates of The Learning Annex?”

Both Kurt and Olivia scoff.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with The Learning Annex, but I will have you know that Cecile is an expert in her field!” Olivia says.

“An expert in standing on one foot and stretching her arms over her head? Excuse me if I’m not all that impressed.”

“You should be,” Julian intervenes. “You can’t do it.”

“Maybe I don’t want to do it!”

“Boys, boys,” Olivia whispers when heads turn their way. “Let’s keep it down to a dull roar, please. And remember to breathe.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Kurt says, making a big show of following her lead, breathing in through his nose and then out through his mouth. “We’re here to meditate. Relax. Realign our chakras.”

“Someone’s going to have to realign poor Cooper’s spine by the time we’re done,” Olivia remarks, a giggle hidden in her voice. With Kurt’s eyelids shut and Cooper two whole people away, Kurt doesn’t see what the man is doing, but immediately after Olivia’s comment, he hears Cooper apologize profusely.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m so sorry. I really … yes, sir. I’m sorry. Oh, r-really? That’s very kind of you. Slash savings, yup. I can sign that for you, if you’d like …”

Kurt bites his tongue behind his teeth. Good old Cooper, still able to get some mileage out of that FreeCreditRatingToday gig.

It’s nice to know some things never change.

“For your information, I regret nothing,” Sebastian whisper-hisses after a pause, his body cramping as he tries to maintain his corrected tree pose.

Kurt sighs.

Yup. Some things never change. And some things rise up from the grave from time to time to haunt you, like Hamlet’s father, only with swoopier bangs, wearing basketball shorts and a Tommy Hilfiger v-neck.

“Ah, you protest too much, Sebby,” Julian murmurs, remaining purposefully vague as this is definitely not the time nor place to drudge up old angst. He leaves things there, snapping back into an impeccable tree pose after helping Coop up off the floor again.

“Besides …” Sebastian side-steps his brother to finish making his point “… if that’s the case, then you should mondo-suck at this, Kurt! I mean, let’s take a look at your past, shall we? The year of tragic style choices, dating Blaine, choosing New Directions and that lame ass public school over Dalton and the Warblers … whoa!” Sebastian drops his hip and his shoulder during his rant, causing him to rock to the outside edge of his foot. He barely keeps himself from twisting an ankle and going straight down. “Your life must be chock full of regrets!”

“Uh … let’s not forget that one of those past life decisions was agreeing to date you, little brother,” Julian steps in, jumping swiftly to Kurt’s defense.

Sebastian may have retorted with something along the lines of, “That’s the only intelligent decision he made,” but Kurt doesn’t know for certain. He shuts up like a clam - locks his teeth together and blocks Sebastian and his infernal whining out. He inhales long and zeroes in on the music - the gentle plucking of strings, the tinkling of bells, the flutes holding sustained notes, giving the class an anchor with which to control their breathing. There he remains, floating in the cradle of dark behind his eyelids. A bigger man rises above petty retorts, Kurt can hear his father say, concentrating on repairing his own withering tree pose. He simply needs to be the bigger man.

If he reacts thoughtlessly, does something rash, he might regret it.

Sebastian is simply having a bad day.

They don’t have days like this very often. This is just … well, one of those days. And Kurt is willing to let it go, let it pass like the rhythmic breaths through his lips. But Sebastian broke a cardinal rule.

He mentioned Blaine, which they both swore on the threat of blue balls that neither one of them would do. Especially in anger.

Kurt can only assume Sebastian is uncomfortable here. Sebastian doesn’t like not being the best at everything from go, which is probably why he’s bearing claws and teeth right now. It reminds Kurt of their days taking dance lessons - the two of them butting heads, fighting to lead when it didn’t really need to be one or the other.

It could have been both, paving a single fluid path had they come to a consensus from the start.

But here, they stand on their own two feet - or one foot at the moment, with their hands above their heads. They sink or swim on their own. Cecile calling Sebastian out more than likely didn’t help matters any. No one likes to be the center of attention when they’re flailing. Kurt feels guilty about that, that he’s not closer to Sebastian, reaching out a hand to help him the way Julian is for Cooper.

Kurt opens an eyelid and peeks over. He sees Sebastian, the man he loves, struggling, fighting to regain balance. A balance that Kurt has in spades. A balance that Kurt would be more than willing to help him with, lend him some of.

Suddenly, Sebastian mutters something uncomplimentary under his breath, and Kurt feels less than willing.

He actually considers reaching over and giving Sebastian a push. One swat would send him toppling backward. Kurt has seen Sebastian fall on his ass plenty.

It would be hilarious.

But he can’t do it.

And not because Sebastian might take half a dozen other students with him when he goes, but because after a little quiet contemplation, Kurt realizes that Sebastian may not be lashing out because he can’t do yoga.

The thought that he wouldn’t be as good at this as he is at everything else is preposterous. He’s an exceptional athlete and a graceful dancer. Yoga shouldn’t be that great a hardship for him.

Sebastian may be lashing out because he feels backed into a corner. This has happened before - several times, as a matter of fact, and with Kurt. Sebastian starts to feel trapped, forgets himself, and comes out barrels blazing, shooting first and asking questions later. But what about? What could he possibly feel trapped about?

It comes to Kurt with a single, subtle movement - something he’s started doing recently. Something that had never been a habit of Kurt’s before.

Rolling his engagement ring on his finger.

The ring is a fairly recent accessory, given to him in fairy tale fashion underneath Fourth of July fireworks with everyone he loves present at the picturesque Smythe estate. But their journey to this point has been a bumpy one. There have been fights, misunderstandings, crossroads, a break up. But here they are, together, standing tall …

Another glance in Sebastian’s direction proves that’s not entirely true. He stumbles backward … then forward … then backward again, like he’s performing a clumsy two-step on the deck of a listing ship without a partner.

Could this ring on Kurt’s finger be the reason? Could it be one of Sebastian’s regrets? Could he be re-thinking the whole thing?

As ridiculous as that may sound, it has crossed Kurt’s mind once or twice before. Nothing bad has happened between them since that night - no devastating fights, nothing that would threaten their overall happiness. Even Julian has kept his shameless flirting to a minimum. But Kurt has abandonment issues. Severe ones.

They run deep.

To his defense, Kurt did consult an expert about his feelings.

He’d asked Olivia her opinion on the subject.

She’s privy to the grim details of his backstory, of course, so he can be as dramatic as he wants around her without sounding like a self-serving ninny. She’d waited patiently for him to finish, smiled warmly, and said, “Kurt, Sebastian loves you. More than he’s ever loved anything in his whole life. Loves you more than he’s ever loved himself.”

“How do you know?”

“How do you not know?” she’d replied with that faint roll of her eyes that the Smythe siblings seem to share. “I know my brother. And even if, for some reason, he didn’t love you as much as I know he does, we do. The whole family.”

“So you’d keep in touch if anything went south between us?” Kurt had never thought to ask. The Smythes were such a loyal family, he feared the answer would be no. But they’d already invited him into their home once before after he and Sebastian split up - that Christmas when Kurt’s father ended up in the hospital. The Smythes let him spend the holidays with them, supported him throughout that entire ordeal. Luck seemed to be on his side that year. His father came out of the hospital unscathed when Kurt feared to the depths of his soul that he wouldn’t.

How long could his good fortune hold out, especially if he were the reason they split up again?

“You’re one of us, Kurt,” she’d assured him. “Part of the clan. And we don’t ditch clan members, no matter what their transgressions. Besides …” She stirred creamer into her coffee with the biggest, twisted grin on her face “… Julian would marry you.”

Kurt choked on his mocha. “What?”

“You, him, and Cooper would become a thruple. We’ve discussed it … at length.”

“You what!?”

“Take you as a lover was the way he put it. I have to admit, that has a lovely Victorian ring to it. You’re a hopeless romantic, aren’t you?”

Kurt laughs to himself remembering the look on Olivia’s face as he spilled his drink and she snorted her coffee.

Sebastian must feel Kurt’s eyes on him because he turns his face to Kurt, red-cheeked, frustrated to the point of angry tears. Kurt feels his heart wrench, tightening into a knot of pure sorrow.

Why now though? What could have happened that Kurt didn’t see coming? And why would Sebastian bring up Blaine?

There was a time long ago when Kurt thought he couldn’t live without Blaine and a ring on his finger. That’s far from true. He can more than stand on his own. Ironically, it took dating Sebastian to remind himself of that. Probably because when you’re with someone who supports you selflessly, who only wants the best for you, it brings out the best in you.

“Kurt …” Sebastian whimpers. It’s pained - a pain Kurt feels pinging around his chest.

“Sebastian …” Kurt mouths back, voice unavailable past the ache.

Kurt could live without Sebastian. He could. But he doesn’t want to if he can help it.

Standing here, staring into Sebastian’s eyes, feels like falling in love with him all over again, even if Sebastian is planning on leaving him.

But Kurt isn’t falling.

Sebastian is, coming his way and fast.

“Kurt … help me, Kurt!”

“Sebastian!” Kurt yelps.

Unable to decide whether he should try to catch his boyfriend or get out of the way, he does neither, taking Sebastian’s weight full force in the chest. Reflexively, he wraps his arms around Sebastian instead of dodging for his own safety. He lands flat on his back with a spine-bruising crack! but that’s not where it ends. Unable to stop his momentum in time, Sebastian lands on top of Kurt, checking him in the nose with his shoulder so hard, Kurt almost blacks out.

“Kurt!” Olivia yells, racing to his side. “Sebastian, get off of him! Oh my God! Kurt!”

“Sebby!” Julian barks, yanking Sebastian to his feet, completely unconcerned with any injuries of his brother’s and staring at Kurt with wide, bugged-out eyes. “You killed Kurt!”

“I didn’t kill him!”

“Doesn’t matter! I’m calling mom!”

“Call an ambulance first, you dunderhead!”

Cooper pushes through the crowd to hand Julian his phone. “He’s bleeding!” he points out, voice thick with concern, then shaking like a leaf when he adds, “a lot. I … I don’t like …” Another heavy thud vibrates the wood floor as Cooper disappears from view.

“Jesus Christmas …” Olivia mumbles. “Men.”

“Tell me about it,” Kurt grumbles.

“Kurt!” Sebastian takes Kurt’s hands carefully in his while Cecile leans in low to examine Kurt’s face. She tsks.

“Sit tight, hun. I’m going to get you some ice.”

“Paramedics are on the way,” Julian informs them as he kneels down to tend to an unconscious Cooper. “I told them to send an ambulance built for two.”

“Are you okay?” Sebastian rushes, looking Kurt over closely, doing an examination of his own. “What hurts? Can you hear me? Speak to me!?”

“How can I?” Kurt moans, content after that to never speak again for as long as he lives. It wouldn’t be too bad. He could learn ASL. He’s always wanted to. He nearly guffaws out loud when the thought he can take a Learning Annex course springs to his brain. “You won’t shut up long enough to let me!”

“I’m sorry, Kurt. I’m … I’m sorry,” Sebastian babbles. “I didn’t mean to ...”

“You do have regrets, don’t you?” Kurt asks, sadly shaking his head. Or trying to. He budges it a centimeter. It screams at him to stop!

Sebastian’s brow furrows. “What the---? Everyone has regrets, Kurt.”

“What are yours?”

“What? I …” Sebastian’s chest shudders, closer to tears than Kurt had previously realized. “That you’re right. That you’re always right.”

Kurt frowns. “Gee. Thanks.”

“I am simple minded. I didn���t want to do this. I knew I wouldn’t be any good at it. And that’s not an opinion. It’s a fact. I went to gymnastics camp as a kid, so I know my limits.”

“You did?” Kurt says, stunned out of remembering he’s in a blistering amount of pain.

“That’s right!” Olivia gasps, pleased as punch that she has another embarrassing story to tell Kurt about his soon-to-be-husband. “How did I forget about Sebastian in that purple unitard!?”

“A story for another time,” Sebastian dismisses forcefully through clenched teeth.

“All right, all right,” Olivia says, pulling out her phone, checking to see if she has any pictures of that event uploaded to her gallery, giving Kurt and Sebastian privacy (figuratively) for the moment.

“The point is,” Sebastian continues, “I should have told you from the beginning that I couldn’t do this.”

You did, Kurt thinks with a pang of regret that eclipses the throbbing in his nose. You did, and I convinced you to come anyway. “So … what about us?”

Sebastian’s face crumbles imperceptibly, as if, with those four words, he’s expecting the worse. “Wh-what about us?”

“Do you have regrets about us?”

“What?” Moss-green eyes pop open so fast, Kurt swears he hears them, like the foley on an anime. “No! What makes you think that?”

“Well, you fell. And Cecile said …”

“Kurt! I fell because I have no balance to speak of! I can’t do yoga. At all, as it turns out. This isn’t The Fault in Our fucking Stars, babe! Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, not a metaphor.” He leans down to kiss the knuckles of Kurt’s hand trapped between his. “I don’t have any regrets about us. I swear I don’t.”

Kurt closes his eyes, the left swelling rapidly, skin turning an alarmingly vivid shade of aubergine. A tear slips from the corner and down his cheek. It’s hot, and everything it touches stings.

Sebastian swallows hard and asks a question he’s wondered about hundreds of times, a question he keeps finding himself asking, never settling in comfortably with the answer. Which is always the same, no matter what.

“Do … do you have any regrets?”

Kurt sniffles before he answers. “Recently?”

Okay, well, maybe not the same this time.

“I guess …”

“Only one.”

“Does it have something to do with me?”

“Yes, but only a teeny bit.”

“And what’s that?” Sebastian asks, holding his breath immediately after, readying himself for whatever barb Kurt chooses to throw.

“That we’re never going to be able to come to this studio again.” Kurt smiles weakly, wincing when he scrunches his nose and pain shoots straight up the bridge to his brain. “And I think you broke my nose.”

Sebastian kisses Kurt’s hand, sputtering a half-laugh/half-cry of relief. “It matches your black eye.”

Kurt fixes his good eye on Sebastian and grimaces - the safest expression of displeasure he can make with his face on the brink of exploding.

“No worries, love,” Julian pipes in, saving Sebastian as tears finally start to fall. “The crooked nose thing isn’t quite in anymore, but I can see you bringing it back. You wear it well.”

“Fuck you both very much,” Kurt mutters.

Julian winks, stepping aside as paramedics rush in. “Promises, promises.”

[gold-from-straw]

Zero Degrees 2

Read from the beginning on AO3 if you prefer! I’ll also tag anyone from the notes of this chapter in my next post, I hope that’s OK! Otherwise it’s so damn hard to find posts...

"Wow, your car is amazing," Njala said as Mum pressed the key fob.

"Thanks," she laughed. "Get in, then. Bhaya will have to go on her dad's lap, but you guys can all fit in the back. Shopping bags in the boot first."

Even Teli stared around the car when they climbed in and Mum started the engine. Njala was stroking the leather and pulling open every pocket and storage area he could find, chattering away at high speed and pointing them out to his big brother. Teli directed Mum down Parklands Road, just past the giant white model of a lotus flower outside the Raja Yoga centre.

"There it is," he said, pointing to a mustard yellow block of flats. Mum pulled off the road onto the dirt driveway and waited at the black gate for the askari to let them in, while Erika stared open-mouthed and tried very hard not to judge.

The thing was, they went to a private school. Erika's family didn't consider themselves particularly wealthy - comfortably middle class, maybe, but there were other kids in Erika's class who lived in mansions and got five thousand shillings pocket money every month. She wasn't stupid, she didn't think she was that naïve, and she was well aware of the vast inequalities in her country. All Kenyans knew how bad some people had it, and at least this place wasn't one of those shanties the city council would bulldoze and set on fire for kicks like they sometimes did in Kibera, but even so...

The building was seven storeys high, loomed over by skyscrapers, or building sites for skyscrapers. Grey water stains draped down the walls like grasping fingers, TV aerials stood crooked on the roof with wires sagging from them. Every window up to the top floor was barred, and no attempt had been made to twist the iron into something decorative. There was laundry hanging on wires in every balcony.

It was the kind of invisible place she saw every day from the bus window, stared at unseeing when stuck in Nairobi traffic jams. If she ever really thought about it, it was probably the kind of place their maid Florence lived in.

Njala waved to the askari while Teli climbed carefully out of the car with a sleeping Bhaya and beckoned them all upstairs. The stairwell smelled of fried fish and cabbage, and someone was washing the second floor landing with a broom, sluicing water across the concrete so that it dripped down to the steps below and made them precariously slippery.

Their flat was on the third floor, and as Teli juggled the keys into the heavy iron gate in front of the door, a young man opened it from inside and ran out, an apron still round his waist and arms soapy to the elbows. "Father, you're back early."

Of all the Hotokes, he looked the most… well, normal was probably an insulting word. But he was. He had a round, friendly face with the family's high cheekbones, curled black lashes and a warmth to his brown skin that none of the others shared. He really didn't look like Teli much at all. He looked like a younger version of Erika's dad, actually, and she couldn't help smiling back at him when he spied her and Mum behind his dad.

"Hello, new people."

"Hi, I'm Gloria, nice to meet you," Mum said, flashing her white teeth in her standard self-confident grin. "This is my daughter, Erika."

"I'm Ummah," he said, taking half of Mum's bags. "And is this the Erika?" He smirked at Frio, who rolled his eyes and ducked his head again. "Sorry, little brother. Come in, please."

"Is he really your dad?" Erika blurted, unable to stop her bad manners. “Sorry... but you don't really look alike - and Teli looks really young as well."

Teli smiled, a darkly amused thing. "I assure you, I am older than I look."

"What she really means is she thinks I'm old," Mum grumbled, smirking and nudging her.

They crowded into the tiny flat, Njala dumping his bags on the counter of the kitchenette and running off to one of the bedrooms. Erika caught sight of a double and a single mattress on the floor before the door shut. Ummah went back to the washing up. Mum beckoned Erika and Frio over to the kitchenette with her head and they started sorting out the items that had been damaged in the fall while Teli took Bhaya to another bedroom and lowered her onto the double mattress on the floor there. He stroked her curls with a sad little smile, then gathered the mosquito net around her and backed out, closing the door.

"What happened, Father?" asked Ummah.

"Loud noises. Shouting. The usual," he said wearily and joined the pair sorting the shopping out.

Ummah winced, his face scrunched up in pity as he looked over to his little sister. "Did she get far?"

Teli shook his head. "No. But she was distressed when I caught up to her. I… at first I do not think she recognised me."

Ummah turned in the small space and wrapped his wet arms around his father's waist. Teli pressed his nose to his son's hair and hugged him back, a slightly wobbly smile on his face. Erika pretended not to see him wipe his cheeks as they returned to their jobs.

"I do not think much of this flour is salvageable," he said, crinkling his nose up as he lifted a paper bag of Exe out, torn and slimy with egg.

"Have any of the eggs survived?" Mum asked.

"Five are unbroken, another three are cracked. They should be fine if we use them soon."

Ummah checked the clock. "I can buy more on my way back from my shift."

"You should not have to waste your wages on--"

"Shhh!" he said imperiously. "I will help you whenever I please, Father, you are a fool if you think any of us would not." He dried his hands off and leaned close to Mum, lowering his voice to a mock-whisper. "He thinks he does not need any help."

"Ummah!" snapped Teli, and the boy winked at Mum.

"I like this one," she laughed.

"That makes one of us," Teli grumbled.

"Well, I like me too, so I believe you are outvoted, Father. Now, I must go, or I shall be late." He picked up a battered backpack from the corner and threw his apron over the back of a chair.

"Ummah," called Teli as he got to the front door. He turned, eyebrows raised in question. Teli came round the counter and hugged him very tight. "I love you very much. And I like you quite a lot too."

"I love you too, Father," he said, a smile in his voice.

"Be safe."

"Always."

He locked the door as Ummah left, and stood by the window to wave at him. Erika heard the clunk of the main gate, and Teli turned back, pausing for a moment to brush his fingers along a small side table with a collection of odd items. A teddy bear, a long speckled feather and a collection of candles on a white cloth, which formed a U shape around a beautiful glowing crystal ball. It looked a little like one of those plasma balls she'd seen in physics lessons, just smaller, with a soft, almost sleepy light inside. She wished she knew where they'd got it from, it was beautiful.

Teli cleared his throat as he looked up at them, clenching his hand away from the objects. "You do not need to sort the shopping, really, you have been very kind."

"It's no trouble," Mum said cheerfully. "So how long have you guys lived here then?"

"Ah, well, nearly a year."

"Where were you before then, where are you all from?"

"North," he said with a vague smile, and turned around to throw some of the dirty packaging in the bin. Mum raised an eyebrow at him, but left it alone.

"What are we going to do with these eggs, Father?” Frio asked.

"You could make cupcakes," Erika said.

"Ah," Teli frowned. "I'm not sure I have a recipe for those."

"I could write one down for you," Mum offered. "Erika and I make cupcakes every week, practically, don't we?"

"Cupcakes?" Njala squeaked. Erika hadn't even noticed him sneak back in. "Are we having cupcakes?"

Teli sighed. "I suppose just this once..."

"Sorry," Mum grimaced.

"No, that's fine," he said. "They deserve a treat. After all, it has been a while."

"Can we stay and help you guys make them?" Erika asked, looking between the two parents. Frio immediately looked up at his dad as well, and Teli rolled his eyes.

"Very well. It is not as if I know how to make them myself."

Mum grinned at him. "I promise I won't let them make a mess. Where do you keep the sugar?"

"Sugar..." he grimaced. "Ah. Is that a necessity?"

Mum frowned at Erika, then back at him. "Uh, yeah, it's a pretty integral part of it."

"Ah."

"Oh, no," Njala moaned, and leaned his head on the counter. "I'm starving!"

"Well, I was planning to make pancakes."

"That's not the same." The little boy's words were muffled as he pressed his face against the wood.

"Hey, how about this," Mum suggested. "You guys can come over to ours one day and we'll make cupcakes and decorate them, does that sound good?"

Njala leaped up. "Really?"

"Could they come this weekend? On Saturday?" Erika asked, her hands pressed together under her chin. "Please?"

"If you're not busy, we haven't got anything on."

"Really, that is not necessary." Teli looked slightly lost. "Please do not feel obliged--"

"I don't," Mum frowned. "I don't do everything out of some obligation, Teli. I like having other people over. You don't have to come if you don't want to, but I'm genuinely offering." She shook her head. "Come on, Erika, we need to let these guys get on."

"Father," Frio grabbed his dad's wrist, and Teli rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"I meant no offence," he said. "If you really don't mind..."

"No," she smiled, her voice still a bit exasperated. "I really don't, I wouldn't offer if I didn't think the kids would have a good time. Here, let me give you my address, we're only on Brookside Drive. Is Saturday OK?"

"I have work," Frio said softly.

"Sunday, then?"

He nodded and smiled through his braids at her. She scribbled their address and her phone number on a notes page in her schedule, then tore it out and handed it to Teli.

"Bye, Frio," Erika said as Teli let them out.

Frio waved at her and pushed the braids out of his face, tucking them behind his ear. "I'll see you tomorrow, Erika."

She followed her mum down the stairs, her shoes clattering on the concrete steps. The banisters were rough and cracked under her hands, shouts and music and a crying baby echoing about the stairwells from the other flats.

She and kept quiet until they were in the Range Rover. "Why do you think Teli's so weird, Mum?"

"I don't think he's weird,” Mum said, frowning a little. "Just awkward. Anyway, we'll see what happens on Sunday."

"How come they're so poor?"

"Erika!"

"No, really, Mum. I think all the boys share a bedroom, how can they even afford the school fees?"

She sighed and tapped her long nails on the steering wheel, but didn't answer. Erika looked out of the window as they pulled onto the Westlands roundabout yet again. "I felt kinda guilty that we've got all that stuff and they don't even have sugar."

"They might not have sugar because Teli's trying to keep them healthy."

"You know what I mean, though."

"Yeah," she said. "I know what you mean."

Thank you to @fullmetalcarer who liked and reblogged last week ^_^

[lilithsgayadoptednephew]

Holy Hands

Fandoms: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!   Not Rated Graphic Depictions Of Violence F/M, Other Complete Work

Chapter List

Chapter 25

Lucifer ate when he was told, he took his medication, he slept enough to properly function. All of it fueled by memories of his own demise, the fear of wasting away and falling again.

Damn MC and their...vivid descriptions.

Lucifer was not the only one struggling with humanity however. Mammon had gotten into his fair share of confusion-based trouble. Likewise Lucifer was not the only one receiving help.

Acacia walked purposefully down the street towards the sheriff's office.

Opening the large door she strutted in like she'd done so a thousand times before. That being because she had. She spat her spearmint gum into the bin beside the door and addressed the man behind the desk.

"Hey Bill, how's the puppy? Come up with a name yet?" The man didn't even look up from his paper. He just held out his hand expectantly. "Ah, right to the point." Acacia placed a thick envelope in his hand and he pocketed it. Wordlessly he stood from his seat and made his way to holding, Acacia marching behind him.

He unlocked the metal cage with one of the many keys on his key ring.

"Come-on get out" he spoke gruffly to the man sitting in the cell.

"Oh what?" Mammon looked up surprised, "hey Acacia! You bailed me out?"

She just grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out of the building.

0"Thanks Kay, you're a lifesaver. I'll pay you back I swear, just give me a few weeks to–"

"Mammon this is your 4th offence in as many weeks. There wasn't a bail." She grumbled. Mammon blinked in confusion.

"So what you...bribed him?"

"Hmm" Acacia groaned anxiously. "Me and Bill kind-of have an... understanding." She responded cautiously. Mammon looked at his feet as he walked.

"Dang...thanks." it was genuine, and it made Acacia's cheeks heat up a little. "You're a good friend, you know that?"

What.

"Haha…" Acacia laughed nervously to cover the way her stomach sank. Good friend indeed. "Well, no more pick-pocketing people in the park, you're at the mercy of the law now and if you end up going to court I can't save you."

"Hah! I can worm my way out of much worse than 'human court'." He spoke with  air quotes.

"Not without an ID you can't."

"I got a guy for that," he winked.

"That…" she put her hand on her face in exasperation. "will get you in even more trouble, doofus."

Mammon just rolled his eyes.

They walked along in silence, the stores were starting to close for the evening and the sky was growing dark from the setting sun. The air began to chill and Acacia found herself rubbing her arms that were exposed by her short sleeve shirt.

Something in a shop window caught her attention. The mannequin wore the most wonderful jacket she'd ever seen. Black leather studded with silver bands and embroidery. Long as a trenchcoat and cut perfectly for a shapely hour-glass figure. The hood was lined with incredibly soft- looking faux fur. So many pockets she was sure she could lose Mammon in it. Oh it was so punk and awesome and warm looking, and the shop was closing in 15 minutes!

Quickly she rushed to the door of the store, hoping they had more than just a display, hoping they had her size. She stopped with her hand on the door handle.

It was then that she got a look at the price tag. Definitely not something she could spend on a coat, much less an impulse buy. Reaching into her pants pockets she realized she couldn't buy it even if she was so frivolous. She'd spent the last of her paycheck from her part-time on bribing the police. Sighing she looked at the coat for a minute more before continuing down the street. Mammon stared after her.

What the heck was that?

"Kay! Wait up." He rushed to catch up with her. "You really just gonna let that coat go? That was real Italian leather, trust me I have an eye for these things." He elbowed her in the side.

"Oh well...I already have a coat at home, and it's way too much for just a coat." She waved it off. She wasn't too disappointed, she was used to pinching pennies and not getting what she wanted every time. That and she knew there would be other cool coats. Mammon was still incredulous.

"Just a coat? Kay, just a coat?? That is not just a coat, I saw the way your face lit up. That is a really cool coat. Don't you deserve something really cool?"

"No more than the next girl" she shrugged. She wasn't special, if anything she was just annoying and awkward, she had accepted it.

"No you're not getting it, it's not just a coat." He circled around and stood in front of Acacia, blocking her from continuing home. "It's...the feeling of sliding the card across the scanner and getting something new! It's the hanger that no longer sits empty in your closet. It's the knowledge that every time you step outside, not only will you be warm, but you'll be the baddest bitch on the block guaranteed." He was practically salivating.

Acacia hid her smile with her hand. He was like an excited dog.

"You have a serious spending problem, Mammon" she rolled her eyes and kept walking.

0"Levi!"

"No"

"Aww come on," Mammon sat down next to Levi on the floor in front of the PlayStation. "I didn't even get to say anything."

"You wanna borrow money."

"Well I mean if you're offering…" Mammon responded quickly.

"No! Even if I was born yesterday and thought you might actually pay me back, I don't have any. Take your panhandling elsewhere." Levi didn't look up from his game.

"Fine" he grumbled. Guess his brothers were as broke as him, who would have human money?

Turning his eyes to the kitchen he noticed MC turned away from him, cooking. That could be a good start. Sliding up behind them he planted one hand on the counter in front of them and spoke quietly in their ear.

"Hey MC, whatcha makin'?" They smiled slightly.

"Mac and cheese, your brother won't eat unless I make him."

"You're gonna make Lucifer eat kraft mac and cheese?" He shook his head.

"He'll eat rocks on bread if I make it for him cause he knows he can't cook for shit. What do you want?" They turned abruptly to face him, arms folded across their chest.

"I uh…" he always got flustered when MC talked to him like that. "Well I was wondering...um maybe...heh uh...you know you could…"

"Before we're dead."

"Ah so I wanted to know where I could get some money?" He said a little too quickly.

"You could try a job." They shrugged, turning back to their cooking. Him? Mammon? Work?

Obviously they weren't in the mood to give him a loan, and he thought even his most sophisticated scams wouldn't make it past their radar. None of his brothers had human money... maybe a job was his only option.

As he weighed his opinions he didn't notice Acacia peeking at him from the hallway. She pushed down the jealousy rising in her chest, she had nothing to be jealous of. She had no claim on who Mammon liked and she knew that. Still she couldn't help the envy and self hatred that rose when she saw how he stumbled over himself talking to MC.

Why wouldn't he like them more after all? They were straightforward and confident and knew exactly who they were and what they wanted. They were so good with people and stressful situations...what did Acacia have in comparison?

Sometimes it felt like everyone she'd ever liked ended up liking MC.

Sighing, she stepped back into the bathroom. She didn't want to embarrass him while he was trying to talk to MC.

But Mammon didn't have MC on his mind at the moment. He was thinking of money as he paced down the street. He was thinking of finally getting those boots he'd been eyeing. But apparently work was the only way to do that. He shivered at the thought.

He could always walk around town and... see what he could rustle up. It was a tried and true method of fast-cash-grabbing. He probably wouldn't get caught again. His pace slowed as he actually weighed the potential consequences.

Acacia bailed him out yesterday, and three times before that. It couldn't have been cheap, and his brothers probably would've just let him rot in holding to teach him a lesson. Even if he was 90% sure he wouldn't be caught…

He couldn't bring himself to believe it was enough.

Coming to a full stop he looked at his shoes as he processed what he was going to do. He could, in theory, just not work and not get the boots. The only question was whether he was more willing to work...or to not buy stuff.

There was really only one option here huh.

Squaring his shoulders he continued his stride, this time with more purpose. The purpose of getting a j-huaeh.

Ehem, sorry he gagged a little.

The purpose of getting a job! Surely it wouldn't be that hard.

0Mammon had worked in customer service for 2 days. He was never going to work again, he couldn't, boots weren't worth it. A woman spit on him. Actually spit on him.

And he couldn't even peel her skin off! He just had to take it like a trained dog. He was over it. Stomping down the street he started mentally plotting his elaborate job-quitting scenario. Then a familiar store caught his eye.

There in the window was the same jacket Acacia had been eyeing. He only looked for a moment before continuing down the street. He didn't know why she wanted that thing, it wasn't even designer.

And she couldn't afford it cause she had to bail him out. No, he shook his head, she couldn't have afforded it anyway cause she's poor and can't spend a lot on a stupid coat.

Oh...that was worse.

If she couldn't even afford a coat there was no way she could afford to bribe the cops on a regular basis. So why did she? Why was she helping when she didn't really have the means? Was she hoping he'd do something for her?

Or... maybe she was just being nice. Maybe she bailed him out once cause she was a good friend but then he kept being a selfish prick and getting himself in trouble. He turned around and looked back at the coat.

It really was a simple wish.

He made a decision, he'd make it up to Acacia. She'd been nice and hadn't asked him for anything. She hadn't even called him stupid when he screwed up, she just gave him tips to stay out of future trouble.

He'd postpone quitting for a while. A different scenario started to take form in his mind. One that wasn't as elaborate, but just as important.

0Acacia was upset that Mammon had been so flustered around MC, but she had come to terms with it. She trudged up the stairs, still tired from school, and flopped onto the bed. Distant conversation caught her ears.

"You can't expect me to eat that, it's not–"

"Eat the damn mac, Lucifer."

Rolling her eyes she turned to lay on her side and got a face full of leather.

What?

Sitting up she examined the foreign garment. Without explanation or credit, there on her bed sat a brand new coat.

The very one she wanted.

[bladekindeyewear]

HS^2 bloggin’ bonus 2020-02-01

bladekindeyewear:

Boy that sure is a new HS^2 bonus I should blogread.  And there was a commentary on the Patreon for the last proper upd8 too.

I’ll… do it sometime this weekend, not right away.  (Had a stomach virus through Monday and Tuesday that’s left me pretty fucked over and still waiting for the aftereffects to flee.)

Alright, taking a crack at both of these now.  (Both light on images and quoting, since it’s all Patreon material.)  So what’s going on here?  Are the bonus chapters splitting into separate stories perhaps, following the lecture in one and the PS^2 crew in another?  Also, from the replies on the previous:

gaaraofsburbia said: It was very good and I was very happy

Good to know.  Time to read, bonus first! *clicks link*

...the title of a book someone’s holding.  Bookmarked (with a red flag?).  Uh huh.  Good start.

> ==>

“A picture book for young parliamentarians.) ...oh wow, it’s Carapacian even.  Did the Mayor have anything to do with this book?

--Wait.  Waitwaitwait.  This isn’t-- the authors wouldn’t go back in time and show us like-- PM and the Mayor trying to start the-- nooo.

> ==>

Oh shit, never mind.  This is a book ABOUT the Mayor.  Starting from him farming on Skaia and continuing from there with a focus on societal structures presumably.  So, sort of like what I just said but not quite as goddamn heartwrenching, most likely.

You know, this WOULD have been a good opportunity for the authors to finally bring some canon awareness to all the rampant Breath and Blood visual-and-textual symbolism around WV and PM’s arcs, giving people some HINT of their potential importance outside some crazy unproven blog post on some crazy wrong person’s blog.  But I’m not really convinced Andrew or his new replacements, er... y’know.  Care.  About letting us know about all that cool shit.  Or even dissuading us if we were somehow wrong.  Just gonna... let us haaaang in the breeeze there forever, more likely.  :T

...this is still what I’m most bitter about regarding the end of Homestuck, as you can obviously tell.  Thinking -- still believing -- that we found something beautiful and deliberate he’d done, but refusing to have canon openly acknowledge any of it so that 99% of readers will never have a clue about it and the few of us who caught on -- if right -- are just regarded as nutters, and if wrong, NEVER have what we need to finally disprove and accept that wrongness thanks to his silence, thus continuing to believe wrongly and be regarded as nutters.

So I just keep reading and... vacillating.  Vacillating on whether to believe any of this will get brought up in HS^2 canon, or whether to cynically fear they’ll take the worst route:  Doing things EXACTLY like Andrew did and dropping only vague hints that keep it an implied-only, unconfirmed mystery forever.  Because that’s what made the comic popular!  And it’s “safe”.  :(

...man, gut issues really bring the pessimist out of you, don’t they.  Let’s keep reading.  Once upon a time there was a simple farmer...

> ==>

Horrible kings kept fighting and didn’t care about the land, destroying it underneath their war.  Right.  (Mostly paraphrasing here and from now, mind you.)

> ==>

WV wanted to stop the kings, but the kings had power.

> ==>

That power had to be destroyed too.  (Shows the rings.)

> ==>

Hm, the journey that ends up in the rings’ destruction to the desert?  Are we going to fill in some context here?

> ==>

--And made friends with curious creatures and powerful people!  (Showing the fake Can Town built with Dave and Karkat along the meteor trip.)

Assumedly internalizing all those practice-town lessons, of course.

> ==>

--Oh, cool!  So one of the first things WV and PM did upon coming to Earth C to start their founding process was destroy the rings, the temptation of that power, throwing it into the Forge.

EDIT: krixwell said: "I don't know exactly how it reads in the bonus update because I'm not a patron, but WV and PM throwing the rings in the Forge happened before they entered Universe C, and was shown in HS proper (8107-8111, 8123-8126 and at the beginning of [S] Act 7). It was required to light the Forge and send the Genesis Tadpole to Skaia." Ah, file that under more things I forgot about, then.

> ==>

Where once nothing,

> ==>

Earth C was founded/born, etc.

> ==>

Ah okay!  So with a backdrop of the Town Hall under construction, we’re getting some context specifically as to how and why the Mayor set up society the way he did on Earth C.  Especially the challenging question of who would govern the world and how.

> ==>

Oh shit, text dump!  :D

The problem was unfortunately compounded by the fact that when the topic of fair and effective governance is broached, most sparing intellects immediately assume a certain posture. Not one of surrender or admiration, but of abject and interminable boredom.

This fact makes it hard to treat such a fascinating subject with the proper amount of attention and enthusiasm, BUT WE SHALL DO OUR BEST TO UNDERSTAND REGARDLESS.

Alright, loving this.

Also, this’ll undoubtedly put into context just how MUCH the Mayor had to think about how society would work best to have set up -- and how little comparative thought Jane put into the process when just drafting up something United-States-like and familiar.  Remember how awful it was the childlike way the Condesce essentially kept trying to recreate her familiar surroundings and rule structure on Earth?  It was only natural that her Life-aspected protege would make similar errors, I suppose.

Back to reading this long page... I won’t just quote all the details of this representative system, because that’s up to y’all to pony up for.  But I’ll note if there’s anything interesting in it that makes me think.  Let’s see...

...Hm!  The number of seats each kingdom got in parliament was based on voter turnout... THAT’S a heavy incentive to get out the vote, if your kingdom can literally lose influence if you don’t.

On the happy occasions where the maximum number of seats were allocated in all four quarters, this was known as a "full House".

Oh, fuck you.  :)

...oh dear, that was only the beginning of the card slang.

I’m not going to list all of them here.  They make sense in context, which is even worse.

Without going into too much detail, consorts all tend to have significantly shorter lifespans than the other citizens of Earth C. Because of this, a large number of House Rules were dedicated to describing exactly what to do if a seat was vacated mid-term due to the death of its occupant.

Not the carapacian kingdom, the consort kingdom.  Don’t panic, y’all.

The DELIVERY OF JUSTICE (DoJ) was founded to keep the peace and arbitrate in all legal matters, and its members were the brave soldiers of God in this righteous crusade.

They also took care of the MAIL.

Oooooof course.  :)

Unions get their rep, if only for a pun...

Oh, hm.  The Mayor’s office is much like a ceremonial-only monarch’s office without serious power.  Etc etc...... reading...

So governing Earth C was a complicated affair, and only became more convoluted over time. But the really important thing was that, despite all this complexity, it worked. It really worked. At one point, a whole field of mathematics was developed just to explain why the interim government worked so well, and they ended up proving it categorically. It was theoretically perfect.

Ppfffff

--ah.  And then the Mayor has a chill as he looks at the clouds and somehow anticipates something terrible happening to it all.

That’s it for the bonus.  I’m guessing the next chapter of this separate bonus story will go over some sort of threat the system endured, while the Mayor was still alive, possibly?  Or cut forward to the creators’ arrival and how that fucked a bunch of stuff up?  A sort of demonstration on why the gods who create a universe shouldn’t take charge of those living in it or such?  Hm.

Alright, if that’s it for the bonus, let’s see what’s available for Patreon commentary... here we go, just the one for the latest mainline upd8 that I knew had come out.

Sketches and Commentary: Chapter 3, How Are Your Feelings

Before starting into this, I want to note that I do have SOME ray of hope for more Awake Jade involvement to shine against my previous rant -- because that OTHER callie-controlled younger Jade body is coming, which I’d forgotten about.  As soon as the pursuit crew arrives in-system and THAT Jade finally gets there through whatever black-hole-powered teleportation magic she’s using (with Aradia and Robodave), it’ll be completely safe for OUR Jade to be awake and active at will.  Theoretically.

So... y’know, that’s nice.  Whenever that will happen.

So onto the commentary, we’re starting with that stupid ship.

(I think I actually said something along the lines of, "this is stupid, so we're using it." I know my Homestuck history. For those interested, the ship is modelled after a schooner, and continues the Homestuck tradition of spaceships that look like regular sea-faring vessels, only with additional stuff bolted on. - Pip)

...Yeah, can’t blame you there.

This is Jake’s “second best” ship. It makes me really nervous to think about what the third-best looks like.

Flying booty shorts, most likely.

...yeah, I did notice that latest upd8 playing with colors in a way the comic rarely even did, it was pretty nice.  Glad to see they appreciate it too.

...Yep, Karkat getting owned just for the sake of it, there.

First off, Jade’s outfit. It rules. Alt!Callie may have violently forced her consciousness inside of this innocent girl’s brain, but damn these threads are sweet. She’s managed to keep Jade pretty on brand, while throwing in a couple embellishments of her own. That’s what we call “making it work”. 

Yes, you’d better WELL fucking acknowledge what you’re doing by keeping Jade in a miserable isolated state for three years.  A G A I N.

Nice bit about the casual showing of Dave’s eyes as evidence that Dave’s recovering through some of his old mental blocks.

Dave and Karkat are wearing each other’s shirts, which is traditionally a very gay thing to do. Even more notably perhaps is the fact that Karkat is wearing crimson without a hint of complaint. Again, I doubt this was an intentional move on his part. Just, sometimes you’re coming out of the shower, it’s chilly, and your boyfriend’s shirt fits. Busting through mental blocks should typically come across as whispers to me, rather than shouts. 

--Hm, never considered the latter angle.

Karkat is being pretty mean to Possessed Jade. Which sucks, but this situation is incredibly stressful, and Karkat tends to react to stress by being mean. Treating Jade like an irritant allows him to put some distance between himself and the reality that he may have lost another friend. 

Guh.  That one stung  :(

Initially the panel directions here were “everybody pauses to contemplate Dirk fucking Strider” 

Mhmm, and you figured it’d be more unsettling to reverse it and remind us that the Prince is aware of all of this too.

Roxy’s heart-shaped sunglasses have become such a thing in the fandom that I kind of can’t imagine him without them at this point, so we decided to make it settled law. 

Mhmm, I figured that was how they played it.  One of the ways they’re incorporating fandom involvement.

Sometimes I feel like it should be Xam who does these commentaries, since there’s so much incredible shit going on with the art here that I’m really only equipped to comment on with shit like “oh wow, look at these colors. Green and purple huh. Wild. There’s also some light.” 

It’s pretty understandable to have the writers take the lead on most commentary as opposed to the artists... normally.

But then you’d have the weird places where they’d have to work together without necessarily giving away their game.  Like, all that WV/PM Breath/Blood visual representation I mentioned.

I still don’t know if they’re gonna give away the game on that eventually -- or if Andrew even gave them enough to go on to properly REPLICATE that sort of thing in this official continuation, even though my mind keeps telling me it’d make all sense to -- but if they are thinking about it, I doubt they’ll first show their hand in the commentary.

I love Kanaya’s new outfit.

I understand that sure, but will she be sticking with this outfit through the action though?  Looking like a mourning nun?

Kanaya’s nursery story is, of course, The Little Prince, a French fairytale from the 1940’s. It tells the story, rather appropriately, of a young Prince traveling through space looking for something he believes he has lost.

“And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

I’m not sure why I keep thinking about this quote. Probably some shit that has to do with “themes” or something.

Hinting that once he’s beaten down and likely dying from this stupid exodus plan, at least some part of Dirk may finally realize that any fulfillment and purpose he was looking for with this megalomaniacal nonsense was left behind in the peaceful life he fucking ruined for everyone to do all this.  The Heart-blind bastard.

God, Dave is just losing family members left and right, isn’t he? Really makes you think. 

Gdi.  :(

“Maybe it was naive to think a bunch of twenty something trauma victims could run a society.”

There it is. That’s the whole Epilogue.

And Andrew just had to let us ruin our naivety.

Wow. There really are just a whole lot of feelings in this chapter, aren’t there? It’s very aptly named. And it’s also actually the first part of HS^2 that got drafted; at least the first part that actually made it into the final draft. I wrote it earlier in 2019 when we were still kicking around ideas of what an Epilogue follow-up would actually look like. 

Huh.  Yeah, I can imagine when writing all this it would make sense to write/use this chapter first, as a knee-jerk reaction.

I do really think Karkat would have been a great president. He would have hated it, but he would have been good at it. 

I’m glad the authors are in agreement with everyone else with a brain on this one.

Did you guys know that Karkat still feels immense survivor’s guilt for murderstuck?

Yes.  Yes we did.

(Some continued remarks about how Karkat’s self-loathing is like a singularity that draws all blame onto himself in his mind etc.)

Apparently there was a metal gear reference in this second-to-last conversation?  Don’t tell me, I don’t care.

Eat the fucking pancakes, dude. 

A good place to end the commentary.  See y’all when there’s more content!

[rather-impertinent]

Ignorance Is Bliss

A/N: I understand why there’s been no Carolight fluff/real affection the first 3 eps given their upcoming story arc and wanting to make that believable. But I wanted fluff so I wrote some, while attempting to touch on the obvious distance between them. I’m placing this between 5.03 and 5.04, enjoy friends xo

******

It was an unassuming Saturday morning in June when Dwight and Caroline Enys strolled through the marketplace in Truro, which was abuzz with locals selling and purchasing all manner of things from their dinner to their dignity.

Due to the appearance of the warm sun - which edged away the fluffy white clouds which seemed to be as much of a Cornish landmark as Stepper Point - the marketplace was bustling with people of all ranks vying for some of the fresh, local produce and products.

The Enyses, led by Dwight, slipped through the crowds in a single file, bound by their clasped hands. A man suddenly unceremoniously walked into Caroline and offered no apology for the collision, which earned the stranger an affronted glance from Dwight, who opened his mouth to protest, but was hastened on by Caroline’s hand pushing him onwards and out of trouble.

“Dr Enys, let us not spend your first day off in a month brawling in the street,” Caroline warned, a clear smile in her voice.

Dwight took a deep breath and relaxed as they continued their way through the crowded area; he found that, for whatever reason, his fuse was very short these days. “Agreed.”

The concentration of people grew thinner as they made their way out of what was widely considered as the centre of the town. The lessening crowd was fortunate for many grocers displayed their fruits and vegetables on the border of the area. The scent of fresh citrus filled in the air, recently unearthed potatoes demanded to be diced and boiled, and garlic hung like pearls on a string about the stalls.

“Ooh, those raspberries look delicious,” Caroline noticed as they passed them, licking her unpainted lips.

Dwight immediately halted their onward march and negotiated a price for a punnet with the stall-owner and offered him 3 shillings for a bountiful portion of the crimson berries. “Here you are, my love,” Dwight chirped, handing them to her.

Accepting them with muted glee, Caroline glanced at husband and carefully linked her arm through his. “Thank you. You spoil me, Dr Enys.” Her tone was sincere and not sarcastic.

A surprised laugh escaped his lips. “A small box of raspberries is akin to spoiling?” he wondered, thoughtfully creasing his face as they continued their way down the cobbled street. Perhaps he needn’t have nigh-on collapsed from stress in the jewellers or the tailors all these years.

Steering them to the left down a quiet alleyway which led to Boscowan park, Caroline placed a piece of the pink fruit in her mouth and hummed in pleasure. “Well, these raspberries certainly are akin to spoiling. Besides, it is the thought that counts, is it not?”

Dwight suspiciously creased his brows at her. “How unusually sentimental of you,” the doctor commented, the ghost of a smirk on his face as he eyed his wife out of the corner of his eye.

Caroline rolled her eyes at him and smothered a smile by placing several more raspberries into her mouth. She was making a more concentrated effort to show him her appreciation. There had been an unspoken distance between them since Sarah died - a chasm, even - which, for reasons unclear, had been exacerbated of late. The distance resulted in some bad days and some good days. Today felt like a good day. Once finished chewing, Caroline retorted: “Well, I cannot leave all the romantic moral high ground to you, lest you grow lonely up there.”

Dr Enys’ laughter bounced off the trees in the park, startling the slumbering geese which rested on the banks of the river, who then proceeded to fly away in search of a more peaceful sanctuary.

Having found a quiet and deserted yet beautiful spot after a short walk, Dwight removed his grey jacket for Caroline to sit on and took a seat next to her on the lush and undewed green grass.

Caroline smoothed the skirts of her favourite pink gown, taking care not to get any grass stains. She removed her bonnet and reclined comfortably on her husband’s jacket, enjoying the feeling of the soft grass beneath her.

With a twinge of guilt as he looked out at the river, Dwight realised that he could not recall the last time they spent an entire day alone together, each offering each other their undivided attention. It was his doing, that he knew for certain. He had been so busy of late and did not dare decline a single patient or opportunity which came his way, lest he have to confront the reality of his own mental health, or that of his wife’s, or the damage which had been done to their marriage by their avoidance of the subject. But today was too fine a day for such heavy subject matter, and the conversation could be avoided for another day or two. Or three or four. Ignorance is bliss, is it not?

Caroline sighed blissfully as the warm sun shone on her face; she blindly reached for the punnet of fruit and popped a raspberry into her mouth. Her actions distracted him from his more unpleasant thoughts, and he observed her with a grateful smile. “‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and tempered’,” Dwight quoted with adoring eyes.

Caroline brought her hand up to her brow bone to shield her eyes from the sun. A wry smile pulled on her mouth. “Temperate,” she corrected, eyeing him out of the corner of her eye, her teasing smirk barely contained.

With a grin, Dwight shuffled closer to his wife and propped himself up on his right elbow. “Ah, the error is no doubt the result of my not being educated at Eton or Harrow. Shall you hold it against me?” he asked her, his face leaning over hers.

Mrs Enys shook her head. “No, I think not,” she answered, meeting his gaze; it never failed to surprise her how blue his eyes truly were - they could rival the Cornish sea on a calm day.

Their faces were mere inches apart now, the sun’s rays only able to illuminate Caroline’s right ear. “Why ever not?” he murmured, his glance flickering to her lips.

Many witty retorts immediately sprang to her mind but given the serene summer’s day, Caroline decided to hold her teasing tongue and speak a little more from the heart; which she had been practicing more of late. “I like you well enough just as you are.” There had been prettier declarations of love, she knew, but one does not need to be a personified Shakespeare sonnet to get one’s feelings across.

Besides, Dwight had always understood her meaning - even when she did not even understand it herself - and the touched look in his eyes illustrated the fact. The sunlight became blocked from her ear. Their lips softly brushed as Dwight murmured: “I like you very much, too.”

Unsatisfied with the gentleness, Caroline put her hand to the nape of his neck and kissed him fiercely. It had been a long while - too long - since she had kissed him like this, since he had kissed her like this, and the world around them narrowed down to the feeling of their lips pressed together and the desire that coursed through their veins.

Dwight hummed thoughtfully against her lips. Caroline broke the kiss, opened her eyes and waited for him to speak. “You were correct; those raspberries are delicious,” he commented, mischievously licking his lips.

Caroline let out a scoff-laugh. “My love, you are quite scandalous - you forget yourself.” Dwight grinned in reply. “What am I to do with you?” she wondered, pursing her lips in mock consideration.

Dr Enys, too, feigned consideration. “Do I shock you?”

The sun rose higher in the sky, as though encouraging their banterous exchange. “You do,” Caroline told him, fingering with the ends of his slightly loosened neckcloth. “You need lessons in decorum.”

“An excellent idea,” enthused Dwight, caressing Caroline’s arm, “who better to teach me than a heiress?”

Caroline hummed and schooled a smile. “And are you acquainted with any?”

“I am. Though, I must ask her an important question.” Dwight smiled and put a raspberry into his mouth, the juices coating his tastebuds.

Her gaze distractedly focused on his lips, it only occurred to Caroline after several seconds to ask, “Pray, what is the question?”

Dwight leaned down and kissed her, his lips slightly sticky: they trailed the sharp line of her jaw before making their way to her throat. “Can we start my lessons tomorrow?” he breathed against her neck.

Caroline glanced about them trying to ensure no one else was there to see them behaving so improperly in public. Assured that they were indeed alone and concealed by the trees behind them, Caroline tilted her neck to allow Dwight better access to her sensitive spots. She sighed when his lips suckled on a spot behind her ear, and she combed her fingers through his hair. “Tomorrow,” she readily agreed.

[preraphaelitepunk]

Fictober19 Day 19: Of Quiet Contentment and Fainting Couches

Prompt #19: Yes, I admit it, you were right.

Fandom: Good Omens

Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley

Rating: Teen

Warnings: None

On AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/20843936/chapters/50185667

Everyday rituals had always been soothing to Aziraphale. He wasn’t sure whether this had something to do with his angelic origins or derived more from his tendency toward anxiety under stress, but there was just something utterly lovely about small routines interspersed throughout the day: teatime, wine time, the cozy fuss that was settling in with a good book, his unnecessary reading glasses, and some nibbles.

Right now it was time for the breakfast ritual. Bread was toasting, filling the little kitchen with a homely smell. Eggs were boiling, tomatoes sliced, beans heating sedately in their little pot. Butters and jams waiting on the table. Crowley’s coffee was almost finished brewing, and the kettle for Aziraphale’s tea was just coming to the boil.

It was a moment of quiet bliss, and Aziraphale closed his eyes to savor it more fully. The only thing better would be when Crowley finally woke up and joined him.

A few minutes later, Crowley appeared, sleep-draggled and bleary, shambling over to the table and dropping into a chair. Aziraphale handed him a mug of coffee. “Thanks, angel.”

“You’re welcome, my love. Anything to eat this morning?”

Crowley sniffed, apparently parsing out the cooking smells. “Maybe an egg?”

“Certainly.” Aziraphale plated his own breakfast, drizzled a swirl of brown sauce over his beans because he was feeling particularly fancy, and egg-cupped a soft boiled. The egg cup was one Crowley claimed to despise, with little horns and a pointy tail painted on, but Aziraphale knew better than to listen to that nonsense.

“I was thinking,” he said, giving his beans an artistic swirl of brown sauce, “that we might go antiquing today.”

“Haven’t you got enough antiques in the shop? And your flat?”

“They were bought from new, so they don’t count. And anyway, I’m not necessarily in the mood to buy anything. I just want to have a poke around. Besides, we’ve talked about that: it’s not my flat any more. It’s ours.” Aziraphale applied fig-and-cocoa jam to his toast and bit into it decisively.

“Sure, but the deed is still in your name.” Crowley focused on peeling his eggshell away in strips. “Whatever. I get your point, angel. And if you want to go nosing around the antique shops today, I will be delighted to go with you. Doesn’t matter to me what we do, as long as we do it together.”

Crowley’s hands were both busy with his egg, so Aziraphale settled for giving the demon’s knee a gentle squeeze. “I feel the same, darling, but thank you for indulging me.”

“That’s what I do, angel,” Crowleys said, smiling lopsidedly back at him. “One big indulger, me.”

*** ***

“Oh, Crowley!” He squeezed Crowley’s hand excitedly. “Wouldn’t this escritoire be just perfect for the back room in the shop?”

Aziraphale could feel him holding back a sigh. “It’s lovely, angel, but where are you going to put it? There’s no space, just like there’s no space for the other twenty-five million things you’ve wanted.”

“There’s always space for beautiful items, dear. It would just be a matter of a discreet miracle or two. There are plenty of pocket dimensions out there that wouldn’t mind sparing me a few extra metres.”

“‘Course. You realize that, if you keep this up, you’ll have more pocket dimension than actual bookshop? Humans will start to notice if your shop keeps expanding infinitely beyond the size of the building.”

Aziraphale pouted. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m lots of fun. You’re just being impractical.”

“Lessons on practicality, from you, darling?”

Crowley just grinned at him, maddeningly calm. “One of us has got to be sensible. Right now it’s my turn.”

They carried on gently bickering throughout the next several shops. Crowley managed to block every proposed acquisition — until the fainting couch. It was gorgeous, a Victorian beast long enough to accommodate even Crowley’s sprawled form, with intricate carving along the legs and the wood framing the raised part of the back: acanthus leaves, pomegranates, and (this was what really sold it) snakes. It had been reupholstered, of course, but it was done respectfully, in period-appropriate heavy crimson velvet.

“I don’t care what objections you raise, Crowley. I am getting this recamier!” Folding his arms resolutely, Aziraphale frowned up at the demon.

“But there’s no space!”

“I will move the sofa in the back room up to the flat, and put this where it used to be. We can have a sofa in the bedroom, then, and no miracles will be necessary.”

Crowley grumbled under his breath, then said, “And how do you expect to get this monstrosity home? It won’t fit in the Bentley, and even if we miracled it to fit, I’m not risking her getting scratched  by this thing.”

Aziraphale just smiled primly. “Just wait, darling; it will be perfect, I know.”

The shop did not ordinarily offer delivery, but miraculously decided to make an exception in this case: same-day white-glove delivery, including relocation of the existing sofa upstairs. Crowley protested at this, but Aziraphale overruled him: miracling objects to other locations always carried a slight risk of imprecision if the destination was out of sight, and he wasn’t about to chance dinging his beloved sofa, which embodied so many fond memories.

The actual delivery was a bit of an ordeal, he had to admit. A quick miracle or five cleared a broad path through the shop and flat, so the humans could do the necessary heavy lifting without endangering any books or other treasures, but Aziraphale found the disruption to his carefully organized chaos disturbing. It was also oddly unsettling to have strangers in his private sanctums of the back room and the flat: only he and Crowley belonged there, and he found himself unaccountably resenting the humans’ presence even as he appreciated their help. He barely waited for the door to close behind the delivery people before snapping everything back to its proper, reassuring place, and let out a relieved sigh.

“Thank goodness that’s all over. Tea, darling?”

Crowley shrugged; he was projecting cool indifference, but Aziraphale had seen the tension in his body as he hovered over the delivery people, alert for anything that might endanger Aziraphale’s precious books. The poor dear had worn himself out. “Prefer some wine, actually.”

“Wine it is, then.” Aziraphale went to rummage in his wine stash, returning with two glasses of a rather nice Sangiovese. He handed one to Crowley and settled himself on the new fainting couch, careful to keep his shoes off the upholstery. “Ah, this is lovely.”

Crowley eyed him over the rim of the wineglass. “Better than the old sofa? Was it worth all this kerfuffle?”

Aziraphale made a show of considering the question. “Well, it is rather comfy. But something feels like it’s missing.” He snapped, and a soft cream-colored blanket appeared, draped over the sloping back of the fainting couch. Another snap, and one of his current books popped into his hand. “Much better. But . . . there’s still something missing.”

“Music? Peeled grapes? Scantily clad boys fanning you with ostrich plumes?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “It does feel quite sybaritic, but the only fan boy I want is you, dear.”

“Good answer. Shall I change into a loincloth now, or save that for later?”

“Later, I think. Right now, I think I’d like you to come over here and lie with me. Not that way,” he added, seeing Crowley’s eyebrow raised. “Just to cuddle.”

Grumbling something about the indignity of being expecting cuddling from a demon, Crowley set down his glass and ambled over. “There’s not much room. I’ll have to be practically on top of you.”

“That is rather the idea, darling. Here.” Aziraphale arranged them so that Crowley lay with his back against Aziraphale’s chest, and snuggled an arm around his demon’s waist. “Just so. Isn’t that nice?”

“‘M a demon; I don’t do nice.” There was no heat in it, though, and the way Crowley nestled closer, fitting his cheek against Aziraphale’s shoulder, was far from reluctant.

“Of course not, my love. You just rest there for a while. You must be worn out from supervising the movers so carefully.”

Gradually, the muttering died down and Crowley’s slow, even breathing suggested he’d drifted off. Pleased, Aziraphale read and sipped his wine for the next few hours, sometimes resting his cheek against Crowley’s head or stroking his russet hair.

“‘Snice,” Crowley eventually mumbled, nuzzling against Aziraphale’s neck.

“Very nice,” he agreed, then added because he couldn’t resist needling just a bit, “Whoever would have thought the recamier would work out so well?”

Crowley groaned. “Yes, I admit it, you were right. ’S a good addition. Totally worth it.”

“I’m so glad you agree, love.” Planting a gentle kiss on Crowley’s head, he sighed contentedly. “So very glad indeed.”

[volcanofireflame150]

Dark as the Deepest Night

Story Series; Ch3

Chapter 2

I had the most amazing time with the 12 kings, I hope that I don’t become the only queen of one of the 12 kings because then things would be out of balance, once Sehun and myself were alone he led me to a room because it was getting dark then he noticed my necklace.

“What does that necklace do?” asked Sehun. I shrugged, “My sister only said it had special abilities I just never found out on what it is.” “Probably containing your anger because you never got angry at Baekhyun’s jokes towards you about being a Dark Elf,” said Sehun. I responded, “I selectively ignored him.” “Oh! That’s one of the abilities, you can block out your hearing whenever you want,” said Sehun. I said, “I’ve been doing that before I got the necklace you dingus.” “Oh, sorry well I was trying to help I don’t know much about you and hopefully I will because you seem promising Lulu,” said Sehun. There goes my heart again, I said, “Maybe we can talk still, I mean I would love to get to know you.” “Sounds like a pleasant idea, since I don’t do anything until the next day, this could be our thing to do every night,” said Sehun, “Ah, who am I kidding, I can do my king duties some other time.” “If you lack on being King, then how are you gonna rule your own kingdom?” I asked, sounding like a queen already, “If I were you, I do my duties whether I want to or not.” “Sounding like a queen huh? I like it let’s keep this going because I was only bringing that out and don’t worry I hate sitting down and doing nothing,” said Sehun, “Which is why I always leave to go to my library to keep myself busy.” “I mean, it doesn’t hurt to read, I was never allowed to read,” I said to him. “Yeah, you have the worst parents, thankfully I’m letting you roam free in my kingdom just as long as you know your limits,” said Sehun. I said, “I know my limits, you want me to remain silent always.” “What? My goodness no, I love hearing you speak, wow your parents sound very controlling and demanding towards you,” said Sehun. “Yeah, they even pick on who could be my friends and they chose the people that I refuse to hang out with,” I said. Sehun said, “Well, my dearest Lulu, I’m afraid that its getting late, I should head to bed.” “I won’t bite, we can share the same bed,” I offered. Sehun asked, “Are you sure?” I nodded I mean he’s been so nice to me, I got to return the favor by letting him sleep here while I find somewhere to lay down in. When it was just me that was awake I realized that there is no moon to be seen in the sky, so I looked at my necklace, breathed in deeply and somehow raised the moon. That’s my power, to bring up the moon at night, I sat at the balcony seat so I slept there, I’ve done it before I mean it’s the least I could do to someone who has been so incredibly nice to me. When I woke up the next morning, I realized that I was in the bed with King Sehun, I could tell he brought me over because he was holding me tight around my waist as if he didn’t want to let me go. We stayed like this until he was awake, when he woke up I let him get ready for the day and said, “Good morning princess Lulu.” “Good morning King Sehun,” I said to him. “Shall we eat breakfast?” asked Sehun. I nodded, I never had breakfast before I wonder what it is, when I saw that it’s mainly eggs, bacon, sausages, pancakes, waffles, you name it and it’s on this table. I asked, “How are we going to eat this all? I mean it’s just the 2 of us right?” “Plus, the other kings are still here,” said Sehun, pointing at the other kings. I had my head hung low, Sehun asked, “What’s wrong?” “Oh, I thought you were going to hit me, I get hit a lot,” I said, avoiding eye contact. Sehun declared, “That’s it! You are never allowed to go back there only until you are ready to say that you have found someone to love outside of the cave!” “I was never planning on going back there anyways,” I said to him. “Then why are you out here?” asked Chanyeol. I responded, “To prove my kind, as a Dark Elf, that Isolation is not the Solution.” “Yeah it’s not a good idea to isolate yourselves, you have to come out eventually,” I heard Luhan say. Baekhyun said, “Dang, only one day and night, Sehun you managed to finally get to her?” “Nope, I learned that all on my own King Baekhyun,” I said to him. “Please just Baekhyun, no formalities,” said Baekhyun. I apologized, Sehun groaned, “These parents raised you the wrong way! They taught you on how to be proper like them but guess what? I’m not proper, same with everyone else.” “No one is perfect,” said Xiumin, “All we can do is try and do our best to know what is right and what is wrong in our own kingdoms.” “I know what exactly is wrong with my kingdom,” I said to him, “I’m tired of Dark Elves being the only ones hiding away in a cave while the regular Elves live out here.” “She makes an excellent point,” said Sehun. I was now listening on what the other kings had to deal with in their kingdoms, first one who spoke was Kai and he said, “I had this little girl come up to me and asked me if I wanted to play with her, of course I’m always playful when it comes to kids but before I could even answer her mother dragged her away and started hitting her. I have tempted to arrest the woman and her father.” “They’re still going at it, I thought we taught them a lesson after being in the dungeon of Suho’s kingdom,” said King Jongdae. Kai said, “I thought so as well, then I saw the bruises the next day, guys, they are getting worse for her.” “What’s the little girls name?” I asked. “Sydney,” said Suho, “Why? Do you have something in mind?” “Take her away from them and put her in a better home away from that,” I said. Sehun asked, “Why didn’t we think of that?” “You guys are not females,” I said. Kai said, “Then it’s settled, I’ll put her in the orphanage in Xiumin’s kingdom where she can finally be safe away from them while I can handle them myself.” “Nice suggestion, Lulu,” said Baekhyun. I smiled and really felt like apart of this table, then Sehun said, “Oh guys, Lulu found out what power her necklace has.” “Really?” asked Kris, “What was it?” “I raised the moon last night,” I responded, “There was no moon in the sky.” “Yeah that’s true,” said King Yixing, “I mean, what’s night without a moon?” “True,” said Sehun, “and what’s a planet without a moon?” “Things go out of balance,” I said, “Like I hope that I am not the only one who is going to be the only queen out of all of you since Sehun won my heart.” “I hope so too,” said Suho, “None of us have queens well minus Sehun but we don’t talk about her.” “Yeah let’s not,” said Sehun, “All you need to know that she was an Orc.” “Oh, ew, I heard Orc’s are naturally smelly and bad by default,” I said. After breakfast, Sehun led me to his library and I found some books that caught my interest and he left me alone while he went off to do his King duties.