#Frozen Spring Roll Market Size

[datadigger007]

Frozen Spring Roll Industry: Growth and Forecast 2031 | Market Strides

Frozen Spring Roll Market

The latest study released on the Global Frozen Spring Roll Market by Market Strides, Research evaluates market size, trend, and forecast to 2032. The Frozen Spring Roll Market consider covers noteworthy inquire about information and proofs to be a convenient asset record for directors, investigators, industry specialists and other key people to have ready-to-access and self-analysed study to help understand market trends, growth drivers, openings and up and coming challenges and approximately the competitors.

Some of the key players profiled in the study are:

Tai Pei

Chun King

Darty 10 Duck

kAHIKI

CHEF ONE

Spring Home

SeaPak

Thai Agri Food

Shana

Cabinplant

Tiger Tiger Tsingtao

Taj

Morrisons

Humza

Sara Foods

ASEANIS

Heng Australia

Get Free Sample Report PDF @ https://marketstrides.com/request-sample/frozen-spring-roll-market

Scope of the Report of Frozen Spring Roll Market :

The report also covers several important factors including strategic developments, government regulations, market analysis, and the profiles of end users and target audiences. Additionally, it examines the distribution network, branding strategies, product portfolios, market share, potential threats and barriers, growth drivers, and the latest industry trends.

Keep yourself up-to-date with latest market trends and changing dynamics due to COVID Affect and Economic Slowdown globally. Keep up a competitive edge by measuring up with accessible commerce opportunity in Frozen Spring Roll Market different portions and developing territory.

The titled segments and sub-section of the market are illuminated below:

By Type

Vegetable and Meat Spring Rolls

Bean Paste Spring Rolls

By Application

Online Sales

Supermarket

Convenient Store

Others

Get Detailed@ https://marketstrides.com/report/frozen-spring-roll-market

Geographically, the detailed analysis of consumption, revenue, market share, and growth rate of the following regions:

 • The Middle East and Africa (South Africa, Saudi Arabia, UAE, Israel, Egypt, etc.)

• North America (United States, Mexico & Canada)

• South America (Brazil, Venezuela, Argentina, Ecuador, Peru, Colombia, etc.)

• Europe (Turkey, Spain, Turkey, Netherlands Denmark, Belgium, Switzerland, Germany, Russia UK, Italy, France, etc.)

• Asia-Pacific (Taiwan, Hong Kong, Singapore, Vietnam, China, Malaysia, Japan, Philippines, Korea, Thailand, India, Indonesia, and Australia).

Objectives of the Report:

•To carefully analyze and forecast the size of the Frozen Spring Roll Market by value and volume.

• To estimate the market shares of major segments of the Frozen Spring Roll Market

• To showcase the development of the Frozen Spring Roll Market in different parts of the world.

• To analyze and study micro-markets in terms of their contributions to the Frozen Spring Roll Market, their prospects, and individual growth trends.

• To offer precise and useful details about factors affecting the growth of the Frozen Spring Roll Market

• To provide a meticulous assessment of crucial business strategies used by leading companies operating in the Frozen Spring Roll Market, which include research and development, collaborations, agreements, partnerships, acquisitions, mergers, new developments, and product launches.

Key questions answered:

• How feasible is Frozen Spring Roll Market for long-term investment?

• What are influencing factors driving the demand for Frozen Spring Roll Market near future?

• What is the impact analysis of various factors in the Global Frozen Spring Roll Market growth?

• What are the recent trends in the regional market and how successful they are?

Buy Frozen Spring Roll Market Research Report @ https://marketstrides.com/buyNow/frozen-spring-roll-market

The market research report on the Global Frozen Spring Roll Market has been thoughtfully compiled by examining a range of factors that influence its growth, including environmental, economic, social, technological, and political conditions across different regions. A detailed analysis of data related to revenue, production, and manufacturers provides a comprehensive view of the global landscape of the Frozen Spring Roll Market. This information will be valuable for both established companies and newcomers, helping them assess the investment opportunities in this growing market.

Region Included are: Global, North America, Europe, APAC, South America, Middle East & Africa, LATAM.

Country Level Break-Up: United States, Canada, Mexico, Brazil, Argentina, Colombia, Chile, South Africa, Nigeria, Tunisia, Morocco, Germany, United Kingdom (UK), the Netherlands, Spain, Italy, Belgium, Austria, Turkey, Russia, France, Poland, Israel, United Arab Emirates, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, China, Japan, Taiwan, South Korea, Singapore, India, Australia and New Zealand etc.

At long last, Frozen Spring Roll Market is a important source of direction for people and companies.

Thanks for reading this article; you can also get region wise report version like Global, North America, Europe, APAC, South America, Middle East & Africa, LAMEA) and Forecasts, 2024-2032

About Us:

Market Strides, a leading strategic market research firm, makes a difference businesses unquestionably explore their strategic challenges, promoting informed decisions for economical development. We give comprehensive syndicated reports and customized consulting services. Our bits of knowledge a clear understanding of the ever-changing dynamics of the global demand-supply gap across various markets.

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Email: sales@marketstrides.com

[gainerstories]

Dispatches: Spring Break

Portland, OR / April 10th / Dorm Room

Hugo awoke from his nap plastered in jizz, chocolate syrup, and ice cream. He was already hard again, his erection comfortably sandwiched between his expansive thighs and ballooning gut. He started jerking absentmindedly but then remembered he had to save his loads for when he was stuffing. He always ate more when he was horny. 

He lurched out of bed, his stomach sloshing with an unholy combination of cafeteria food, Boost VHC, and ice cream. He burped and rubbed his stomach, fingering the four stretch marks around his belly. He was determined to add a fifth and sixth by the time spring break was over and his roommate returned to the dorm. 

After rinsing off in the shower he pulled on a size small T-shirt. Hugo had never fit into a small. His pig brain took one night and he ordered it online whilst fapping. It was the perfect shirt to wear to the grocery store. A solid two, maybe three, inches of belly fat hung free beneath the hem. Some gray sweatpants showed off his half chubbed dick and caked up ass. A denim jacket that could no longer button accentuated his protuberant gut. 

Wobbling to the market on foot Hugo relished the stares his exposed overhang garnered. This was the only exercise he got without any classes. He was at the grocery store nearly every day, racking up charges parents’ credit card. The swoosh of the automatic doors felt like the embrace of an old friend as his eyes lit up at the aisles of food waiting to fatten him up. 

He grabbed a cart and started in the frozen food section. Pizza, chicken wings, pasta, you name it. His criteria when shopping: does it look good and is it fattening. He moved on to ice cream, multiple tubs, and then alcohol. He tended to stick with boxed wine because it was cheap and went down easy. Next was the dairy aisle, his favorite. Butter, whole milk, heavy cream, whipped cream, sour cream, they all made it into his cart. This was usually when people started to stare. 

He knew what he looked like. A young fat white slob whose clothes didn’t even fit him, gorging himself on dairy and junk food outside of his parents’ watchful eyes. People regarded him with shock and disgust, sometimes pity. He relished every moment. 

After a long meander down the snack food aisle and a quick detour through produce just for show, Hugo went to the register. The cashier awkwardly rang up the food while trying not to look at Hugo’s exposed lard, hairy and hanging heavy with stretch marks. The total was nearly two hundred dollars and at that moment he realized he had forgotten his personal cart for the walk home. Hugo was blighted with carrying all of this home by hand, unless…

He pulled out his phone and ordered a rideshare. It was only three blocks, but what was a fat boy supposed to do? Go home empty handed? Or worse, burn all the calories it would take to carry this back himself? 

The rideshare driver regarded Hugo with more disgust than anyone at the grocery store. With the backseat filled with groceries, Hugo sat in the front. He made a show of breathing heavy and scratching at his stretch marks, even burping a couple times on purpose. The driver could barely contain himself when Hugo asked for help unloading the groceries. He still obliged. 

Hugo’s room was dark and dingy, covered in take out containers, smelling of dick. “Fuckin’ pig” the driver muttered under his breath when he first walked in. When they were finished, he looked directly at the soft roll of flesh hanging over Hugo’s elastic pants and said “hit the gym, man.” 

Hugo shut the door and cracked a Boost. 

Read the rest here

[spookysaladchaos]

Global top 13 companies accounted for 66% of Total Frozen Spring Roll market(qyresearch, 2021)

The table below details the Discrete Manufacturing ERP revenue and market share of major players, from 2016 to 2021. The data for 2021 is an estimate, based on the historical figures and the data we interviewed this year.

Major players in the market are identified through secondary research and their market revenues are determined through primary and secondary research. Secondary research includes the research of the annual financial reports of the top companies; while primary research includes extensive interviews of key opinion leaders and industry experts such as experienced front-line staffs, directors, CEOs and marketing executives. The percentage splits, market shares, growth rates and breakdowns of the product markets are determined through secondary sources and verified through the primary sources.

According to the new market research report “Global Discrete Manufacturing ERP Market Report 2023-2029”, published by QYResearch, the global Discrete Manufacturing ERP market size is projected to reach USD 9.78 billion by 2029, at a CAGR of 10.6% during the forecast period.

Figure.   Global Frozen Spring Roll Market Size (US$ Mn), 2018-2029

Figure.   Global Frozen Spring Roll Top 13 Players Ranking and Market Share（Based on data of 2021, Continually updated）

The global key manufacturers of Discrete Manufacturing ERP include Visibility, Global Shop Solutions, SYSPRO, ECi Software Solutions, abas Software AG, IFS AB, QAD Inc, Infor, abas Software AG, ECi Software Solutions, etc. In 2021, the global top five players had a share approximately 66.0% in terms of revenue.

About QYResearch

QYResearch founded in California, USA in 2007.It is a leading global market research and consulting company. With over 16 years’ experience and professional research team in various cities over the world QY Research focuses on management consulting, database and seminar services, IPO consulting, industry chain research and customized research to help our clients in providing non-linear revenue model and make them successful. We are globally recognized for our expansive portfolio of services, good corporate citizenship, and our strong commitment to sustainability. Up to now, we have cooperated with more than 60,000 clients across five continents. Let’s work closely with you and build a bold and better future.

QYResearch is a world-renowned large-scale consulting company. The industry covers various high-tech industry chain market segments, spanning the semiconductor industry chain (semiconductor equipment and parts, semiconductor materials, ICs, Foundry, packaging and testing, discrete devices, sensors, optoelectronic devices), photovoltaic industry chain (equipment, cells, modules, auxiliary material brackets, inverters, power station terminals), new energy automobile industry chain (batteries and materials, auto parts, batteries, motors, electronic control, automotive semiconductors, etc.), communication industry chain (communication system equipment, terminal equipment, electronic components, RF front-end, optical modules, 4G/5G/6G, broadband, IoT, digital economy, AI), advanced materials industry Chain (metal materials, polymer materials, ceramic materials, nano materials, etc.), machinery manufacturing industry chain (CNC machine tools, construction machinery, electrical machinery, 3C automation, industrial robots, lasers, industrial control, drones), food, beverages and pharmaceuticals, medical equipment, agriculture, etc.

[alpinefitco]

Camping and Hiking with Your Dog: Must-Have Pack Items They Don't Tell You About

By Leena Chitnis, Founder Timberdog®

It’s nearly 5 pm on a Friday and you keep glancing anxiously at the clock. The open road and all its adventures beckon, and you’re itching to dash out of work. But before you hit the highway, you swing home to pick up your dog. After all, what’s a road trip without your furry co-pilot hanging her head out the window?

OUT IN THE ELEMENTS

My dog Kashi and I are cold-weather freaks. While some folks may be home sipping on hot chocolate and marshmallows (no shade, I love a good hot chocolate), we’re hiking muddy trails, wading through half-frozen creeks, and searching for a good vantage point for lunch, both our noses running.

As much as I love the invigorating cold, however, I’m not a fan of bedding down in it, and avoid sleeping out in freezing temperatures. But even in the spring, summer, and fall, nighttime temps drop fast and I start to feel the cold creep into my bones. When the sun starts to set, I know it’s critical to begin layering.

STRATEGIC LAYERS

I’m a huge fan of Alpine Fit when it comes to expedition wear. Their products are made in the US, use recycled fibers, are UPF 50+ sun-protective, and resist bacteria and odor as silver is woven into the material. The owner lives in Alaska, as well, so I trust them when they say their products will keep me dry and warm!

As always, I’m a practical, judicious packer, and Alpine Fit’s Rendezvous Ridge Long Sleeve more than earns a place in my rucksack. It’s excellent on its own as a standalone shirt, as it’s wrinkle-resistant and is nicely-fitted without feeling clingy, and works great under layers, as well. I’m most impressed by the thoughtful seam placement which allows you to strap on a backpack without the seams chafing at you, as well as the two body shapes the shirt comes in. Each shape ranges in size from XS to XXL.

The Back Country Base Layer Bottoms, meanwhile, provide a complimenting match. With the same specs as the Rendezvous Ridge Long Sleeve, these athletic, cool-weather leggings go great under ski pants, but I have to admit that I love wearing them as pajama bottoms or even all-day loungewear at home!

For trekking, Alpine Fit’s Bushwhacking Leggings are perfect. They have everything - combining the comfort of leggings and the sturdiness of hiking pants, with interlocking, recycled material which makes them abrasion-resistant. Like everything else made by the company, they’re made to fit two different body types, something I appreciate as it’s hard to find clothes that fit me. I love the large cell phone pocket (my phone’s huge) sewn on the side of the leg, and the thoughtful touch of putting the waistband’s drawstring on the side, so you can tuck it away without creating an unsightly lump right over your tummy. The best part of these pants, though, is that they do a surprisingly good job of not collecting pet hair!

DOG BEDDING AND PACKING FOR KASHI, MY BEST FRIEND

As mentioned before, I’m not a huge fan of sleeping out in freezing temperatures, and occasionally love the carefree ease of three-season car camping. Once my tent is set up, I like to keep my dog’s bedding separate from mine with the RuffRest Ultimate Pet Bed™, by Timberdog®.

The perfect road-tripping, travel, and camping dog bed, RuffRest® has been an integral part of my journeys not only as an outdoorswoman, but as a jet set entrepreneur and avid road-tripper. I invented it because nothing in the market existed that would suit my needs when it came to traveling with my pet. In other words, I needed something substantial for my dog to sleep on when we went places, and those roll-up dog mats were not going to cut it. Neither was the bulky, orthopedic foam dog mattress from home. I needed the Goldilocks middle, which was sleek in a nice hotel room, compact for the trunk of my car, and rugged for camping.

So, I created it.

Part dog bed and part dog travel bag, RuffRest® is the world’s first complete sleep and travel system for dogs and adventure cats. When zipped up, it’s a streamlined, lightweight, and compact pet bed with memory foam for softness, and high-density foam for support. Meanwhile, the corners of the bed have colorful nylon loops, which reflect at night and provide a place to attach carabiners during the day.

The bed opens up like a suitcase to reveal a storage compartment inside, replete with an at-a-glance organizer which can detach and be hung up. Large pockets allow you to compartmentalize your dog’s toys, treats, food, waste bags, wipes, medicines, and more. No more rifling through the dark recesses of old backpacks! Now, everything is visible immediately, and at eye-level, just like the rest of your gear. The best part of the organizer to me, however, is the safety feature: each one comes with a large medical/emergency ID card. This is a critically-important element if you have to leave your pet with friends, the vet, or the kennel.

What people love about RuffRest® is that the whole bed can roll up like a burrito when it’s fully packed for travel. It has a carry handle, but if you don’t like carrying things by hand, it comes with a shoulder strap that also doubles as a handy, reflective leash. In fact, most features on this pet bed have a dual function: the colorful trim around the bed is not just an accent, for example. Its true purpose is a thick zipper hood to keep your pets from chewing on, or being poked by the zippers.

But the pièce de résistance, the feature that makes everyone gasp when I unfurl it from RuffRest®, is the hidden, integrated blanket which converts into a sleeping bag. It’s got something for every dog. For those dogs who don’t like feeling “housed in,” you can keep it as a loose cover over them. But for those pups who like to be extra cozy or who love to burrow, the blanket adheres to the sides of the bed, forming a sleeping bag and cave dog bed. It even has temperature control vents and sealing buttons, so you can adjust the toastiness level for the pickiest of pooches.

I don’t know what I did before the RuffRest®, but now that this invention is a reality, I never leave home without it.

REACHING CAMP

Camping should be a joy. And setting up camp is an artform. Revel Gear's Trail Hound Camping Light is my new favorite campsite addition and makes me feel like an Instagram influencer whenever I set them up! Lightweight at only 1.6 ounces, and using high-efficiency LED lights, the Trail Hound provides an elegant, 30-foot strand of twinkle that will cast a warm and stunning glow over your entire set up. I love being the envy of the campground and having fellow campers walk over to ask me where I got my lights, which come with a dimmer (as well as other modes!) and are waterproof for those soggy days.

The Trail Hound Camping Light is also great when I don’t feel like lugging around flashlights or having to stumble around trying to find them in the dark. When the fire dims down, these lights keep going. It’s a game changer which allows me to extend ghost story hour or having beers and s’mores well into the night. Watch the demo here and buy them - you won’t regret it.

[missguomeiyun]

Dine-in dimsum @ Emperor’s Palace feat. hiking photos

Recently went for a hike near the beginning of the staycation. .. Here are some pictures!

Pic 1

Pic 2

Pic 3

Pic 4

Pic 5

Pic 6

After the hike, we went to Emperor’s Palace for dimsum. I was starving despite having a large breakfast :P This was my 1st dimsum outing since the pandemic. I’ve been wondering what restaurants did with the dimsum carts. On the day we came, which was a Tuesday, they did not have the dimsum carts around. Simply by order form/check box sheet. Bcos I don’t frequent this place often, I don’t know what they did before the pandemic. Pretty sure this was my 2nd dimsum experience here.

Anyway, onto the food~ I managed to take pics of MOST items, so here they are.

The classics - pork dumplings & shrimp dumplings. They were huge! But also they were pricey! The shrimp dumplings were $2/each =/ Yikesssss... ! Is this the market price for shrimp dumplings nowadays???? The dish was $7.95. I liked both but personally liked the shrimp dumplings more. The pork dumplings. .. diff places have their own flavour/ingredients for the filling. I prefer the ones that my mom gets- it’s from a ‘wholesale’ type of place that supplies frozen spring rolls & some dimsum items to dining establishments. I sorta grew up eating those & they’re so good! I think these ones here at Emperor’s lack the fatty pork that I like. I know it’s gross but this one was mostly lean pork so texturally, it’s just not the same. & the flavour isn’t as good - ie: ‘weak’ MSG lol!

Fried taro dumpling & shrimp rice rolls. I didn’t care so much for the taro dumplings. I was never a fan growing up; I’ll eat it but it’s more for the “have a piece of each” type of mentality for variation. The shrimp rolls were alright. Perhaps bcos we came at a slightly after-dimsum hour ~1pm, the rice roll portion felt slightly old (& thus slightly hard). It’s not as soft as it should be.

I ordered this mainly for myself bcos I love curry squid! Such a rip-off bcos there were so few pieces in it. Nvm the appearance, there was just so little quantity. Taste was good though!

Also a rip-off for what.. . almost $13, I think? For 8 VERY small & soup-less Shanghai dumplings, aka xiao long bao. If you didn’t know. .. this particular type of dumplings is known for the burning hot soup that’s inside the bouncy skin dumpling. The insides were dry & no soup. Tbh, I think store-bought frozen dumplings are probably better. The filling was meh & little quantity as well.

Deep fried shrimp wontons. This place is very generous with their shrimps, I tell you! I loved these. The picture speaks for itself - golden exterior & loads of minced + large pieces of shrimp inside.

My FAV: the XO sauce pan-fried daikon cake. This has gotten smaller in size. ... . significantly. This was $13.95 o_O super tasty but. .. really not worth the price.

So that was my 1st dimsum outing experience in over 3 yrs. BYE!

[artnerd1123]

A Familiar World

Threadbare ——————————————-

Some material isn’t made to last long under stress. Unfortunately, you don’t get to choose when it breaks. A lesson those who work with fabric ought to know well. Evangel may be a tailor, but she underestimated how much her familiar could take. Things get more than a little out of hand when seraph has a... rough morning. 

The masterpost for AFW can be found here. The chapter post for AFW can be found here.

——————————————-

yea i don’t have too much to say abt this one, other than hehe hoho character development and feral form shenanigans. there’s not too much body horror going on, but there is a bit of eye horror, so keep that in mind! 

The sky was covered in a thick smog of gray that morning. The cool air of the coming winter had been steadily pushing the clouds’ bleak mask over the usual soft blue. The cliffs, for the first time since spring, had fallen silent. The cobblestone streets were chilly, the breezes biting anyone who ventured out. The whole town was just… quiet. Colorless. Still. A sluggish, hazy dormancy. Not an atmosphere that many enjoyed. … really, it was the cold that bothered Seraph the most. She’d rolled out of bed soon after her mama, tiredness and gravity tugging at her eyelids. The ache of last week’s mistakes and endless errands had coiled itself into a knot in her chest. It felt brittle in the chilly air. Her wings wrapped tiredly around her form. It wasn’t much, but it trapped a little warmth. Tiny chirps of discomfort accompanied her footsteps. The floor felt like ice. But mama needed her to be up. So she was up. The little familiar staggered over to a tiny box of her clothes. A quick rummage around produced a pair of thick socks, a moth eaten sweater, a pair of leggings, and a scrap of fleece for a blanket. It wasn’t a lot. But. Mama hadn’t finished her winter line of clothes yet. She’d promised her a whole new drawer full, and she’d seen the pictures. They all looked lovely. Mama even let her pick the new fabric out. Mama will get to it, she reminded herself, tugging her sweater over her head. She’s been very busy with the shop and minding me, its ok. I’ll be ok. That’s what she hoped, anyway. She’d been so… tired. Seraph wandered into the kitchen when she finished getting dressed. Mama was already sitting at the table, picking forlornly at a bowl of cereal. The sight dropped Seraph’s comfort lower. Mama was sad? Why? What happened? Was mama still mad at her for for being out too long again? Or for forgetting things she’d told her? She felt like she was doing that a lot lately. Or was Mama just... unhappy? Seraph… no, seraph couldn’t have that. Not first thing in the morning. She- she’d fix it. Seraph cleared her throat to announce her appearance. Evangel glanced up at the sound, but nothing changed in her gaze. Her eyes slipped back to her cereal a moment later. Seraph decided to try again. “Morning mama,” she twittered, doing her best to smile and stand up straight. “How are you doing?” Evangel heaved a long sigh, leaning back in her chair. “Awful, doll,” She huffed, “simply awful. I slept like a serf with bedbugs. Yesterday was an ordeal and a half...” “O-oh… I’m sorry, mama,” Seraph replied softly. Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she walked over to Evangel’s chair. She set her hoof on Evangel’s free hand. She had to fix this. “Can… can I do anything…?” “Yes, doll, you can,” Evangel sighed. She took her hand away from Seraph’s hoof, waving absently towards the stairs. “I need you to go check stock.” Seraph felt her shoulders relax a bit. Stock. Yes, she could do that. She could easily do that. And mama would be happy after that, and so she wouldn’t have to worry, and she could get rid of the growing knot in her chest. She’d be a good familiar, she would.   “Right away, mama!” She chirped, turning to go. “Oh, doll, wait. That’s not all,” Evangel broke in. Seraph paused. Another errand? After… after everything she’d been doing these past few days…? “... y… yeah…? What else do you need, mama…?” She asked nervously. “You’ll have to buy some new winter fabrics for me at the market today, and pick up some new cereal. This oat filth is awful,” Evangel huffed. “And you need to go get us some new frozen meals while you’re at it. Everything spoiled again because you left it out too long.” “Y-yes mama, I got it-” “Honestly, I still don’t know how you could be so irresponsible,” Evangel scoffed, shaking her head. Seraph felt the knot in her chest tighten painfully. “I… I’m sorry, mama,” She said meekly. “I didn’t mean it, really.” “Yes, well, you have to do better,” Evangel continued. “I expect more from you. You’re so much better than that. You were doing perfectly a couple weeks ago, and I know you can do well if you try, doll.” “R-right, mama, I-I’m sorry. I’ll try harder, really!” “Apology accepted.” Evangel’s gaze felt as bleak as the gray sky. “I know you will.” She waved a hand at Seraph again, shooing her from the room. “Come back when you’ve finished looking at the stock. I’ve got a few more things I’ll need you to do, too.” “O-ok, I will.”

Walking down the steps, Seraph tried her best to steady herself. The icy knot in her chest felt like barbed wire, scratching at her heart. She needed to be in a better headspace if she was gonna look at stock, or she’d mess something up. But she couldn’t get what mama said out of her head. Her feet thumped heavily on the wooden stairs as the words echoed. You’re so much better than that. Mama was right, of course. She’d been making a lot of mistakes. Maybe it was leftover tiredness from her birthday, or maybe it was trying to get used to more height and longer limbs. Maybe she wasn’t used to doing so many chores. Maybe she needed more rest. She didn’t know. But none of it was an excuse! She’d been doing so much better before. Yes, mama was home the whole time she was out shopping. Yes, mama had put up groceries before. But it was Seraph’s job, because mama was working, and mama couldn’t help with all the things she needed her familiar to do. She- she couldn’t. Mama needed her. And she kept letting her down. What kind of familiar was she? As soon as the thought passed her mind, the pain in her chest spiked. It felt as if she’d spilled boiling water down her front- and it hurt. The little familiar let out a gasp, hoof clutching at her sweater. What was going on??? She bit her lip, leaning against the wall. Did she just need to breathe? She’d try to breathe. The air felt like ice in her throat when she inhaled deeply. It made her cough and wheeze, free hoof scrabbling for her throat. The boiling, scratching heat was spreading from her heart now. It felt like lava under her skin. Tears rose to her eyes, her body starting to shake. What was wrong with her?! She- she needed mama- mama- mAMA-! Seraph couldn’t finish her thought. Her mind gave up on thought as the pain skyrocketed. Somewhere distantly, she felt her legs give out from under her, and send her rolling down the last few steps. The last thing she registered was a tumbling kaleidoscope of pain and fear, the world suddenly shattering into a thousand little pieces.

Evangel glanced up sharply from her cereal when something thumped heavily down the steps. Confusion flashed across her face- what had seraph dropped now?- but it didn’t have long to take root. After all, the thumping was nothing compared to the shrieking that pierced the air moments later. She squealed indignantly, spoon flying from her hand as she tried not to fall face first out of her chair. What in Revaew’s good world was going on down there?! Had seraph somehow let in a hoard of seagulls?! With the amount of mistakes and foolishness she’d had to put up with lately, this was just the icing on the cake. Face reddening, she sputtered indignantly, gathering up her skirts to stomp down the steps. It was about time her familiar got a stern talking to. The shrieking continued, albeit more viciously, as she headed downstairs. “Seraph Sanyi, you stop that this instant!” she huffed, heels clacking dangerously on the steps. “I don’t know what you’ve let in here, but I suggest you let it out, or I’ll- I-I’ll-” All Evangel’s irritation drained as quickly as it appeared. She stood with one foot still on the steps, fistfuls of her skirts held in a grip tight enough to whiten her knuckles. Her face was just as pale, just as tense. The shrieking was less of a scream now. More of a slow hiss. But that’s not what stopped her cold. No, that honor belonged to the thing in front of her. It was hunched over in the center of the room, ripped fabric and torn clothing scattered about. The thing must’ve been around the size of a coyote- and it looked just as wild. Dozens of eyes- black, with silver slit pupils- peered from its exposed skin. They rolled and blinked unnaturally, nearly making the observer sick. Six wings flared protectively from its back, feathers of pearl, flax, and lavender gleaming eerily in the dim morning light. A halo floated low above its head. Its golden light was almost blinding to look at directly. As Evangel watched, a deep, guttural growl bubbled from its form. She would’ve recoiled in horror as the thing started to move, all of its many black eyes snapping to her, but she found her feet glued to the floor. She couldn’t do more than tremble as razor sharp claws scraped against the wood planks, the stark golden glow shining harshly against her skin. Wild wool shrouded a darkened face, a gaping maw glimmering wetly with rows on rows of sharpened teeth. She wished that were the end of it. But... its eyes… Silver. Pure silver. Glowing dimmer than the halo, but enough to tell the stark difference of slitted, pitch black pupils. And they were staring right at her. At her. The sorceress only had a moment of budding snarls before it flapped its wings and pounced. Evangel let out a shriek to rival the creature’s, diving out of the way. It managed to dig its claws into her skirt, snarling and screeching viciously. She screamed louder, tugging with such force that the prized silk tore into shreds. She gasped in utter horror- her dress was ruined- ruined!- nearly forgetting the creature was there. Its snarls reminded her, and she rushed frantically for the door. She slammed into it with enough force to ring the bell, clawing desperately at the handle as the creature yowled and screamed behind her. She managed to get it open just in time. When she slammed it shut, a clattering thunk accompanied a flurry of feathers and eyes and clawed hooves. Evangel could hear the creature screeching in fury. She didn’t care- couldn’t care- she just shoved the key in the lock, barring the door through tears that spilled from her eyes. She could feel the hot wetness streaming down her cheeks as she stumbled down the street. Her mind was absolutely reeling- and oh, everyone out here was staring at her- this really couldn’t get any worse- her poor dress- her makeup was ruined- and her shop- oh, the mess- What was that?! Who was that?! How had it gotten into her shop- and where was- She paused in realization, sniffling miserably. … where was seraph? ... Wait a minute. Wool? Hooves? Wings? Feathers? The halo… even the dark mask on the creature’s face… Slowly, the sorceress glanced over her shoulder. What in the name of satin silk skirts had gotten ahold of her familiar? … … there was only one person she could think to ask now. Her eyes searched the street, falling on the sign of the little music shop. Sadie Mellokomp. The lady that kept her little doll out much too late. Away from her. Though loathful bile clawed at the back of her throat, she swallowed it back down. No matter how much she despised it, Sadie likely knew more about seraph than she did. She’d need that woman if she were to figure out what just happened. ~~~

Talking with the woman was… an ordeal. Evangel supposed it could’ve gone worse. Sadie was sympathetic. Not so much about her dress- did she not know how much time and labor this would take to repair?!- but she felt bad about what happened to seraph. Because- apparently- that thing in the shop was seraph. Careful questioning revealed that familiars had something called a feral form. Her parents had neglected to inform her of its existence. If a familiar got too stressed and too overwhelmed, their entire body would warp into something awful. Evangel could feel the woman carefully sizing her up the whole conversation. She let tears spill over any time her gaze got too close for her liking- she hated people staring at her, and she especially didn’t like being accused of things. But what if she was being a bad originator? Perish the thought! She couldn’t be! She made seraph clothes, she gave her sweets for dessert, she let her see the sirens and sleep in on weekends and was making her a whole new wardrobe! Seraph must’ve had something going on that she didn’t tell her about! Evangel blubbered long enough for Sadie to give her some stiff- if a little flat- comfort. Eventually, she pulled herself together enough to think about heading back. The woman told her that feral forms were triggered by too much stress. Too much work. Evangel supposed she had been pushing seraph a little hard. If this was what happened from piling on all those chores, she supposed she might ease up some. At least enough to figure out how to keep that under control. … first, though… she’d need to handle her wayward familiar. 

~~~

Evangel stood before the door to her shop once again. Her hand shook like a leaf, bringing fleeting memories of the day she moved here. Behind her, she could feel countless eyes on her back. They clawed at her tattered dress, her runny makeup, her unkempt hair- she shut her eyes for a moment, trying to breathe. She’d deal with this horror later. For now, she just… had to take care of her familiar problem. That would be easy enough. Seraph loved her, after all.

The door opened with a click and a creak, shedding dim cloudy light on a fabric littered floor. The pure carnage of ruined clothes was enough to choke up the door’s occupant. Oh, all her work… and her designs… she nearly sobbed on the spot. Of course, the pale golden light grazing the walls put a stop to that

The creature was crouched just under the back counter, wings shifting in agitation. Its blackened eyes roamed all over the room, unable to gaze at any one thing. Destroying the mounds of soft fabric felt good. But only for a little. The tension in its chest was replaced with a dull ache. Some part of it said it shouldn’t have done that. But why? What… what even… happened? Its body felt… wrong. Too bright. Too big. Too many limbs. Too… sharp. It shook its head gently, claws digging through wool to scrabble at deep purple skin. It had been desperate. Desperate to get… something. Attention? A word? A… a touch? Its thoughts had plenty of time to turn in circles, but came to a screeching halt the moment the door creaked open. Its body tensed, wings flaring up on instinct. Something made the door move. Someone. Made the door open. Someone was here. A low, menacing hiss rumbled from its throat. Nobody was allowed near it. Not now. Not ever. Its claws dug into the counter’s side as it snaked up top. Its lips were drawn back in a furious snarl, ears pressed firmly against its skull. Though many eyes continued their mindless wandering, quire a few fixed on the new light pouring in. A figure stood in the doorway. The shape seemed tantalizingly familiar. But something about them was… wrong. Cold. Icy. Unmoving. Unsmiling. Unhappy, unable to please, to do right, to do anything- The creature clawed at itself again, shrieking softly. Shut up shut up shut up shut up- Wings shuffling about, obscuring its view, it almost didn’t catch the figure moving. But move they did, and it made the creature screech in warning. The figure’s answering cry made its chest churn uncomfortably- wrong wrong- and it curled in on itself. It spread its wings wide, trying to make itself as large as possible. Leave leave go away, stay away, stay away- Suddenly, the figure spoke. “Seraph, is… is that you?” … seraph. Seraph. The name was… did it know that name? Its threatening growls wavered in confusion. The name seemed to fit, but… how did the figure know that? Familiar, wrong, stay away stay away- “Oh, sweetheart… it’s ok… mama’s here…” Mama? The word tumbled around strangely in its mind, freezing its body in place. Mama. Mama mama mama. Its slitted eyes grazed over the figure, bewildered. Yes, that… wait… did that fit? Mama… She… nngh- The creature’s wings caved in on itself, their threat display unsustainable with the turmoil in its mind. It wrapped itself in feathers, shrieking softly in distress. Seraph- yes- mama- yes- no?- who- who is- but- safe?- wrong- wrong wrong wrong- “... seraph… I…” The creature crooned painfully. “I’m sorry.” The words ground the creature’s mind to a halt. Silence fell in the shop. Neither of its occupants did more than breathe. Eventually, the glow of the creature’s halo seemed to dim a little. Feathers shifted slightly. Silver eyes peeked from behind them. Searching. Hurting. Confused. The figure returned its gaze steadily, carefully spreading their arms in invitation. “I’m sorry, doll. I didn’t realize you were feeling this bad.” Sorry, sorry… “Won’t you come to mama now?” Ma... m… ev… evan… gel…? “I promise I’ll help make everything better.” Suddenly, everything came rushing back.

Evangel watched as her familiar’s form bucked and heaved, curling up smaller and smaller in the blinding light of her halo until all that remained was the small creature she knew. The tension left her shoulders immediately, a sigh escaping her lips. Good, it worked. She didn’t know what she would’ve tried if it didn’t. She didn’t want to go drag that woman- Sadie- down to do a job she should’ve been able to. This was her familiar. She was handling things just fine. Of course, the situation wasn’t over yet. She did not want a repeat of that… episode. Evangel crossed the room quickly, scooping up her familiar in her arms. Seraph clung to her weakly. As the little one twittered apologies and confused questions, she simply hushed her, promising rest and sweets. A story, too, if she wanted. No need to worry about the absolutely dreadful mess the familiar made- not now, anyway. Evangel would clean it- blegh, how awful- and let the little one rest. It would be ok. She was here. Anything to keep her doll quiet and content while she figured this out. … she just needed to keep this from happening again.

~~~

In the corner of the bedroom, Seraph lay curled up in fleece blankets. Normally, she wouldn’t have these. Normally, she contented herself with swatches of comfy fabric scraps. But today… was not normal. Today… she didn’t know what happened. Trying to remember was all a blur. Tumbling down the stairs, agonizing pain, and suddenly a glimpse of a figure in the doorway, whispering apologies and sweet nothings. She’d been bundled away upstairs, into where she was now. Given softness and a few of her favorite cookies. Promises were made about rest and who would share the chores. It all felt… strange. Good, but strange. Maybe she’s getting better, a voice whispered in the back of her head. She shifted a little, pulling back fleece to peek at the door. She could hear her originator speaking downstairs. The rasp of bristles on wood said she was cleaning. Cleaning up her mess. She’d seen the tears in her originator’s best dress. Seen the shreds of fabric of her finest work scattered all over the woodwork. Felt the horror bubbling up in her chest even as she was reassured it would all be ok. Seraph let the blankets fall back over her head. She knows what happened. She’s not mad at me. She’s… she’s letting me rest. She’s taking care of me. She said she was sorry. She said she’d make it better. Seraph took a shaky breath, letting her eyes drift shut. She would rest. Just like she was told. And… the warmth… the cookies… the gentle tones of her originator’s voice… She loved her. She did. She really, really did. So… it would be ok. Yes, it would be ok. … but the familiar made herself a promise, anyway.

Evangel will take care of me. She loves me. I love her too. I’m here to help. I’m not here to hurt. I will never, ever let this happen again.

[foodiemarketer]

Top Best Places to buy Frozen Momos Online in 2021

The world consumption of food particularly frozen momos has continued to grow on a daily basis and now a day’s people demand a lot.

With hectic schedules and busy lifestyles, most families choose to cut down on preparation time when it comes to meals and go for quick-fix dinner options. This has brought about the immense popularity of frozen foods, which ensures that there is always something to eat at home and on top of this, freezing leftover meals can actually prevent wastage of food too.

Don’t you just love frozen momos? There’s nothing more convenient than throwing something into the microwave for two or three minutes, taking it out, and having everything you could possibly need in a little snack or a meal. I’m a big fan of frozen momos myself and love to eat these as they save me both time and money. So without taking your much time let’s start and check what are the good option available in the market for frozen momos. 1. Fat Tiger — Frozen Momos

Fat Tiger brand has launched their new category in Momos that is “Frozen momos” Fat Tiger momos are created from a secret and closely guarded authentic “Sikkimese Recipe” thereby giving you the “AUTHENTIC MOMO EXPERIENCE”.

Their momos contain no added MSG and contain zero preservatives. Furthermore, they are prepared from the finest and the most premium ingredients, Each Fat Tiger momos is encased in an authentic handmade “Tibetian Wrap” and are finished using the age-old “secret traditional recipe”. These yummy, extra-juicy, and mouth-watering treats are very easy to prepare and full of succulent flavor.

Fat Tiger momos also have the “largest fillings” (twice compared to any Momo’s available) thereby giving you the maximum “bang for your buck”. Fat Tiger Frozen momos can be steamed, pan-fried, deep-fried, and microwaved and are ready to eat in 3 minutes.

You can easily buy Fat Tiger Frozen Momos — www.fattigerfrozenmomos.com

2. Prasuma

Prasuma Momos offer bite-sized packets of joy filled with fresh meat and vegetables so that everyone can enjoy this delicious Momo at home. Their Momos are fully cooked and ready to heat and serve out of the pack or be prepared to your liking. The best thing that I like about Prasuma is the packaging, they have nice packaging with good print and style but if we taste the prasuma momos they are not up to the mark. I personally changed my mind whenever I think to eat frozen momos from Prasuma and I don’t know why they are compromising with the taste.

If I talk about the ingredients of Prasuma Veg Momos then they claim they are made up of premium ingredients and no preservatives, each Prasuma Momo is crafted with thin wrappers that allow for a larger filling-to-wrapper ratio, these bite-sized treats are full of flavor and easy to prepare. It can be microwaved, pan-fried, steamed, or deep-fried and ready to eat in as little as 2 minutes. You can easily buy Prasuma Frozen Momos — www.prasuma.com

3. Momo King

Momo King is also the perfect destination for foodies who want to find a real taste of Himalayan momo. Just experience the spirit of Himalayan hospitality at their restaurants. Furnished in warm wood, they incorporate traditional design elements to give you that authentic Asian feel. They welcome everyone who walks through outdoor, and their staff will do their best to accommodate all your needs.

Some of their most beloved dishes include Kothey Momo, Steamed Momo, Jhol Momo, Sandheko Momo, Choila Momo, Hakka Noodles, Vegan Momo, Gluten-Free Momo, Whole Wheat Momo, Thukpa Momo, Malaysian Laksa Momo, Chow Chow, Nepali Fried Rice, Schezwan Noodles, Rice & Noodles, Meal Boxes, and Dessert. Trust me that’s too much, still, if you want to try something new and different then you can try Momo King. You can easily buy Momo King Frozen Momos — www.themomoking.com

4. Boring Foods

Boring Foods creates gourmet frozen food that is tasty, preservative-free, & easy to cook. Now one can spend less time in the kitchen & more time enjoying life. Bring our Delicious ready-to-cook food home now for that not ‘so’ boring experience.

They don’t only deal in momo but they also serve samosa and spring rolls. I have not tasted this brand so don’t want to give any extra comments about this brand. Meanwhile you peeps can also share your insight about this brand in the comment section.

You can easily buy Boring Foods — www.boringfoods.in

5. Amazon

Yes, I am mentioning Amazon too where you can see a lot of options related to Frozen food and if you really confused with the other brands then you can directly visit Amazon and go with the flow and try something new.

Recommendation

So by checking all these frozen momos brands personally, I’d really want to give thumbs up to the Fat Tiger Frozen momos, they are literally amazing and perfect, they claim that their momos are the juiciest in the town and when you eat you will feel this. IF you want to try their momos just visit Fattigerfrozenmomos.com and get 15% off on your first order, just use code “FIRSTUSER”

Do try their momos and let me know your feedback in the comment section, I’d love to know your views about this post.

[slothgiirl]

shadowplay part 13

You wake up first. And shower, belly grumbling. Maybe you should've gotten up to eat last night. But it would've taken an hour to make you look descent. And you had your pride. 

Though you doubted Miles could keep anything to himself close as the men all seemed to be. 

You don oversized adobe red linen overalls, which you were sure was a charity shop purchase. You'd never pay retail price for . No way. But every now and then you thought you might just be a person who could pull of the whole country girl aesthetic. 

It never lasted. 

You were much more comfortable in well tailored trousers and blouses, but when in rome. 

Grabbing a cup of water, you go through the food Breanna had thoughtfully brought with her. Gluten-free granola. Gluten free flax muffins. An assortment of vegetables and fruit worthy of a farmers market. Three frozen pizzas, and enough beer for a couple of english lads. Plus some wine. You opt for the muffin. 

"Hey," Breana smiles as she grabs a banana and pours herself a cup of granola, "you're up."

"Yeah," you shrug, smiling. 

"That's perfect. You want to go on this trail with me. I brought my camera and I'm going to put it to good use. There's these like, pools. I think they're hotsprings but no promises," she explains, tearing off chunks of banana and popping them into her mouth. 

It's only eight in the morning but she already looks ready for a photoshoot. A photoshoot for some environmentally friendly indie brand, but all the same. 

"That sounds really nice," you reply, "and honestly without all the walking in London I don't actually exercise." Just commuting was enough exercise for the day. And all those stairs leading to the underground. You'd get fat driving around the city all day. Or would it be ubering since you couldn't drive? You'd have to learn to drive. Uber was expensive. 

"Yeah I bet," Breana says, "I keep telling myself I'll start going to the gym but honestly I just watch a youtube video for yoga and call it a day."

"That's more exercise than I do."

You follow Breana out the door, taking a trail clearly marked out, flattened earth from use, your shoes kicking up a bit of dirt and coating your trainers within minutes. Even with the sun high in the sky, the tall trees, disappearing beyond what your eye could see. The smell of crisp pine and evergreens filled the air, so much better than the stale London air. It's not a hard trail by any means, closer to a walk through a park than a hike. There's an slight incline that makes your thighs burn. 

Breana tells you about the camera she'd just bought, "iphone pictures just aren't the same," as she plays with the light settings. She explains how hard it is to find a house in the LA area, wanting something near good food and cute shops but , "like mom and pop places," she laughs, "but it's like I also want to feel safe even if I go out at five in the morning on a run. Not that I've ever gone on a run. Like La Puente." 

But Matt didn't like how out of the way La Puente was from the places in LA he liked. 

"And La Puente is," you ask. 

You didn't know much about LA other than Hollywood and the iconic landmarks that featured in all the movies even if you couldn't name them all. You were sure that's how people felt about London. Tourists obviously wouldn't know Kensington from Greenwich, or how to get there. About as lost as you were about La Puente. 

"Where I grew up," Breana explains. "I still love it there. My grandparent's are also still there so it's just another reason I want to live there. I just got these curlers from my grandma but I don't think they worked," she runs her fingers through pin-straight hair. "Or maybe I just needed more hair spray?"

"I've no clue," you tell her, "I've only ever had curly, well not curls that terrible frizzy in between hair."

"What about you, where did you grow up?"

"A tiny town south of Birmingham." Odds were people had at least heard of Birmingham. No one had heard of your tiny little town outside of Birmingham. She nods, halting as you come across a pile of rocks, just the right size to climb on, basking in the morning light. 

Breana hands you her camera and gets up on the rocks, "take them from waist level so I look taller," she states, posing with grace. Anytime you tried to pose for pictures, you only looked way too forced and bad. "You live in London though, right?"

You take a couple of pictures, crouching down but then not liking those very much at all. "Yeah, better tailoring apprenticeships. I really wanted to work on Saville Row. Where all the greats worked like Lee Alexander McQueen." Not that you had anywhere near his talent. 

"And you do now right," Breana notes, sliding down off the rocks and immediately coming over to look over the photos. "Gonna be the next McQueen?"

"Nooo," you reply. "I like being a tailor. And living in London. I'm going to buy a house there soon. Also I could always submit my CV and become a petit mains in Paris." 

She waves you in front of her, camera held in front of her face as you roll your eyes, but let her have her fun. Not like these pictures would be published ever. Still, you were suddenly all too aware of every step you were taking. "Why don't you just move in with Alex," she comments. Which makes it all sound so easy. 

Except-

"I've been wanting a place of my own for a while now, " you reply, "before I'd even met Alex. And I still do."

She grins, "cause you're a strong independent women who don't need no man!" 

You laugh, stopping as she catches up to you. You both walk forward, as the path narrows, forcing you to walk single filed as the dirt transitions to stone, to stone steps as a pool of steaming water emerges out of the forest like a fairy tale. 

"Up for skinny dipping," Breana asks, with a wink. 

You shrug. "When in rome." And follow her forward. 

When you both finally make it back, finally drag yourselves out of the hot pool. . .hot spring, and walk back at a meandering pace, you're greeted with the sight of Matt watching a football match and smacking Zack's arm as he heckles the hell out of the TV, which was understandable when it was 0-0 and the last few minutes of the game. 

Alex and Miles were on the other settee, standing up on it, each with a guitar in hard, singing little ditties based on Zack's latest comment, backs against each other. Breana rolled her eyes, immediately going for the bottle of wine, pouring out two mugs filled to the brim. 

Miles is the first to spot the both of you, "Breeeeeee," he croons, nodding a hello at you, "and just as we were about to start up a drinking game!" He takes a seat on the armrest, watching with glee as Zack steals the control from Matt and starts flipping through the channels.

She shakes her head, taking a seat on Matt's lap. "You could make a drinking game out of anything.""

I can and I have," Miles agrees, reaching for the bottle of tequila laying on the coffee table along with a couple of shot glasses from various Vegas casinos, already pouring out the shots.

Zack, settling on one of the Mission Impossible films, asks, "even Mission Impossible?" 

"I feel like there'll be one of those bingo cards for it online," Breana says, sipping at her wine. 

You take a seat next to Alex, smiling as you sip at your wine. "I'd be surprised if there wasn't. Seems like the sort of movie that'd be easy to drink along to."

"Or," Miles grins, "we could just drink every time Tom Cruise shows up on screen."

"Miles," Breana cries, almost choking on her drink. 

"You bloody wanker," Matt shakes his head, "going to give us alcohol poisoning."

"Life's short," the man shrugs, "y.o.l.o or whatever."

Zack pulls up a bingo card for Mission impossible. 

And you all settle in to get really fucked up. Hoping you won't be too far gone to fuck Alex again. 

[izaswritings]

Title: Faults of the Mind

Synopsis:  Having escaped the perils of the Dark Kingdom, Rapunzel finally returns home—but all is not well in the Kingdom of Corona, and the black rocks are quickly becoming the least of her troubles. Meanwhile, over a thousand miles away, Varian struggles with new powers and his own conscience.

The labyrinth has fallen into rubble. A great evil stirs in the world beyond. The Dark Kingdom may be behind them, but the true journey is just beginning—and neither Rapunzel nor Varian can survive it on their own.

Warnings for: blood, violence, and death (NOT any of main characters), injury, some cursing, references to past character injuries, PTSD symptoms and the lingering effects of trauma. If there’s anything you think I missed, please let me know and I’ll add it on here.

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AO3 version is here.

Arc I: Labyrinths of the Heart can be found here!

Previous chapters are here.

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Chapter III: The Puppet

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As the stranger danced to silence, the Sun opened her mouth and began to sing.

It was a song unlike any other, a melody created on a whim for this lovely woman and her lonely dance. For a single moment the song hung in the wind as the woman twirled upon the seas; for a single moment they were in harmony, and all the world held its breath at the sight.

Then the stranger realized what had happened, and froze upon the raging waters. At last, for the first time, she saw the Sun. Her dance stilled; the song, too, fell silent. In an instant their eyes met.

The Sun reacted first, an apology rising to her lips—but it was too late. The stranger, frightened by her audience and her heart moved by the beautiful song she had so briefly witnessed, was overwhelmed and fled. The Sun reached out and cried for the stranger to stop, but already the woman had vanished away into the dark, gone as if she had never been.

And so it was that the beautiful Sun met the lovely Moon, and chased her away…

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For the second time in under a day, Varian makes his way through the fields back to Port Caul.

It’s early, still, and the whole world reflects it: dew and frost weighing heavy on the long grass of the fields, the sky bright with the pale colors of sunrise. The clouds above, wispy and thin, are lined with a delicate gold; the breeze still carries the heavy chill of the midnight ice. Despite the misty night, the ground is frozen solid from frost. With each step, the iced greenery crunches underneath his worn boots.

Still struggling to wake up, Varian pulls the collar of his coat closer and shivers. The fields outside of Port Caul are endless and sprawling, and in the light of the rising dawn, near breathtaking. The far-off silhouette of the city is gilded by the sunrise, the blue buildings shining soft with a pearly glow in the creeping dawn. Despite the bite of cold and the frosted edges, there is something soft about it all—a winter tempered by coming spring, ice thawed to a chill, something brisk and fresh and clean.

It doesn’t make it any less fucking cold, though.

They must make quite a sight, the two of them, to any strangers who see them: the woman, Yasmin, older and stern, with short dark curls and a confident stride—and a boy, Varian himself, tripping behind her, ragged and worn and trying desperately to keep up.

“How much farther?”

To say Varian is exhausted is a gross understatement. He is bone-cold tired. Numb to the world. A walking dead in the making. His late night has done him no favors, and this long walk back through the twists and turns of Port Caul’s farmlands drains what little remaining energy he has. His mouth is dry and sickly, his head stuffed with cotton, his limbs heavy and shaking with fever chills. The winter sun burns down on the back of his neck, the sunshine bright and as piercing as ice. Before him the wide expanse of the world unfurls at his feet, the fields of the Port Caul countryside near infinite to his eyes. Every time he looks to the horizon, to that distant shadow of the city proper, he feels even more tired than before.

Farther ahead, Yasmin walks with sure strides, making a confident pace through the overgrown paths. Despite her age and small size, she is damnably spry. Varian, still lagging behind despite all his best efforts, squints blankly in the sun and hurries to keep up. It’s ridiculous. He’s barely a head shorter than her, so how does she keep getting so far ahead?

“Hello?” he tries, when she doesn’t answer right away. The exhaustion frays his already thin temper; his fatigue makes him bold. “…Are you ignoring me?” he asks, and frowns as he says it. He’s not sure whether to be annoyed at that or not.

Yasmin, still a few paces ahead, heaves a very pointed and visible sigh.

“We’ve been walking for hours,” Varian points out, refusing to be cowed. He’s tired, she’s a jerk, and he does not care about what she thinks of him. Not at all. Nope. He’ll be as rude and spiteful as he wants to be, damn it. “Seriously, how much farther?”

Yasmin gives another heavy sigh. “Until we reach the city.”

“…Seriously?”

“What, was that not funny? I thought moody teenagers were all about sarcasm.” Yasmin stamps the ground with her foot, crushing stray grasses flat. She doesn’t even bother looking back at him. “We will get there when we get there, boy, now stop asking and start walking. Bah, these roads are awful…”

Varian gives the distant horizon a desperate look. It is so far. “Why couldn’t we take a cart?”

“Because I do not own one, clearly.” Yasmin shakes her head. “Walking is good for you.”

“You sound like Adira.”

“Vexing though she may be at times, she is, unfortunately, also often right.” Yasmin pinches at the brow of her nose. “…We will reach the city in another half-hour or so, if we make good pace. May you cease pestering me now?”

Considering the fact they’ve already been walking for about two hours, Varian thinks he deserves to be put-out by that—but he bites back the rude comment rising on his tongue before it can slip free, and takes a moment to breathe. She’s awful, but he’s better than this—or, well, he’s trying to be—so Varian settles for a dark scowl at her back, instead.

Still. He is so bored with walking. He turns his scowl to the ground and kicks a pebble on the road with all his might, smacking it with all the anger and force he can muster. The pebble rolls three measly times and then gets caught in the grass. It’s barely moved an inch.

Typical.

Varian scowls harder.

He misses Ruddiger. He wishes he’d thought to run up and wake the raccoon before he left, but the rapid exit and Yasmin’s swiftly retreating figure had panicked him, and he hadn’t realized he’d left alone until they were already ten minutes down the road. Now Varian is stuck here with a stranger he doesn’t know and doesn’t like—with no raccoon to keep him company.

The day has only just started, and Varian is already certain it’s going to be a miserable one.

Which sucks, because it’s looking to be a lovely day—not a glimpse of clouds on the horizon, a day so blinding and bright it nearly hurts to look at. The sheer shine of the morning is so intense he almost expects a summer heat to match it, but in contrast the wind blows cold, bitingly numb against his exposed face. The grasses sway and bend in the breeze, the fields awash in dark green and winter blue, frost scalding the pebbled wagon road.

In any other circumstance, probably, the view would be beautiful. But Varian’s head is aching and his eyes are sore from lack of sleep, and so instead of appreciating the sight he rubs his bare hands together and shoves them in his sleeves, and thinks only of how goddamn grateful he is that he didn’t forget his coat, too, along with his raccoon.

“Chin up, boy,” says Yasmin, at his silence. “We will be there before you know it.”

Varian directs his bleary frown to her back.  Easy for her to say. She barely looks bothered by the cold at all—is it that she’s used to it, Varian wonders, or is it that she’s just pretending to be unaffected to annoy him more? He… really wouldn’t put it past her.

Still, though, Varian knows better to speak those thoughts out loud. “Why are we even going to the market?” he asks, instead, curious despite himself. “And why do I have to be there?”

Yasmin doesn’t answer right away. Like Varian, she is dressed for the cold, in a long trench coat buttoned up to her neck and a heavy dress lined with fur; she tucks her hands in her sleeves and takes a moment to fuss over the fabric. “That is a rather layered question. I am not sure where to start. Let us say… Adira has somehow convinced me to help. Doubtless this is not what she meant, but she is paying me to do my job, not to listen to her. My help takes many forms. For Adira, it is information. For you?” She shrugs. “Market.”

“I don’t need help,” Varian snaps.

“Nonsense child. Who on earth taught you that silly lie? Everyone needs help. Do not take it personally—I still do not like you. This is not pity, or whatever your knotted mind has conspired. This is simply what I do. If it helps, you may consider my help as part of my job to you.”

…Varian doesn’t even know where to begin responding to that. “That’s…” He throws up his hands. “That doesn’t make sense! What even is your job?”

He gets another side-eye for that one. Yasmin scowls at him, her eyebrows drawn low and twisted. “…Let me guess. Adira did not mention that either?”

He stares at her. “No.” Obviously.

“Bah, of course she didn’t. Why do I bother?” Yasmin slows a bit, letting Varian catch up, and glances down at him. “I am… I am not sure how to explain this. I suppose I am something of a dealer of information, and of rare goods. I know many things, and can find a great many more things, and for the right prices I can be encouraged to share them.”

Varian frowns at her, mind whirling. “Like, an information broker? Or a spy?”

“Hm. You make it sound so ill-advised. But yes, both, that is about right.”

“…Isn’t that illegal?”

Yasmin blinks at him, slow and deliberate. “Yes,” she says. “But so says the wanted criminal.”

Varian turns red, and for a moment he thinks to argue—it’s not like he actively chose to become a criminal���except, well, maybe, yes he had, but…

He gives up. There’s nothing he can truly say against that, though he thinks he is starting to understand Yasmin a little better now. He doesn’t know much about spies or information dealers, just that they exist, but he imagines they tend to be pretty secretive. And if Varian really is a known wanted criminal to the rest of the world…

He turns his head away, not wanting to follow that train of thought any longer. “Is Ella, too—?”

“No.” Yasmin’s voice is curt and cold, shutting down the question before he can finish. “Ella is… she is not involved in my work, though she knows of it. She is a singer, actually. Perfectly legal.” For the first time, something of a smile touches her lips. “My dear wife can hold quite the tune.”

Well, okay. But something she’s said stands out to him. Varian frowns. “How do you know Adira, then?”

“Boy, for Moon’s sake. You have traveled with her for months. What about that woman makes you think she cares one lick for legality?”

Varian briefly flashes back to the last six months. Jumping carts, breaking into caravans, sneaking into cities guarded by soldiers who weren’t convinced by Adira’s sheer force of authority… yeah, no, stupid question. “Is that how you met her? Breaking the law?”

Yasmin snorts. “Nothing so grand. I met Adira through other circumstances.”

“What other circumstances?”

“Tsk. Question after question with you, isn’t it? Yet rarely any answers in return. This is why I despise scientists.” She rolls back her arm, an absent-minded stretch. “It is none of your business, frankly.”

His head drops. “I was just curious,” Varian mumbles, and at his side, his fists clench. He feels a little shamed. It probably was too rude a question, but—this is more than Adira has ever told him. For all of Yasmin’s prickly answers, they are answers.

Yasmin is quiet for a long moment. Then she mutters something, the words too low for Varian to catch, and raises her voice for him to hear. “We were… Adira and I came from a similar place, you could say. Running from the same thing. I always thought her plans foolish, but… well. What are friends for, if not to encourage foolish ideas?” Yasmin glances away. “Though I am beginning to regret that. I have been too accommodating, I think. But that is how I know her. I find her whatever strange item or legend she needs, and in return she keeps me updated on the comings-and-goings of whatever country she’s tromped through this time.”

“Oh.” Varian’s mind whirls, putting together the slim pieces he’d eavesdropped from Adira’s conversation with Yasmin just last night. Their talk of a kingdom… Adira’s frustration. Yasmin, her voice low, to Adira: The kingdom died twenty years ago for me and Ella, though I see for you the death is recent.

He’d known Adira was from the Dark Kingdom—it wasn’t exactly hard to guess, what with that stupid symbol on her hand and all—but for the first time, Varian looks at Yasmin and tries to imagine her there too. Yasmin, and Ella, and their little house in the fields… he thinks of the labyrinth, and the ruins he and Rapunzel found in the depths, and still cannot fathom it. Even for someone as prickly as Yasmin or Adira, it’s hard to picture anyone once calling such a desolate place home.

Unaware of his thoughts, Yasmin’s voice lowers to a mutter. “Of course, this arrangement works much better when she bothers to stay in touch. A little head’s up, a small warning, hello, Yasmin, sorry for the year-long absence, just letting you know I am not dead, and also I am forever grateful for your friendship and the many favors you do for me—” She cuts herself off and clicks her tongue. “Ah, never mind. But that is how it goes. In the end you are just another odd job she has thrown my way.”

Varian hums, distant, and the conversation drops into silence. He lowers his eyes and watches his feet, step after step after step. It’s easier than looking at the horizon. The sheer distance to the city is just starting to depress him.

“…That reminds me, actually,” Yasmin says, apropos of nothing. “I forgot to ask her, and Adira did not mention it—did she say anything to you about a flute, boy?”

Varian looks up, his face scrunching in confusion. “Um… what?”

“A flute.” Yasmin gestures, miming an object far longer than any instrument has a right to be. “Grand old thing, carved from amber, looks quite pretty in sunlight? Lovely music, curved a bit like a hook, so big it is frankly ridiculous? Loaded with religious importance? Took me months to find and secure? Yes? No?”

Varian stares at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he admits.

Yasmin’s lips thin. “I see.”

There is a beat of silence.

“If that woman has left my priceless religious artifact in that goddamn kingdom, I am going to strangle her with her sash,” says Yasmin, thoughtfully, and then she turns back around and marches on down the road without another word.

Varian hurries to catch up. Despite himself, and despite the wariness Yasmin still inspires, he finds his lips almost twitching in a smile, a vague sense of relief. It’s good to know he’s not the only one Adira drives bonkers.

…He’s probably being a bit unfair to her, Varian thinks, with sudden flash of guilt. Adira isn’t that bad. She… she has helped him, in a way. Maybe not the way Varian wanted, or the way he expected, but she has. She’s tried to teach him fighting. She’s kept him clothed and fed and moving in these past six months. He thinks he should maybe thank her, at least for that. As frustrated as he is, Varian is—here. He’s here.

That simple fact means more, now, than it ever did before. After the labyrinth, Varian hadn’t… he hadn’t known what to do. Where to go. What next, or where to now, or even if he wanted that. He’d been free, but he’d been lost, too—and maybe Adira hasn’t given him the direction he wanted, but she has at least gotten him moving.

Varian’s smile fades at this thought. He looks down at his feet, throat suddenly tight. He remembers the way he snapped at Adira, barely a day ago, and squeezes his eyes shut. A headache pulses behind his temple. He—he should apologize, probably. Maybe. He doesn’t think he can, now, but maybe later… maybe if she apologizes first…

His thoughts drift. The wind picks up, a chill striking through him. Varian shivers under the layers of his coat and yawns into his elbow. He feels tired, worn, too aware for the exhaustion dragging at his bones—like the wind itself is all eyes, watching and waiting, boring into the back of his skull.

One step, then another, then again. The wind howls in his ears. The shadows stretch and warp in the sunlight. His heartbeat feels very loud, all of a sudden—like the droning thud of the drums of war, pounding like marching feet against his skull.

All at once, a sudden dread overcomes him. A chill that strikes down to his bones. Each step sends his stomach plummeting. His ears ring. He feels as if ice has been dumped down his back, and his breathing has gone shallow. His heartbeat is rapid-fire, faster than a bird’s.

Don’t go.

He steps toward the city. He moves through the fields. He walks.

Don’t go there.

His mouth is dry. His vision swims. With each step, his heart beats out of tune. Varian looks up in the direction of Port Caul, and thinks, for one blinding moment of clarity: You don’t want to be here.

“Are you alright?”

He startles, near-jumping out of his skin. Yasmin is frowning at him. She stands silhouetted against the sunrise, the shadows cast long and deep across her face. Her brow is furrowed. She is looking down at his right hand.

Varian follows her gaze. His hand is—he’s holding it, he realizes, he’s gripping it tight in a vice, his thumb digging into the soft flesh of his palm as if to burrow beneath the skin. It hurts. It hurts with a dull, solid ache, like pressing on a bruise.

As soon as he realizes this, Varian snaps his hand away. His veins feel tight and cold, stone under his skin. He blinks fast. “W-what?”

“Does your hand hurt?” Yasmin almost looks concerned, in her own irritated way. “This is the second time I have seen you do that. Is that why you cannot sleep?’

“That’s—I—I don’t know.” He hadn’t even realized he was doing it. Varian hunches under the attention, and hides his hand behind his back. But even as he does it, his skin crawls, his right palm itching terribly. He has to fight not to claw at his skin. “How did you—wait, why does it matter if I can’t sleep?”

In the distance, the city looms closer than before—they are practically upon the city gates. The wall towers over him, a cold shadow, and beside them a horse and cart rumbles by through the wrought iron gates. The road, beneath his feet, has turned from soft crushed grass to actual paved stone. Varian’s head spins. How long had he blanked out for?

Yasmin scans him up and down, her brow knotted. “That is why we are here, of course,” she says, at last, looking a little reluctant at the shift in subject. “You said to me this morning you have issues with sleep, and I have little remedies for such in my house… so to the market we go.” Her lips press—but then she seems to let it go, shaking her head with a weary breath. “Well. If not an injury, then what is it? Can you not fall asleep, or is it that you cannot stay asleep?”

Varian scowls at the dirt path and stubbornly does not think of dark hallways and darker rooms, the moonlight streaming through the window. “Why does it matter?”

“I have agreed to help you, but I cannot help if I do not know what is wrong.” Yasmin is scowling, but it is a distant thing, not directed at him. She looks vaguely frustrated. “I do not like you, I have made no secret of it; you dislike me too, and you have made no secret of that, either. This is fine. We do not have to like each other. But I have tried to be honest with you, thus far—so please, do me the favor of being honest with me.”

She is frank, she is annoying, she is a bladed voice and angry words—but she has told him more in one conversation than Adira has in months. And it is this honesty that makes Varian duck his head, but it is this truth that finally makes him admit it: for all that he dislikes her, Varian is terrified of the idea of continuing to face the dark alone.

Still. It is so hard to admit it, to put voice to the fears inside him. His words come out a teeth-clenched whisper. “It’s—it’s just—” He doesn’t know how to say it. “It’s just too dark.”

It’s shameful, almost. Childish, certainly. Varian is afraid of many things, but the dark, oddly, has never been one of them. He has always felt so secure in the science of the world that the monsters of myth had been dismissed as easy as breathing. And he still feels that certainty. He still feels utterly secure in the fact there is nothing in the closet, nothing under the bed. It’s just—

It’s just too dark, now.

It’s just too much.

“I see,” Yasmin says. Her voice is quiet too. Another cart rumbles by them, the creak of the wheels almost deafening in the silence. The murmur of voices and the rasp of the sea breeze drifts in from the city gates. Varian looks away from Yasmin and up at the gate, and shivers in the shadow. The whisper comes back to him again. Turn back. Go away. It’s not safe here.

“I see,” Yasmin repeats, and her voice breaks Varian from the spell. “Well then. Just to be sure—you are an alchemist, yes?”

Varian lifts his head, blinking echoes from his eyes. “U-um, yeah.”

“I do not own any alchemical equipment, but I have enough bobbles to get you by, I think, if you choose your ingredients wisely.” She turns to the gates and Varian follows, reluctant, as she pushes through the iron doors. “Come along, boy. In the end it may do little, but if darkness is your issue… then I recommend building yourself a light.”

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Eugene leaves the castle that night.

His reasoning is simple: there’s no real reason to delay. Eugene has no desire to draw out this parting any longer than he has to. With his goodbyes to Rapunzel said and her letter weighing heavy in his vest pocket, Eugene returns to his allotted rooms and picks up the travel bags he hadn’t even bothered to unpack. He doesn’t know how long he’ll be gone, but it’s best to be prepared.

That isn’t to say he rushes, oh no—Eugene takes his sweet time. It’s almost like planning a heist, in that way. The devil is always in the details, and Eugene considers details to be the most important step. Missing one crucial item in a theft can be deadly, and in a way, well… this isn’t all that different.

The preparations take him the rest of the day. In the hours following his talk with Rapunzel, Eugene repacks his bags and prepares to leave the castle behind. He chooses new clothes, picks up fresher food, slips in a few items he thinks will serve as a welcome gift for Lance. He finds the daggers he’d stashed away when he first moved in and hides away the finer cloths that would get him mugged five feet out from the castle walls. He has a job to do, after all—and for all that Eugene isn’t the most serious individual, he is most certainly a professional. Either he does this right, or he does this not at all… and doing nothing is no longer an option.

By sunset, he’s all ready to go. Eugene hides his belongings in one of the castle’s many nooks and crannies, goes to bother Maximus in his own silent way of saying goodbye—and, when the daylight has faded and the shadows cover his path, slips inside the guard barracks and goes to find Cassandra.

He finds her in her room, thankfully—he’s not sure he could sneak by her new post in the dungeons without being caught, and he definitely doesn’t want to deal with that kind of drama right now. But his luck is holding true: he’s managed, from the sounds of things, to catch her right before she heads off for her post. Her door is half-open, the lock unlatched, and Eugene knocks on the wood frame with one hand as he toes the door open.

The room is as empty as his was; the evidence of an eight months absence. It’s cleaner than he’s ever seen it, no stray weapons lying about or anything, and her bed is made so well the cover corners look sharp enough to cut. For all that Cassandra served as a palace maid, and took her duties seriously, her own rooms are usually where she throws all tidiness out the window. This, more than the shadows under her eyes, tells Eugene all he needs to know. Apparently Rapunzel isn’t the only one with insomnia today. Cassandra probably hasn’t slept one wink since they got back yesterday morning.  

She looks it, too. He’s caught her in the middle of preparing for her shift, armor half-on and hair an absolute bird nest. She’s always been pale, but today the pallor is almost ghastly, the shadows of her eyes rivaling even Varian’s. There’s a new scab on her lower lip, a wound never quite healed: she’s bit her lip hard enough to bleed.

Cassandra glances over at the open door, helmet in one hand like she’s trying to decide whether it’s worth trying to pry it over her bush of curls. It takes her a moment to realize he’s there, but as soon as she realizes her face twists in a scowl. Her glare is practically automatic, but whatever sting it might have held is dulled by the bloodless pall of her face.

“What do you want, Fitzherbert?”

Bad mood, then. The last name thing is always an indicator. Eugene’s lips thin. He’s not upset. He can’t even blame her. She looks…

She looks how he feels, really. What a mess. “Long day?”

Cassandra gives him a dirty look for that. Eugene winces. “Yeah, okay. Too soon?”

She throws the helmet on her bed, looking about to snap… and then sighs, her shoulders slumping. Her eyes squeeze shut. In the darkening sunset light streaming through her narrow window, the shadows under her eyes seem bright as bruises. “Sorry.”

Eugene snorts and leans back against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s fine. You realize I’ve dealt with your prickly temper before, right?”

Cassandra rolls her eyes. “Oh, ha-ha.” She rubs at her face and turns away, sitting down hard on the bed. “Still, sorry. I’m not… I just…” She shakes her head, her teeth gritting.

Eugene can only imagine. Demoted to prison duty, after once having been the top detail of the future Queen? It’s more than a slap on the wrist—it’s a bona fide royal punishment, and it’s going to give her a bad rep, too. And that would be bad enough, perhaps, but that she’s being punished because of the situation with Varian…?

Yeah. Yeah, no. There’s no good ending to that story.

They haven’t talked about Varian, really. They’ve barely said his name at all these past few months, beyond the whys and hows of his disappearance after the labyrinth. There is an understanding between all three of them—a looming fight that Eugene can almost taste in the air whenever the topic is broached, and all three of them have been ignoring the problem of Varian entirely rather than risk the argument it might spike. So while Eugene can’t say he knows how Cassandra feels about Varian… well.

He has a pretty good guess that it’s nothing good.

He doesn’t blame her; some days, Eugene feels much the same himself. His nightmares have come and gone these past few months, ebbing and rising like a tide, but though most are filled with dark stone and the knife-like smile of a terrible god, some are older still. A campfire, halfway burning. Arrows in firelight. The way Rapunzel fell back, the sound of her skull snapping against the stone, and most awful of all: that brief, terrible moment when he thought she’d never get up again.

He knows Cassandra dreams of much the same.

“It’s a bad situation,” Eugene settles on, finally. “As expected.”

“Being right about it doesn’t make it better, Eugene.”

“Uh, yeah, no. Yep. Bullseye on that.”  He sags his weight against the doorway, heaving a sigh so heavy it makes his body sink with the sound. He rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, by gods, I sure didn’t miss this. Politics! Hah!”

The briefest hint of a smile curls at Cassandra’s mouth, almost reluctant. “Oh? And here I thought you liked the idea of being king.”

“Yeeeeeah, about that. Sneaky.” He points a warning finger at her. King, hah. It’d been Lance who’d finally told him how succession worked in Corona. Rapunzel gets crowned Queen—and Eugene, marrying into the family, would not be a king, but rather a Prince Consort. Which is a fine fancy title in its own right, but still. “When were you going to tell me that isn’t how it works?”

“When it was funny.”

“Oh-hoh! Fuck you.”

That pale smile flickers to a true grin. Eugene leans back against the door again, pleased with his work. “But seriously,” he says, humor fading to sincerity. “Things may seem like a shitshow now, but… It’ll blow over. Eventually.”

The grin fades. Cassandra looks away. “Sure.”

“Still sucks, though.”

She exhales hard, pointedly. “Eugene. Why are you here?”

This time it’s Eugene who looks away. He taps his fingers against his arm, the uneven rhythm of a bar song that’s been stuck in his head since winter began. His lips press in a thin line. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, then pushes up against the doorway, bracing himself.

Well. No more stalling it, he supposes.

“I’m leaving.”

He senses rather than sees Cassandra go still. “...What?”

“I didn’t come here to get lectured,” he warns her, straightening up, finally meeting her eyes. She looks as furious as he expected. “I already told Blondie. I’m heading out tonight. If you need to get in touch, the Snuggly Duckling is your best bet.” He hesitates, then exhales heavy through his teeth. “Look, I—I get it. I know what you’re going to say. But I’ve been thinking about this for a while. I… I need to do this.”

“We just got back.” Cassandra’s voice is low. “Just got back, and with things as they are— and I can’t even see her— and you’re leaving her alone?”

“I can’t help her here.” Eugene tries to keep the words even, accusation-free, but he can’t quite keep the coldness out of his voice. He knows this already. He knows, and it's already eating at him, and he doesn’t need Cassandra digging in the knife. “I can’t— I won’t sit here and be useless.” Not again, he thinks, but he bites that part off behind his teeth.

Cassandra scowls at the ground. Her expression has turned dark.

Eugene looks away too, hating the knot in his gut. He rubs at his chin and sighs, leaning back heavy against the doorframe. “Besides,” he says, finally, trying to keep his voice light. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that whole ‘no-contact’ clause part of the punishment. This is Rapunzel we’re talking about. I’d bet good money she’ll find a way to break out of that room and into here in about… oh, three days. Tops.”

“She shouldn’t.”

“Well. It’s Rapunzel.”

Cassandra hums at that, tuneless. She still isn’t meeting his eyes.

Eugene holds back another sigh and shakes his head, dipping one hand in his pocket. “...I didn’t just come to say goodbye, either.” He draws Rapunzel’s letter from his vest, holding it out. “For you.”

She goes to take it, but Eugene pulls it back out of reach. “Cass, before you read it—”

She glares at him.

“You don’t have to do this,” Eugene says, undeterred. “Not if you don’t want to. I know how much this job means to you.”

Something in the tone of his voice must get through, because her hand stills. She’s quiet for a long moment.

“…Will it help?”

He’s not sure how to answer that. “It’s something.”

“Then yes.” Cassandra meets his gaze, her expression tense. “I want to help.”

He thins his lips, but hands it over. He’s not sure what to make of the look on her face—the odd pinch to her eyes. Cassandra takes the missive warily, breaking the seal and scanning the page within seconds. Eugene watches her face, trying to put a name to what he sees there.

Cassandra’s expression doesn’t even twitch. After reading, she folds the letter carefully and lays it flat on her lap. With one hand, she rubs the corner of the parchment between her fingers, her eyes dark in thought.

“You understand, don’t you?” Eugene says finally. His voice is quiet. His eyes unwavering. A flash of clarity has struck him. “Standing aside, watching everything happen… I never want to be there again.”

At long last, Cassandra looks at him. She doesn’t move, but in this moment, he can finally read her. In this, he knows for sure. The labyrinth has left its mark on all of them, in its own way—and for the two of them, it has left the same scar. It has united them in the horror of being left behind and helpless.

Cassandra’s eyes drop. The anger has faded from her face—now, she just seems tired. “...I’ll look out for her.”

“She doesn’t need it, I think. But thanks. I hate the idea of leaving her alone.” Eugene straightens, waves one hand in a mocking salute. “Good luck,” he says, gentling into something genuine. “Cass.”

She meets his gaze again. A smile twitches at the corner of her mouth, and this time, it’s almost real. “You too, Eugene.”

Eugene gives a winning smile back and slips out the room without another word—no need to make this sappy, after all. He closes the door soundlessly behind him, and feels something almost like pleased. The conversation didn’t quite go as he wanted—but he thinks it was a success regardless.

He sticks his hands in his pockets and slips back in the comfort of the shadows.

It is child’s play to get back outdoors undetected. He picks up his bag from the hiding spot and slip it over his shoulder, tilting back his head in the night air. He’s got a long walk ahead of him—a long few weeks to go—and he takes one last second for himself, to settle, to be sure. Taking one last moment to breathe.

Oh, gods. Is he really going to do this?

He looks up behind him, one last look at Rapunzel’s tower room. The window is dark, all the lights gone out. But he can still see the silhouette of a figure on the balcony, the flickering shine of golden hair swept up in a breeze.

He lifts his hand, wondering, a quiet wave. He thinks he sees the figure wave back.

He already misses her. But Eugene turns away from the castle regardless. He slips by those castle gate guards without any issue at all, and just like that: there he is, on the road once again.

His heart is tight, but Eugene manages a smile anyway. Rapunzel will be okay. Cassandra, whatever she decides, will be there for her regardless. They have things handled here—and Eugene’s place, for now, is elsewhere.

He’s got work to do.

It takes him an hour to leave the city behind. By the time he reaches the woods it’s gone completely dark outside. The woods are all shadow at this time of dusk, foreboding and eerie, but Eugene palms his dagger and continues on without worry. Even without a sure light, the moon and stars are bright above him—and he’s always been an old hand at sneaking in the dark.

He walks for most of the night, well on to midnight. The time makes no difference, however—even at this hour, he can hear the Snuggly Duckling before he sees it. Laughter, and roaring music, and then distant light through the trees. Eugene shades his eyes against the startling shine and has to physically bite back a grin when he hears the singing. Oh-hoh, he knows that voice.

He rushes to reach the doors before it’s too late, moving fast as the song and music begin to reach its finale. He makes it just in time.

Eugene throws open the door just as Lance finishes a truly impressive solo, and lifts a hand to his ears with no time to spare. “Good gods, men!” he says, as loudly as he can. “I came here to get a drink—but who let a banshee in this place?”

The music stops. Someone’s cup drops and rolls. The Snuggly Duckling falls into a hushed and reverent silence, and Lance falls off the table.

Eugene stares at the stunned room of thugs. The stunned room of thugs stares back.

“...Surprise?”

Lance’s head pops up from the floor. “Eugene!” he shouts, delightedly, and tackles him in a hug.

Like Lance’s word was the stone to break the glass, the whole bar erupts into noise.

“Hey!”

“It’s Fitz!”

“Welcome back!”

“Where the hell have you been, you slippery bastard?”

Lance spins him around, cackling loudly. Eugene yelps, arms suddenly pinned, torn between laughing and hissing at him. “Hey, hey, hey—!”

“You’re back!” Lance drops him on his feet, beaming fit to burst. He looks—he looks good, Eugene realizes, and it makes some secret weight on his heart lift. It’s just been bad news after bad news for so long, that he’d worried… but Lance is here, his smile wide and true, and he looks happier than Eugene has seen him in a long time. He’s dressed in a new outfit, a snazzy black vest with a red cotton undershirt, a new piercing in his left ear. There’s a glow to him, a veil of health that speaks of regular meals and good care. In contrast to the gloom that haunted the castle, Lance’s presence lights up the room. His hand on Eugene’s shoulder is warm. “Long time no see, Eugene.”

“We’ve gone longer,” Eugene says, an automatic answer, but inside, he agrees whole-heartedly. It has been—too long. Far too long. His returning smile is helplessly fond. He is so glad to see Lance. “How are things?”

“Oh, booming,” Lance says, and he says it casual, but there’s a smile on his face that Eugene knows well— that beaming pride, curdled warm, but this time there’s something softer to the edge of it. “It’s, uh—going really well, actually. I meant to say in the letters, but—well, I got the bar!” He gestures to the Snuggly Duckling. “The whole lot of it.”

“Done good work too!” one man yells, and the tavern shakes with the ensuing roar of agreement. Lance laughs again, looking touched. Eugene looks around at the sea of bright and drink-rosy faces, the warm lanternlight and crackling fire of Lance’s Snuggly Duckling, and grins back.

“Lance!” he says, punching his shoulder. “Buddy! That’s wonderful!”

“It’s been a journey,” Lance says, trying for humble, but there’s a brightness to the words, a disbelieving joy that hasn’t quite faded. “I’ll tell you later. What about you, eh? It’s been ages since your last response!”

Eugene’s smile flickers. Lance immediately pauses. “Oh—”

“You’re never going to believe this, Strongbow, old buddy, old pal.” Eugene slings his arm around him, cutting off the inquiry before the rest of the bar can catch onto the shift in mood. “The number of things I saw across the sea, good man, I could fill a book!”

Lance blinks, rapidly, and for a moment his face is terrifyingly blank—and then his eyes go wide in realization. Thank gods. It’s been awhile since they used that code, but the memory of childhood bonding over Flynn Rider books reigns eternal even now.

Lance slings an arm around his shoulders and grips him in a one-armed hug. “Then I, Strongbow, shall most definitely help you write it!” The word-for-word quoted response. Then Lance winks, and the next bit is all him. “After a drink, of course.”

“Of course,” Eugene echoes, wryly, and manages to grin back.

Lance pushes him through the bar, somehow keeping Eugene from the crowd without making it suspicious, laughing and cheering and chattering like it’s a normal Tuesday. Before Eugene even knows what’s happened, he finds himself in a back room of the tavern, drink in hand and Lance sitting across the table, the room as quiet as any rooms in the Snuggly Duckling can get.

“This is as private as I can give you,” Lance says, sitting back in his chair. His smile is bright as ever. His voice, warm as Eugene remembers. But there is a tightness around his eyes, a worry Eugene reads clear as day, and when Lance leans in, he is as serious as he ever gets. “Okay, buddy. Spill. What happened? And how can I help?”

This is why Eugene came here. This is why Eugene needed to leave. Because he’s good. He’s really good. But he’s always been better with someone at his back—and he’s at his best with Lance by his side.

Gods, he’s missed him.

Eugene drinks deep from his flask, sets down the empty cup, and prepares to tell Lance everything.

.

“What do you need?”

The sun is high in the bright blue sky, and the Port Caul market in full unbridled swing. Stalls line the main city road, stretching on from the docks to the shopping district, their owners shouting wares from across the street. Vegetables, cheeses, smoked meats and cloth and flowers and trinkets—everywhere Varian turns, there is something new to see, some new dizzying sight to catch his eye. He’d thought the crowd from yesterday had been intimidating, but this one puts it to shame. The sheer amount of people and goods makes his head spin. This is nothing like the market in Old Corona—this is more like the capital than anything, or even the science fair. The amount of people out and about for a daily market is mind-blowing.

“Child, eyes on me.” Yasmin snaps her fingers in front of his face. Varian looks to her reluctantly, fighting the urge to keep gaping at his surroundings. “What do you need?”

“What?” Varian asks, too dazed to follow her questions. His eyes drift to the market again.

Yasmin frowns down at him. “Keep up, boy. For a light. What do you need?”

Oh. Varian blinks fast, thoughts muddled by the market, his own exhaustion, and the constant dread that is stillbeating away at the edge of his mind. He says the first thing he can think of. “Matches?”

Yasmin stares at him. Varian slowly flushes, scrambling to get his thoughts in order—nope, nothing. He tries again. “…Fire?”

“That was not a trick question. I meant—a more permanent light, a manufactured one. A nightlight. Something to help keep the dark at bay without being too bright to wake you.” Yasmin rubs at her forehead. “What do you need to make something like that?”

“Oh.” Well, that makes much more sense. Varian blinks hard, rubbing at his eyes, trying to get his thoughts in order. He feels like he’s wading in molasses, an exhaustion that drags at his thoughts and eyelids. A permanent light… something he could hold, maybe. Something bright enough to let him know he isn’t in the dark but quiet enough not to keep him awake. A soft glow. Unwavering…

“A vial, maybe?” Varian murmurs. “No, glass, breakable, bad idea. Stone… too opaque. Gem, too expensive—”

“Crystal?”

Varian blinks, startled from his thoughts. Yasmin is frowning again, but not at him—just off to the side, looking lost in thought. “Would that work?”

“I…” His mind whirls, thoughts tangling. “If it could hold something—was hollow inside—I think so? I need a space to put in the materials, and then I gotta seal it up after, so—”

“Yes, yes, let me handle that—I am not completely bereft of supplies. I am sure Ella has a jewelry clasp somewhere. We will figure something out.” Yasmin tilts her head. “What would you need to make the light?”

He lists ingredients in his head, remembers the likely lack of equipment, and shoves aside all but a few. Lists down his fingers. “Let’s see… um, distilled water, definitely. Probably some sodium carbonate, luminol… ammonium carbonate, copper sulfate pentahydrate… maybe some 3 percent hydrogen peroxide, or would just using zinc sulfide work better?” He frowns at his hands. “I should probably test that, the zinc sulfide might be too weak to last, but the other mixture might—”

Varian cuts himself off, his hand dropping. At once he realizes he’s been rambling. He flushes, his confidence faltering. There in the market cheer he feels abruptly out of place, too obvious, too seen. His skin crawls. He swallows hard. “Um. But I… I don’t think I’ll find all that here, it’s—”

“Do not worry,” Yasmin says, surprising him silent. She looks almost bemused by his sudden bit of word vomit. “Port Caul markets sell many things— and things like that for rather cheap. You would be surprised at how many children like to play at alchemy.”

Varian splutters. “It’s not playing—”

Yasmin has already turned away. Her coat flaps at her heels as she strides deeper in the market crowd. “Hurry along, boy. Let us go! I haven’t got all morning.”

Varian yelps and rushes to keep up.

It must be market day, he thinks; the place is busier than it was yesterday, and the crowd is nearly dizzying. People shouting, people selling, laughter high and bright in the frozen winter air. They’ve arrived early enough that the sun’s rising warmth hasn’t thawed the streets yet—the cobble roads are slick with frost and sea-spray salt, the wind brisk against his skin, the breeze as sharp as knives.

Varian tugs up his borrowed coat collar and follows Yasmin best he can, tripping in his too-big boots even with his layered number of socks. In contrast to Varian’s hesitation, Yasmin maneuvers the market like a king in court, eyes sharp and scanning, seeing all the market has to offer and dismissing it just as quickly.

“This way,” she says after a minute, and tugs Varian to the side, near a small stall off the corner. The covered wagon has a table with a velvet cloth, small glittering gems and jewels shining on the dark red fabric. The man minding the stall is tall and round, and when he sees Yasmin approaching he sits up with a smile.

“Yasmin! Been awhile. How’s it been?”

“Lovely, Marin, thank you. Have you any crystals?”

The man hums. “All sorts. What are you looking for?”

Yasmin puts a hand on her hip and turns to Varian. He stares back, blank, then jumps when the man looks at him too. “O-oh. Um.” Their eyes make his skin crawl. Yasmin has already recognized him for what he is. What if this man, too—? “A, a hollow… hollow center. If you have that. And, um… clear would be—be best—”

“Of course.” The man’s interruption is kind, his smile unsuspecting. He leans down and rummages at his feet, the clink of precious stones in the air. “I’ve a few like that. Take your pick.”

Varian surveys the offered collection of crystals, ranging in sizes from small to unwieldy, and finally selects one near the middle—not the cleanest cut, but a nice size, fitting well in his palm. It has a hollowed center like a shallow shot glass, the opening just barely big enough for a finger. Hopefully easy to seal closed, once he’s made the light. “T-this one’s fine.”

“Great. That’ll be five gold crowns, then.”

Varian freezes, color draining from his face. Five gold crowns? He doesn’t even have copper. Oh, gods, he’s forgotten money was a thing that existed again. “I—uh, I—”

“I have it.” Yasmin sets the gold down with a sharp click, the coins stacked in a perfect tower. “Take care of yourself, Marin.” To Varian: “Come along. Next stop.”

“Come back if you need any more!” the shopkeeper calls. “I’ll have a lot more next week, if those trading ships finally make it to harbor!”

“I will think about it!” Yasmin is walking away, but Varian doesn’t move, and after a moment she glances back at him, eyebrows raised. “Hello? What is wrong. Why are you not moving.”

He stares down at the ground, eyes burning. “I didn’t ask you to pay for me.”

Yasmin tilts her head. “I am the one helping you, and this is my idea. I would not make you pay for it. In a roundabout way, I am being paid to help you. There is no loss here.”

“I—”

He can’t find the words, the anger rootless, his frustration smarting. He is sick of feeling helpless, of feeling like a drain; he hasn’t asked to be taken care of, to be treated like a child. But he doesn’t yet know how to put it into words, and all he can do is glower at the ground and seethe.

Yasmin considers him. Something in the hard lines of her face softens.

“…Come here.”

He goes reluctantly, stepping out of earshot from the shopkeeper. Yasmin places a hand on his shoulder, steering him away, and when she speaks, her voice is not softer but somehow gentler. “Listen. I do not know what brought you here, nor do I care. But you are here. And it is clear to me that you need help.” She looks down at him. “Boy, you do not need to like me. I still do not like you. But I am not here to hurt you, or slight you, or whatever it is you think I am doing. My dislike does not mean I cannot do you a kindness.”

Varian doesn’t answer. Yasmin draws her hand away. “If it bothers you so deeply, you can plan to pay me back in your own time. But for now—can you accept this?”

He looks down. The anger, rising, turns ashy on his tongue, cold and empty. “…Okay.”

He sounds tuneless even to himself. In the back of his mind, the dread hums like a lightning strike. Turn back. Go home. It’s not safe here.

He swallows back the anxiety and shuts his eyes tight. He hears Yasmin exhale, soft and tired.

“Chin up, boy,” she says, half-way to gentle. “I am sure you will like this next part. Come along.”

Varian, doubtful, sets his jaw and bravely follows after her.

She leads him further into the market, closer to the docks. The scent of salt and sea fills his nose. The crowd is a little thinner here, easier to navigate, and the sudden breathing room helps unwind some of the tension from his shoulders. He tilts his head in the breeze and breathes deep.

It’s the smell that hits him first. The burning hiss, the sudden bitterness on his tongue like ash—

His eyes snap open. He sees it almost at once.

The small wooden stall. The bright pink banner. The small jars, the neat little labels. The smell in the air, even in this crowded and clustered market place, a sour snap like citric acid, like the tang of metal—

He knows the stall even before he sees the sign. This—this is an alchemy store.

Varian races ahead, pushing past Yasmin and nearly running right into the stall. It has been so, so long since Varian has seen alchemy, even longer since he’s done it properly. The road isn’t appropriate for intensive experiments, and Adira never willing to buy materials, and Varian never quite confident enough to ask for them. After six months of nearly nothing, the sight of the stall is enough to make his eyes prick with tears.

Even the memory of his last alchemy experiment can’t bring down his mood. In the labyrinth, this skill was the one thing that brought Varian some comfort. Some denial of fate, some way to fight. Through alchemy, Varian found a chance to breathe. Through alchemy, Varian defeated Moon’s golem.

And now, this alchemy stall—the sight of those elements, neatly bottled, the equipment, newly shined—it makes his vision blur. Varian’s smile nearly splits his face in half. He puts his hand on the table and leans up, beaming at the shopkeeper, a woman with a heavy afro pulled back in a bun and a no-nonsense alchemical smock. “Is this all yours!?”

“Every bottle of it.” The shopkeeper puts down a vial, a latest experiment of some sort. Her gloves, heavy and dark and made of solid stitched leather, make Varian’s own now-bare hands itch with envy. “Why, you interested?”

“Yes.”

She grins. “Well, then. Nice to see someone who appreciates the art! What are you looking for?”

“Something for a light, if you have got it.” Yasmin walks up from behind him, sounding bemused. “What was it? Zinc sulfate?”

“Sulfide,” Varian corrects, automatic. “Zinc sulfide, and also some distilled water, and I was thinking maybe…”

He lists the ingredients off from memory, counting them off his fingers to be sure he doesn’t forget any. “…and some 3 percent hydrogen peroxide, if you have any?”

“Easy enough.” The woman tugs off her gloves, nodding thoughtfully. “How much of each?”

Varian does quick math in his head—some extra needed if things go wrong, enough to make two batches if things go right—and rattles off the amounts in grams. The shopkeeper hums when he finishes, looking vaguely impressed. “Can do. It’ll be a blue-ish light, in the end—should last you a couple months before you’ll have to remake it.”

Varian abruptly pales. The shopkeeper blinks. “Is something wrong?”

Blue, Varian thinks numbly. Blue light. Right. He hadn’t thought of that. He struggles to answer. “Um—I—that is—”

Yasmin touches at his shoulder. Varian looks up at her, but Yasmin is speaking to the shopkeeper instead when she says, “Is it possible to change the color of the light?”

Something like pride smarts in his chest.

“Of course,” says the shopkeeper. “Easy,” Varian scoffs, pointedly, at the same exact time.

There is a beat of silence. Yasmin rolls her eyes. “Scientists,” she says, disgusted. “Would you need an ingredient for that?”

“Alchemists,” Varian corrects, annoyed, and then blinks as the rest of her words sink in. Oh, right. He turns back to the shopkeeper. “Do you have any pigments?”

“I have all the pigments. Could even mix a few powders, but you’ll have to be exact on the color if so.”

Varian bites his lip, considering. Yasmin looks down at him. “It need not be a difficult discussion,” she says. “The intended use already removes a few options. White, too bright; black, destroys the purpose of having a light at all. Red would be… garish, I think. Sort of bloody. Hmm. What about orange?”

He makes a face, unable to help it. Orange has never been his favorite color, and after the amber… “No.”

“Tsk. Green? Violet?”

Violet is too close to blue; green reminds him of the automatons beneath the castle, and what he did with them. Varian shakes his head.

“…Yellow?”

Golden shine and searing heat, the numbness broken apart by a light that burned as bright as a sun—

Some of his thoughts must show on his face. Yasmin stops herself before Varian can even think to interrupt. “Not yellow, either. Hmph.” She considers, cupping her chin in one hand. “…What about pink?”

Pink. Varian considers it. It’s a pale color, and a soft color, like they wanted. If he makes the glow very quiet it won’t hurt his eyes at all. And pink… there is nothing he associates with the color, no light-based trauma to invite nightmares. Pink is sunrise and sunset, soft flowers in spring fields. It’s a color that reminds him of happy things.

“…Pink would work.”

“Pink it is.”

The shopkeeper nods. “I’ll wrap it up.”

They get the ingredients wrapped in small paper bags, and as Yasmin counts out money for the cost Varian shuffles through the wrapped ingredients with a giddiness he’d almost forgotten. He feels renewed, refreshed, the ever-present exhaustion dulled by a joy that could almost burst out of him.

He tucks the packets away in the satchel and tilts his head into the wind with a soft sigh. His smile is a small thing, barely there—quiet and thin, hidden in the light of the winter sun. The market moves around him, warm and whispering. The noonday sun is melting the frost.

And it is then, in this moment, as the crowd swells silent and the market murmurs soft—that is when the screaming starts.

.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Cassandra closes her wardrobe hard, hearing the weapons knock around inside. It is three days after their return to Corona, and Cassandra’s patience is nearing its limit. Outside of her window, the setting sun burns gold at their backs, casting a long shadow across Cassandra’s entire room. “Yes, Raps. I already said I was.”

“I know. I just—”

“You worry. I know.” Cassandra takes a breath, holds back a sigh. She’s not annoyed. She’s not. She’s just—

Gods, she wishes Rapunzel could just let it go.

It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate the gesture—to be honest, she’s fully expected this. Of course Rapunzel would come to check in on her, especially after the last few days. Eugene’s skipped out of the castle with a plan he hasn’t even told Cassandra about, Rapunzel has been avoiding her parents best she can, and Cassandra—

Cassandra is right back where she started.

She supposes it could be worse; the king could strip her of the guard title entirely. Being demoted to the dungeons, being forced to avoid Rapunzel… these things aren’t good by any stretch of imagination, but as far as limitations go, they aren’t so bad. Take this, for example—for all of the King’s grandiose orders, here Rapunzel is, only three days later having already discovered a path through the tunnels that leads right to Cassandra’s quarters.

It could be worse, Cassandra thinks, and ignores the way it feels like she’s trying to convince herself. It could be worse.

“I just… I want to be sure.”

Cassandra turns, straightening up in full as she pulls on the last piece of armor, strapping her arm guard in place. Clunky, bronze, degraded, demoted. She misses the golden shine of the armor for Royal Guards. “And I’m telling you exactly what I told Eugene. It’s fine. There’s obviously something wrong, and—and you need my help. And if what you overheard was true…”

It’s the reason for Rapunzel’s visit, after all. Cassandra had woken up to sunset, blearily about to get ready for yet another awful night shift—only to find the resident Princess and future Queen leaning over her face like a fretting hen, eyes bright with a stolen secret.

“I’m almost certain,” Rapunzel says at once. “I know it was Nigel talking, he’s got… a distinctive voice. And he sounded worried.”

According to Rapunzel, just this morning while on her way to meet with her parents for yet another awkward not-quite-conversation, she’d passed by a hall and heard Nigel talking with a messenger. Which isn’t anything unusual—advisors talk with messengers literally all the time—except the contents of this conversation had been a little… stressed. A deal in the making, a big agreement between the King and another party—only whoever and whatever this deal was about, it didn’t seem to be about anything good.

Still, Cassandra is content to play devil’s advocate for this. “The kingdom makes deals all the time, Raps. Compromise, trade, agreements… that’s what running a country is all about.”

Rapunzel isn’t swayed. “Trust me, okay? This wasn’t like the usual. The way they were talking…” She bites her lip. “Cass, it sounded… bad. Almost like they—Corona, my dad—were running out of other options, but also like accepting the deal would be…”

“Like a deal with the Moon?”

“Or Zhan Tiri. Just. Bad.”

“I believe you,” Cassandra says, finally. She places one hand on her sword. “But that’s why, if it’s really as big as you say, we need more information, if anything we do is going to stick. So, if this is what’s needed…”

I want to help, she doesn’t say this time. She’d already said it to Eugene, two days and a night ago, when he stopped by her room and pressed a letter in her hands.

“You don’t have to do this, Cass,” he’d said then, letter in hand but holding back. “I know how much this job means to you.”

“Will it help?”

“It’s something.”

“Then yes,” Cassandra had said, cold and trying hard not to seem desperate, and she’s spent every night after thinking about that letter and what it meant, and the look in Eugene’s eyes when he gave it to her. Like he knew. Like he suspected.

King Frederick had been cold when he’d demoted her, near icy in tone. In contrast, beside her, Cassandra’s father had been spitting mad on her behalf, only just holding his tongue, his face dark with an anger that the King hadn’t even batted an eye at. Cassandra had taken the sentence with her head high and her heart burning. She’d known what this was really about, even then. It’s not about the secrets. It’s not even about Rapunzel’s silence, not really. It’s this—Rapunzel, flinching and quiet and different behind the eyes, the attack Cassandra can’t elaborate on and the prisoner who escaped, Varian vanished into the wilds.

In the eyes of the king, Cassandra has failed. Never mind that Varian got a chance to attack because Rapunzel let him. Never mind it was Rapunzel who let him go. Never mind that—

But even then. Even then, that hadn’t shaken her. But when the King had demoted her, when that golden shine of royal armor was replaced by lesser bronze—Cassandra had stared down at gloved hands, and wondered what the hell she was doing there.

Standing in line, she thinks. Guarding locked doors. She’s traveled across two continents, she’s traversed the ruins of a kingdom long dead, she’s looked a god full in the face and snarled—

And here she is. Back again in the kingdom, with armor that doesn’t fit quite right and a restless burning beneath her skin, the whisper of opportunity lost.

When did I outgrow you? she wonders, absently, picking up her halberd, putting the helmet under her arm. She draws the sword and looks at it, the person staring back. When did I lose this?

But she doesn’t say that. She can’t, not really—she hasn’t the words, and a little bitter voice in her gut says that Rapunzel won’t understand anyway. Besides, Rapunzel has her own issues to deal with. Her own struggles. Cassandra doesn’t want to become another burden—not any more of a burden, at least.

When did I become so weak as to be used against you?

But those are quiet thoughts. Cassandra shoves them away, locked back in the corner of her mind where they belong, and turns to face Rapunzel with both hands on her hips. Rapunzel is sitting quiet on the bed, head bowed, gloved hands folded in her lap, and at the sight something in Cassandra’s chest eases. She crosses over, and kneels down before her. “Hey. Raps.”

Rapunzel looks up. Her eyes are dry, the green of her irises cold and clear. Her mouth is set in a mulish sort of stubborn. That tight knot in Cassandra’s chest eases further, and she manages the barest hint of a smile. “Look,” she says. “I get it. I do. And you’re right. It’s—a lot.” Which is a nice way of saying basically treasonous, but hey. “Look. It’ll work out, okay? I’ll do a scan on the dungeons when I can, get info like you requested—” As per the letter still in her pocket, anyway. “—and yeah, sure, it’s… dangerous.”

“Treason. If you get caught. And my dad—”

“Yeah. But Eugene has the right idea. Don’t tell him I said this, but… look. You can eavesdrop on the nobles. Eugene is doing…whatever he’s doing. And me?” Her lips thin. “I can see what the prisoners say. I can walk around and listen, and see what they know. And maybe it’s dangerous, but if it gets us what we need to know, gets us where need to go…” She trails off, pointedly.

Rapunzel dips her head. “I’m worried,” she admits, quiet. “And you’re right, I don’t know enough. But—Cass, what if you’re right about this, too? What if it’s nothing? What if it’s not worth it? What if we just make things worse?”

“Yeah, okay. Good point. But you’re doing this anyways, right? So… I—I don’t want—” Oh, how to word this. Cassandra blows out a breath through her teeth, hard and hissed. “I can’t just sit here, Raps. I can’t do nothing.” Her hands curl, unbidden. “Don’t shut me out again.”

The set to Rapunzel’s jaw eases, just a bit. She reaches out and squeezes Cassandra’s hand, brief and firm despite how the pressure on her injuries makes her face twitch with an echo of pain. “I won’t,” Rapunzel says, and a pale smile flickers across her face. “I… I did promise, after all.”

“You did,” Cassandra replies, neutral.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll lay off. If you’re sure.”

“Very sure.”

The smile on Rapunzel’s face settles, a little stronger. “Thanks, Cass.”

“It is literally the least I can do,” Cassandra informs her, dryly, and stands up with the creak of new armor. “Now get out of my room before your new guard realizes you're missing, yeah? Elias is skittish, but he’s going to realize you used your hair as an escape route sooner rather than later, and if I have to go guard the sewers we’re all going to suffer.”

Rapunzel’s smile widens. “Right!” she says, and scampers up, heading back for her newfound secret entrance to the tunnels. Seriously, how does she keep finding those things? “I’ll try and visit again soon. There’s this dinner party with my parents, and I think I might be able to ferret out a few details on this mysterious deal. I’ll let you know!” Something in her face gentles. “…Please take care of yourself, Cass.”

“Only if you do.”

Cassandra watches her go, and manages a small wave and a weak smile when Rapunzel looks back. She waits, patiently, until the stone door of the secret entrance latches shut, and then lets her hand falls with a sigh.

For a moment she just stands there, basking in the silence. Her hand goes to her pocket. The missive Rapunzel wrote and Eugene gave her sits heavy by her side.

I’m sorry to ask this of you. I know my father is your King. But I need you, Cass. I need to know if you’re with me. You don’t have to say yes now. You don’t have to answer at all. And I will never, ever be angry if you say no. You’re my best friend, now and forever. But whatever you’re willing to give. Whatever secrets you find willing to share with me…

If the time comes to choose, if circumstances force us to make a stand—will you stand by my side?

Cassandra has never been readier. But still—

For some reason, the knot remains, cold and heavy in her chest.

She marches out of her room to her new guard shift with her chin up and back straight and proud. Some heads turn when they see her pass; some faces creases in sympathy, others tight-lipped. Odd, she thinks, and remembers vividly Eugene’s offhand comment on the castle’s reactions. She thinks again of her father’s face when the King stripped her of rank, the anger he didn’t even try to hide, and her lips thin further. There’s something wrong here after all—she just hopes it’s not the internal battle she’s starting to suspect it might be.

She turns another hall, pushes open the last door. Cold, rank air blows against her face. Her nose wrinkles.

Once, in a different age, the dungeons of Corona had served as part of the castle proper. In the start of Corona’s great history, King Herz der Sonne had walked these halls and eaten in these empty rooms, enjoyed food and rest in the grand circular hall that has become the main prison pit. These stone walls were filled with history and majesty, until an unfortunate winter earthquake fifty years after his reign brought the whole castle tumbling down.

The castle was rebuilt, of course—better this time, and it has withstood every earthquake since for the remaining hundreds of years. But of that first, lonesome castle, only the tunnels and this hall remain—the tunnels locked down for fear of constant collapse, and the rubble of the first castle become one of the worst places in the whole kingdom.

The point is that the dungeons are a place of history—and at the moment, Cassandra feels as if she’s experiencing each one. As she marches through and down the enclosed halls, the cold deepens, the stone growing soft with age and dark with a grime built up over centuries. Voices murmur low and bitter through the grates as she passes, and the stench of rot and mildew and waste is so heavy she almost struggles to breathe. There’s a slick moss crawling stubbornly through the cracks in the mortar, and as she passes down to the last and final floor, the old stone sagging and heavy, the ceilings low and strained under the weight of the years, even the voices fade out. There aren’t many prisoners here. In truth, there’s very little here at all. Something wet and watery drips down the wall. The cells are silent and empty. Cassandra, standing all and alone in a dark corridor, takes a deep breath and regrets it almost at once.

She’s in full guard armor, the bronze polished and shining, her curls forced under the tight helmet. Her gloves are crisp on her hands, the halberd stiff in her palms; her stance is straight and her eyes unwavering from the door. Every few minutes she’s to turn from her post to pace up and down the corridor for a routine check before she returns back to the door at the end of the hall.

It’s a joke of a job. It’s a job for newbies and rookies and guards with their heads too full of pride for sense, and here she is. Stuck here until Rapunzel either breaks her silence—unlikely—or until the King cools his temper, which…

Well.

She’s probably going to be here for a while, she knows, and as she stops before her new post, she closes her eyes, breathing in deep through her teeth.

Gods, she has no idea what she’s doing here. Cassandra is skilled and she knows it. She’s wasted here, and the fact she’s only been posted here as punishment for Rapunzel’s actions only furthers the insult. She’s not—resenting it, really, or at least she’s trying not to. It’s not Rapunzel’s fault. That the King is punishing Cassandra in order to punish Rapunzel… it’s more than insulting. It’s downright infuriating.

Not to mention being replaced by Elias, of all the guards. The boy is… new is almost too kind a term. He’s barely not a trainee, and while he’s not a bad kid, Cassandra suspects that kindness won’t stop him from reporting Rapunzel’s every action to the King.

They’ve been back for only a scant three days, and already, most of Rapunzel’s worries are proving justified. If this is destiny, Cassandra wishes she could punch it into submission or something. First the Dark Kingdom, now this—for gods’ sake, don’t they all deserve a break?

But no, of course not. And so Rapunzel’s confined in the castle and Eugene’s walking on so many eggshells he decided running was the better option, and Cassandra is here: stationed in the deepest, darkest, most boring corridor in the dungeon, waiting for nothing.

She closes her eyes. “Look around,” Rapunzel had said. “Keep your eyes open. Maybe you’ll find something everyone else missed.” But gods, how is Cassandra going to find anything if she’s stuck miles underground for eight straight hours a day? She’d mentioned the idea of wandering around to listen in on the prisoners herself, but in the secret depths of her mind, even she can admit it’s basically a worthless task. Who on earth would spill the beans when guards lurk around every corner?

She wants to help, but this—

It feels terribly like being shunted. All. Over. Again.

Cast aside and left in the dark, something in her whispers, dark and bitter. Cassandra sets her jaw. There isn’t even a guard on duty to take over once her shift ends— there’s nothing here to guard at all. This job is a joke.

She turns hard on her heel, walking away. To hell with it. If she’s stuck down here, she thinks grimly, she can at least explore. As useless as it is, at least those cells aren’t empty.

The air is like ice around her; the winter cold turned something subzero in the freezing hold of the underground stone. Each breath puffs like fog before her. In her armor, the metal is so chilled her fingers flex on impulse to get blood flow going. She turns down the twisting halls, eyes passing blind over the shadowy cells and water-rusted metal, the withered skeletons of the ruins of the ancient castle. She breathes in, breathes out. Nothing appears. Nothing happens.

Nothing’s ever going to happen.

Who is she even kidding? She’s going to be down here for hours, for days, for weeks. She wants to help but she couldn’t even see Rapunzel herself; the princess had to find a way to her instead. Rapunzel may be trapped in her room, but she already knows how to slip free— and Cassandra’s chains are so much tighter. She has so much more to lose.

And if things do go wrong, guess who’s going to suffer for it? Her, probably. Definitely. She loves Rapunzel, gods know she does, but so much of this mess is just—!

Why did she let Varian go? Why didn’t she ask them? Why hasn’t she explained? What little Cassandra knows of the labyrinth is just that—just the little. Just the bare minimum. She’s not asking for a play by play, but if Rapunzel is going to release known criminals, couldn’t she at least give a real reason? She’d said it was because it didn’t feel right, but what had that even meant? Feeling has no place in politics. No place in acting queen, or princess…

Even after everything, she’s still weak.

Cassandra stops mid-step.

She feels struck, stunned still by her own thoughts. Her hand rises to her head. A wave of dizziness overcomes her, shame like a blooming poison in her gut. The cold of the dungeon bites at her skin like a beast.

That’s… that’s a cruel thing to think. Sure, Rapunzel is a little much at times, but she’s been growing too, changing, becoming more and more sure of her place every day. More confident in herself, even if Cassandra doesn’t agree with all her choices. And—and Cassandra knows that, she understands that, so why—?

“…Cassandra? Is that you?”

She jumps, just barely avoiding dropping her halberd. She whips around, breath caught, weapon raised—and the confused face of a guard blinks back, almost bemused.

She stares at him, mouth open in shock—lowers her weapon rapidly, heat climbing in her cheeks. “I— sorry. You snuck up on me.” She pauses, abrupt. “Wait, what are you doing down here?”

The other guard frowns at her. “Cassandra, this is my post. Aren’t you stationed in the lower dungeons?”

“I…” She looks around, rapid, and realizes he’s right—the walls are lighter, the stink stronger. This isn’t her post at the lower dungeons. This is the first sector—the private prison, for top-priority prisoners, serious threats to the kingdom. Once upon a time, Varian had been kept in this sector, only one floor above her. When had she…? “Apologies. I got lost in thought.”

His scowl deepens. “Look, I know the demotion must sting, but that’s no reason to leave your post. What would the Captain say?”

Cassandra flushes, her lips pulling away from her teeth. “Look, I didn’t mean to—”

The guard is glaring.

Abruptly Cassandra remembers herself. She cuts herself off, breathing in deep through her nose. Her fingers clench white-knuckled under her gloves, curled tight and shaking around the halberd. “…No, never mind. You’re right. I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

She turns away hard before he can say anything more, marching off down the stairs. She doesn’t look back. The guard shakes his head and turns away, pulling the door latched behind him, back again at his post.

She leaves the private dungeon behind, and slams the door tight behind her. She walks quick, her stride furious. Her footsteps echo off the walls. Just like that: alone again.

Water drips uneven on the withered stone. The darkness slithers and seeps in the corners. The lanterns flicker. Unknown even to herself, Cassandra shivers once, and hugs her arms tight.

And in the darkness of a cell just out of view, someone else watches her seethe—and smiles.

“Oh, yes,” the prisoner says. Their voice is nothing but a hoarse whisper; their smile bares feral in the lanternlight. “I agree.”

Cassandra opens the final door, the exit to the prison floor. A sharp, foul gust of air howls through. The lantern flickers. For one shining moment, the prisoner’s eyes glint bright and green.

“She’ll make a wonderful disciple.”

.

For a moment, Varian doesn’t understand what he’s hearing.

He stands there, before the market stall, hands cold and heart growing colder; the screams, distant, are indistinct to him. It could be cheering, he thinks. It could be celebration. It could be nothing at all.

Except then Yasmin grabs his arm and yanks him back, and people have started to run, and then all at once he hears a boom like thunder and sees shrapnel fly, and he thinks—cannons—and he realizes.

The harbor is under attack.

A whisper drifts by his ears, paranoia crystalized to reality. The wind hisses like a curse. I warned you, child. Now it is too late.

The ground rocks with the force of the explosives; Varian stumbles sideways and just barely keeps to his feet. He can hear laughter, distantly, in the crowd, faint above all the screaming, mingling with the shrieking steel of sword against sword as the guardsmen of Port Caul rush in. But that doesn’t make sense, he thinks—how could it all happen at once, so soon? Or had these attackers planned this, had they snuck in with the market crowd and waited amongst the people for the attack to begin?

Another blast of cannon fire shakes the stonework, cutting his thoughts short. This time Varian isn’t so lucky—he falls hard on his knees, unable to stand on the shaky ground.

A hand grips his arm, nails digging into his shoulder—Yasmin drags Varian to his feet, supporting him against her. In the alchemy stall, the owner has vanished. Varian lists sideways in her hold. “What—”

“Pirates,” Yasmin hisses, and they both stumble when the ground rocks again. Cracks line the street. “I knew they were getting bold, but this is—!”

The jeering grows louder, closer to them. Yasmin pulls him up to his feet, and this time Varian needs no instruction. The pound of blood in his ears, a looming threat coming ever closer—he knows this feeling, this metallic tang in the air.

The labyrinth has etched this lesson into his bones.

He runs, and Yasmin runs with him. The crowd, once comforting, has turned confining; bodies shifting like a living thing, people on the ground, someone crying. Varian shoves his way through, trying to get away. A piercing scream makes him falter, then push on, but Yasmin turns back, vanishing momentarily in the crowd.

Varian stumbles, stopping too, turning back less because he wants to and more on instinct. Panic coats his tongue. He pushes through the mill of people, searching—and finds Yasmin on the ground, kneeling down to help someone up.

“To your feet!” Yasmin is saying, pulling the poor bystander upright. “Hurry! Get others off the ground! We will all be trampled at this rate.”

“Yasmin—!”

“Boy, what are you standing there for? Go hide!”

“I—” He wants nothing more than to run, but her moment of altruism has sent a cloud of shame through him. She’d stopped at the screams and cries for help. He had not. “I can, I can help—”

“I think not.” Yasmin grabs his arm, pushes him away; the crowd swells and ebbs around them. “Go to the buildings, you are small, hide by the crates—this crowd will kill you if the pirates don’t get there first, now hurry and—”

A shrieking sound rets the air, the awful screech of metal sliding against metal. Yasmin cuts herself off, whipping around; Varian stares over her shoulder, numb and horrified. There is a body in armor fallen to the ground, and red smeared across the cobblestone. Above the body there is a pirate, pale like a fish’s belly and smiling with teeth like tombstones, pulling free a crude sword dripping with blood and gore.

Varian claps a hand over his mouth, bile sour in his throat. The sight of blood makes his head spin. He’s never—he’s never seen someone die before, he realizes. Not like this. Not so brutally. He’s never…

Yasmin grips his arm so tight her hand spasms, hard enough to bruise. The pain grounds him, and Varian pulls his eyes away from the dead guardsman with difficulty, swallowing back the sick. Yasmin tugs him behind her, as if to shield him, and herds him back as she steps away from the scene, moving out of the pirate’s line of sight slowly and silently—

And the money pouch in her pocket, still untied and hanging out from her pocket from when she’d opened it, minutes ago, to pay for Varian’s alchemy ingredients—dips, opens, and spills bright golden coins all across the street in a clatter.

Yasmin freezes, her eyes going wide and horrified. Varian’s breath slams shock-still in his throat.

The pirate’s head snaps up. He stands, sword in hand.

He looks right in their direction.

Yasmin says a foul word in a language Varian doesn’t know, grabs his arm, and turns to run.

Varian scrambles to follow, his heart stuck in his throat. He can hear the pirate behind them, beginning to laugh, cackling with a bright and bloodthirsty sort of glee, drunk on something far worse than wine. “Pretty lady!” the man coos over the screams of the crowd and the cannon fire. “Pretty lady, you look like you might have gold!”

“Fuck,” Varian says, distantly, and then Yasmin shoves him into an alleyway. Crates and barrels and open buckets of produce line the dirty side-street, and despite the lack of people it’s nearly a maze to his eyes. Varian dodges crates and spilled fruit, following Yasmin’s sprint best he can—and he thinks, in that moment, he will make it. He can see the other side, the open street, and he is close, so close—

He bursts out of the shadowy alley into the sunlight—and then the ground tremors with a force more than cannon fire, and sends Varian crashing to his knees.

His vision flips. White bursts like stars behind his eyes. The ground rushes up to meet him and he catches himself badly on the stone, cobble scraping up his hands, the street rocking beneath his palms like a bucking horse. Small cracks break through the rock. He doesn’t understand. This can’t be from cannon fire. This is—this is—an earthquake?

He can’t see Yasmin anymore. His head is spinning. Varian pushes dazedly to his feet, and feels so turned around he falls right back down again. His breaths rasp distant in his ears. His hands are shaking. He gets to one foot and lists hard to the side, stumbling sideways until he falls heavy on the thick glass window of a shopfront.

Varian fumbles blindly for purchase, and his fingers catch on the window frame. He gets one hand on the shopfront wall and pulls shaking to his feet, standing hunched and wheezing in the burning daylight. The glass of the shop window shines cold in the sun. He looks beside him, and the shop window reflects back at him, a distorted image of himself. In his reflection he can see the blood on his face, the shadows under his eyes. The fear and confusion clouding his expression.

And behind him. Behind him—

The man. The pirate. Blood on his coat and a smile like death. He is still laughing. Still standing. It’s as if the earthquake hasn’t touched him at all. His eyes burn green in the windowpanes. His hand is raised, and his sword glints bright in the winter sun.

Varian should run. Varian should fight. He doesn’t, though. He can’t. He feels cold. He feels frozen all the way to his bones, all the way to his navel. Like an icy cord has been pulled taut—like a hand on his neck, holding him in place. A weight in the air that is more than fear… an anticipation that is almost supernatural.

All those dreams. All those sleepless nights, trying in vain to fight the exhaustion and the dark. All those whispers in his ears. The memory of it chokes him. The memory holds him still.

The pirate lifts his blade. In the window, Varian’s reflection shimmers like a ripple effect. For a moment, someone else stands in his place. A woman, terrible in her familiarity, with stone-dark skin and eyes glowing yellow like a moon.

Hello, child.

The pirate swings.

Did you miss me?

His right hand is searing with pain. His veins feel like molten metal. The world flashes white, and the pirate’s laughter, behind him, cuts off into a scream.

And like something from Varian’s deepest nightmares—the black rocks begin to grow.

They come out of nowhere: the dark rocks bursting all at once, a starburst of deadly intent. They spear through the cobblestone like a hot knife through butter, crisscrossing and tearing up and down the street in a deadly wave. Dust bursts up in the air like a fog, the streets turned to rubble and ruin. Through the distant ringing of his ears, Varian can hear the rising screams like a final curse.

In the mirror, the Moon smiles. The icy touch at the back of his neck burns like a brand. His hand spasms with a pain white-hot and bleeding, and Varian drops to his knees.

His vision whites. Exhaustion hits him like a physical blow, the drain so sudden it makes his head spin. He blinks, and then—just like that—she’s gone. It is just him in the mirror, now. Just Varian, staring wide-eyed and horrified at his own reflection, blue eyes gone empty and cold with remembered terror.

“—get up!”

A hand pulls at his shoulder, and Varian fights on instinct, struggling to pull away. His limbs are weak, his body aching—he bites back a sob and tries to throw himself back. He hears someone curse.

“Boy, snap out of it! We need to go!”

At last, familiarity seeps through. That voice. He recognizes it.

“Varian!”

Yasmin.

His eyes clear, and he finally recognizes her. Her grip on his arm is almost bruising in its force. Her eyes are wild. There is blood on her cheek.

“Hurry!”

This time, when she pulls him up, he does not fight her.

Varian stumbles to his feet, wavering back and forth. He feels very far away. He feels like he’s drowning. He’s barely breathing at all.

Yasmin is running. Yasmin is dragging him with her. The satchel thumps heavy against Varian’s side like a promise, or a reminder. His hand hurts, but the pain is fading, needle-like piercing turned to dull aching. He feels cold. He feels so cold. He doesn’t want to know.

He looks behind him anyway.

People are crying. People are still screaming. It rings in his ears like the distant toll of a bell. Smoke and dust cloud in the air and drift soft like a fog onto crumbling streets. People are lying still. People are lying silent. He cannot see the pirate at all.

There are rocks, too. Black rocks torn through the ground like a spiny crown, ripping apart the streets. They are everywhere. They are tearing through the city like they once tore up his home. Needle-like and deadly, and each and every last one of them is pointing right at the sea.

His hands are numb. He feels so cold. In the back of his mind, he can hear laughter on a distant breeze, and for the first time he’s not sure if it’s only a memory, or perhaps something more.

Something worse.

Hello, child.

Varian looks away.

.

.

.

In a grand ship by the eastern coast, Lady Caine watches the distant sprawl of Port Caul go up in smoke.

Her hand is outstretched, reaching—her fingers curled as if to grasp the air itself. Her lips have peeled back from her teeth; her dark scowl cuts into her pretty face. The ship is empty but for her, her crew gone out to battle—armed only with their swords and a spare vessel for cannon fire. She is alone here. She is the only one watching. The only one to see exactly when the battle started… and the only one to see how it ends.

It is only Lady Caine that sees the rocks rise up, black towers hanging heavy over the city skyline. Only Lady Caine that sees her crew fall back to the sea, their numbers gutted, their white shirts turned red from bleeding.

She drags her hand away from the water, and her scowl turns to a snarl. She watches, white-knuckled and furious, as the black rocks rise up over the city. Tens upon tens of deadly spears, that lethal black stone slanted and sure, each and every needle-tip edge pointing right towards Lady Caine in her ship.

“Is that a threat?” she hisses, and turns away from the sight, pacing furious across the deck. “No one said the gods would be involved.”

She pivots on her heel, the wind whipping at her hair. Her eyes fix bright and poisonous on Port Caul. Her muttering darkens. “What happened to the Moon being too weak to make an appearance, anyway? I thought she needed a conduit for that. But that fucking moonstone is gone, and all reports say she’s an avid hater of mortals, so how…?”

She trails off, the words falling short. Her pacing stills. She holds herself tall and stiff in the shine of the winter sun, and her hands clench tight into fists. Her nails cut deep in her palm.

Something shudders across the deck. A shadow, a cloud over the sun. The boat creaks and groans like a rusty hinge. Frost crawls along the side of the boat. The wind whispers. Lady Caine closes her eyes in thought.

“Maybe,” she murmurs, the rage falling slowly to contemplation. “Maybe she did choose a mortal vessel. For some reason. Against all reports of her personality.”

A pause. Lady Caine tilts her head.

“And, say, if the Moon did choose a conduit...”

Her eyes open. She looks at Port Caul with fresh eyes. She traces the path of the black rocks. That deadly slant. That unbreakable sword. Those cruel, uncontrolled towers, and the unerring accuracy of their direction, the blade pointed right at her.

Slowly, surely, Lady Caine starts to smile. She watches as her men flee like cowards, running from the dark rocks like cities from a plague, and laughs under her breath. “Someone who can summon the dark rocks, hm…? Sounds like someone we could use.”

Another pause. She tilts her head. She turns to the shadows, to the empty air beside her, and smiles with all her teeth. In the midday shine, the green of her eyes nearly seems to glow.

“Well?” says Lady Caine. “What do you think?”

[atalantascribit]

a new day, a new revelation

(this is pt. 2 of a small creek in the forest)

Pt. 1

Summary:  Malark curiously made his way over to Paddy, wondering for a moment of how the elf hadn’t drowned. Surely, the river water must covered his face enough to drown him. But the arcane trickster was still breathing, albeit being a mess and unconscious still.

 Fandom: High Hopes Low Rolls

Pairing: Paddy Whitlaw/Malark Dundragon

Words: 1,354

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20198089

Recently, Malark has become a bit of a morning person. He loved watching the sunrise, the oranges, pinks, and the blues of the sun and the sky meshing with the greens and browns of the trees. It was almost golden hour, and it was spring, and the rogue loved it. He would never dream of admitting it to any of his fellow party members, though. After all, his soul was supposed to be an empty void with nothing but pitch black. He couldn’t let them see this weakness of his.

Minutes before dawn, Malark had snuck his way out of his room in the inn they were staying at and walked out of town and into the small forest nearby. He quickly made his way to a decent-sized river, following it to the small clearing that it led to. Malark though, was not alone in that clearing. Up towards the middle of the clearing and on the banks of the river was a figure sprawled in the dirt face first.  He could make out elf ears and tufts of matted, slightly curly chocolate hair under some autumn leaves. It was early spring.

Malark curiously made his way over to Paddy, wondering for a moment of how the elf hadn’t drowned. Surely, the river water must covered his face enough to drown him. But the arcane trickster was still breathing, albeit being a mess and unconscious still. His face and limbs were covered in mud, his hair a knotted mess of sticks, pine needles, and pollen. His mask was a few feet away, and overall it seemed as though Paddy had fallen asleep and fell into the river.

Malark smiled and deciding that the sunrise could be spectated another time, began to prepare himself to pick up the other rogue. He carefully picked up the mask and gently began to carry Paddy, bridal style. He slowly wove his way through the trees and above some fallen logs and eventually made his way back to the town, which was just now beginning to wake up.

Malark could hear the market already beginning to bustle, and chose to take the side streets and alleyways to reach the inn. The alleyways were always a comfortable silence, it being too late for anything suspicious to go on, and too early for anyone else. The only thing that could be heard was the occasional misstep, as Malark was meticulous about his footfalls being silent and smooth, as to not wake his companion.

He quietly made his way into the inn and up the stairs to his room, opening and closing the door softly behind him. He put Paddy onto his own bed, and after realizing that he hadn’t put Paddy under the covers and too afraid to move him in fear of waking him, he wrapped Paddy up into what Paddy would call a “blanket burrito.”

Just before Malark pulled his hand away, Paddy moved. Paddy snuggled his head into Malark’s hand, successfully capturing it and taking it for his own. By now the sun had risen and golden streaks of light danced on Paddy’s face, making his face a truly soft and precious sight. Malark also noticed that, in the river, Paddy’s makeup had washed away and that his face was now adorned with what had to be hundreds of freckles that reminded the assassin of a beautiful starry night.

Malark, not knowing what to do and too afraid to disturb the elf, stayed frozen until he heard the others in the rooms next to them start to stir. Malark assumed that the others would come and knock on their door soon anyways, finally took his hand away. He quietly slipped out of the room once more, intending to quietly go downstairs and fetch some towels from the innkeeper, who would surely be awake as breakfast should have been starting around then.

But the plan, as all things seemed to go whenever Malark was in a five-mile radius from anyone in High Hopes, went awry the second he stepped out of the door.  It seemed as if someone had dropped a few papers in the hall, and Malark, while he had been up for a little over two hours at this point, had fallen half-asleep while watching Paddy and slipped on the loose papers. He fell backwards and into a dresser, where Paddy’s weapon had been.

Malark heard Paddy frantically waking up at the crash from the collision, the blissful state he had been in a minute before gone and he was looking around the room. At first he was suspicious, then his eyebrows knit together in confusion, and finally he saw Malark, and his eyebrows knitted even further as he posed a question:

“What were you doing?”

Malark paused for a moment, and as he was lifting Paddy’s sword from his chest, simply stated, “I saw you sleeping with the local fish, so I brought you back,”

“But then why am I in your bed?”

Malark didn’t have an answer to this. Paddy was staring at him.

“It was closer,” Malark smoothly said, not allowing the inner panic to be seen. 

“To the door? But mine’s closer to the door, this is right next to the window?” Paddy gestured to Malark’s bed, where the elf was sitting. Paddy was clearly confused, his tone rising in pitch and the words slowing.

Malark, at this point, was clearly internally panicking, if you knew to look for it. He felt sweat on his neck, and he was at a loss for comprehensible words. Paddy was still staring. Why did he have to stare at him like that? Malark fidgeted with his bracelet.

Malark abruptly stood, and went for a perfectly normal answer for a rogue, “Window.”

Malark turned to the door immediately and left in shame. Instead of getting the towels like he originally planned, though, he went out of the inn and back into the blossoming forest. There, the morning dew was still fresh on the ground and the forest smelled of earth. The leaves on the trees were still mostly budding, and the grass was a bright, lively green with specks of red, yellow, and blue. There was also the occasional violet or daisy to be found as well.

So Malark roamed for thirty minutes or so, until he stumbled upon what was probably the same river he found Paddy in, but he was a little further into the forest this time around. He decided to sit on a nearby log and just listen to the constant swish of the flowing river. It was there, though, that he began to actually think about the morning’s events so far.

He first thought back to when he first discovered Paddy, and chuckled to himself. Then he recalled the blissful state of when Paddy was snuggled up in a blanket in the inn, and heat rose to his cheeks without Malark realizing. He remembered Paddy waking up and the short exchange of words that ensued, and cringed.

He wondered why his people skills suddenly seemed to vanish then, and why he had gotten so nervous and panicky. He’s been sprung into awkward situations before and didn’t usually make a fool out of himself, and this was Paddy after all! Paddy was a comrade, someone trustworthy who had seen Malark at his worst. So why did Malark feel nervous all of a sudden? Paddy was a friend - oh.

Paddy was more than just a friend. Or at least, Malark wanted him to be. Malark made this silent revelation, and suddenly, a lot of past exchanges made a lot more sense. Oh god, Malark was so obvious, he realized, Paddy probably already knows. And Paddy didn’t say anything yet, so the elf probably doesn’t feel the same way. Paddy’s probably dreading the day Malark would confess, and he was probably dreading politely turning Malark down.

So, Malark made up his mind right there. Unless Paddy showed any signs of affection that Malark could see, Paddy would never hear the words “I love you,” from Malark Dundragon. He would take it to his grave.

[nekokoaa]

Wolves Among Us - Bakugo x Reader (II)

Wolves Among Us – Bakugo x Reader

Series Warning: Fantasy AU, Fluff, NSFW

(Chapter II/VII) New Mini Series!

Guys, thank you so much for the kind words, likes, reblogs for the first chapter of this mini series!! I wanted to at least get chapter 2 out fast so that you guys can get a feel for this series!!

Inspired by The Company of Wolves by Angela Carter

(Chapter I) (Chapter II) (Chapter III) (Chapter IV) (((click the tag wau bnha to find all the chapters since Tumblr killed links.))))

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

II.

The sound of your boots was abnormally loud against the old wood flooring of your cabin. It creaked and shifted under your weight as you stepped. You were walking back and forth from your room to your cabinet, plucking things off the table—specifically food, and stuffing it in a basket hanging on your arm. You stopped when you saw a small block of cheese on top of the table, and you slightly turned your head sideways in thought.

“Would he eat this…?” You quietly said to yourself. You didn’t know what a wolf’s appetite consist of other than meat, but you soon shrugged and placed it in the basket.

Since last night, you haven’t gone a minute without thinking about the wolf you encountered. It was such a strange moment and you were sure you were going to end up in a wolf’s belly that night. But the wolf surprisingly spared you and spent his time only getting a taste of you through the gash on your shin. You couldn’t forget his heated eyes, his fangs, his hot breath and tongue caressing your leg. His low growls that vibrated against your skin and rumbled your heart so.

You swiftly wrapped your red scarf around your neck and head, burying your flushed face within it. You never experience something like that before. It was thrilling, exciting, and oddly enough, you wanted to see him again. Your entire village would call you stupid for going after a vicious wolf, but if he was so vicious, then you wouldn’t be alive right now. He spared you, and there must a reason for it.

You filled your basket until it was full and headed out into the cold. You were instantly greeted by Izuku next door, who was busy chopping wood for his mother. You’ve been neighbors with Izuku since you were born and best friends since the two of you could talk. He and his mother always looked after you even before your parents died in an unfortunate accident. The two of you haven’t been anything more than friends, though the entire village were eagerly waiting to hear the news of an engagement.

You weren’t with Izuku for long as you didn’t want to miss your chance on meeting the wolf and he warned you about traveling in the forest when you lied to him about going to the market.

“You sure you don’t want me to come?” He brought his axe down upon the wood that sat on the stump and it easily split into two. The halves fell onto the snow and he picked them up and threw them in a pile with his gloved hands.

“Yup! Positive!” You clutched your basket to your side and practically skipped down the pathway leading into the forest. Your village was separated from the marketplace by the dense forest and usually Izuku would escort you through because of the danger that often lurked within it. But, the forest during the mornings were safe and usually what lurked was rabbits and other small creatures in search for food—but not wolves. Still, you wanted to try your luck.

You diverted from the pathway when you were far enough from your village and walked into the dense trees. You walked until you reached the opening in the forest where a tree was in the middle. It was where you first encountered the wolf and also where he spared you. And as expected, he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Wolves normally didn’t linger in an area where they revealed themselves because of people coming back to hunt them. Usually if a wolf is sighted, the entire village is alerted, and the hunters would search the forest until said wolf is found. But since you didn’t alert the village, the red-eyed wolf had no reason to hide.

You sighed softly, a bit disappointed that he wasn’t here. You walked to the large center tree and placed the basket under it. Maybe he’ll show up later. You thought as you stared at the tree. You couldn’t help but be reminded of how your back was against it while he was slowly licking the blood off your leg, his eyes boring into yours and keeping you frozen in place. They were so beautiful, like you were staring into valley of fire lilies. You really wanted to see him again. Another sigh left you and you remained there for a few minutes before swiftly turning around to leave the area.

You suddenly collided with something that felt like a wall and you stumbled back, almost falling onto the snow-covered ground. You brought a hand to hold your nose that was stinging from the impact it suffered and you looked up to find those familiar deep red eyes looking down on you. Instantly, it felt like you were walking in a valley of fire lilies on a spring afternoon. They flowed with the melody of the wind, singing along as they bathe in the sun’s warmth. His eyes were breathtakingly beautiful, even now as they glared down at you menacingly, burning holes into your face.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He growled at the end of his words despite his appearance that looked relatively normal compared to last night. The wolf ears that sat on top of his head was gone, his large fangs reduced to small ones, and maybe he looked a little less hairy than before. You couldn’t really remember, it was awfully dark last night. One thing that stayed was his glowing eyes, it seemed to be that one aspect that gave his identity away. You also didn’t miss how attractive he was. Your face was already growing hot to the touch.

“I-I don’t know.” You blurted out the fastest thing you could think of under your nerves. He took a step forward, closing the small distance between you two. You assumed he was trying to be threatening, but little did he know, it did a number on your weak heart.

“You don’t have men around waiting to jump me?” He glanced around suspiciously, and you shook your head. His eyes then narrowed at you and he lifted his finger and pointed past you. “And what the hell is that?” He was pointing to the basket behind you and you gasped, turning around and scurrying to grab it.

“Uh—It’s…!”  You watched those red eyes widen when you held out your basket to him. You buried your face within your scarf to hide any indication that you were blushing up a storm. “For you. I brought you food.”

“Why?” For a menacing wolf, he sure had a lot of questions.

“To thank you for not eating me.” You smiled softly at him, truly thankful that he spared you. You still wondered why he did, and you were hoping you’ll get a chance to ask him. The wolf remained staring at you until his cheeks started to redden, he looked embarrassed about something and he sucked his teeth before he snatched your basket out of your hands. He walked passed you and plopped himself in front of the large tree. You were observing every action, from the moment he opened the basket to when he practically swallowed an entire chicken leg. Even though you were watching him decimate every part of the chicken including the bones, you didn’t notice his ears had returned on his head and his fangs grew larger. In seconds, the chicken you brought was devoured and he was soon licking his fingers and lips on a full belly. You wondered how long it’s been since he ate something because that was the fastest you’ve ever seen someone eat. You took this opportunity to finally ask him what you wanted since the moment he left you last night.

“Why didn’t you eat me back then, Wolf? I’m sure you were as hungry as you are now.” Even as you watched him lick his lips, you were reminded of his tongue on your leg. You blushed.

He looked up at you as his expression twisted like he was offended. “You taste gross. I wasn’t trying to eat you.” And then you were reminded of the blissful look he had on when he tasted your blood and you wondered if he was lying. “I was cleaning you.”

He then stood up and dusted the snow off his baggy pants. You saw a glance of his tail wagging side to side like it was trying to get the ice off its fur.

“Why? Surely, you could’ve left me there to rot or have one of your comrades finish me off.”

“You ask too many damn questions!” He started to growl, you saw the pink of his gums as he bared his fangs at you. He expected you to flinch at him, to cower in fear at his ferocious behavior, but you rolled your eyes at him instead and the small thought of: he can ask a lot of questions, but I can’t?lingered in your mind. He sucked his teeth at your reaction, turning his back to you. “Just shut up before I really eat you.”

“Wait.” You called out to him as he started to walk away. “Are you leaving?”

“What does it look like?” He grumbled, putting his hands in his pockets. You saw his tail swaying for no particular reason. You suddenly felt your heart drop, you wanted to talk to him some more and maybe get to know him. It wasn’t every day that a human could talk to a wolf without violence being involved.

“My-My name is ____! I hope we can meet again, Wolf.”

The wolf slightly looked back, a bewildered look in his glowing eyes as they sized you up. His lips settled into a frown and you were amazed at how handsome he looked even with an unpleasing expression. “Katsuki.” He simply said before disappearing into the dense forest.

You didn’t notice how hard your heart was pounding for that entire interaction. You pressed your hand to your chest, taking a deep breath to calm it down. Once you were sure Katsuki was long gone, you grabbed your discarded basket and looked in it. Just as you thought, he ate everything except for the small block of cheese you weren’t sure about.

“Okay, next time, no cheese.” You said, quietly grinning to yourself.

Ending comments: Meeting phase? Check! Romance phase? Unchecked! Let’s get it checked, shall we? Thanks for reading, guys!

(Chapter III) - (((click the tag wau bnha to find all the chapters since Tumblr killed links.)))

[loudlydeliciouschill]

Those bluest skies above me (part 2)

Long before the internecine war broke out and the world of dino-folks and fiery creatures were not separated by walls and strife, these two worlds coexisted in a balance that the elders helped to support, descending to these creatures from the hidden Star Valley where never was the foot of darkness and evil. They were ancient as the dragons themselves creatures of the universe - the phoenixes.

This race was not famous for sociability or friendliness, but they never refused to help those who needed and deserv it. They believed that peace of spirit and purity of thoughts is the main aspect of harmonious existence.

With rare exception, every major city was inhabited by at least one phoenix, serving as a voice of justice and mercy, helping in times of need and protecting civils from dark magic. But over the years, the creatures they volunteered to protect and help became embittered. Cruelty and immorality began to cover the minds and hearts of the inhabitants of these worlds, they were increasingly moving away from the magical world, losing magic itself. Because of this they gradually ceased to hear the voice of the phoenix, began afraid or avoid them, sometimes hurt and kill them. Therefore, these magical creatures began to return home, fearing for their lives and magical powers, which rapidly began to leave them after the last wizards disappeared among the dino-people.

However, there were those who believed that these unfortunates should not be left to the mercy of fate and remained, losing the support of their fellows and slowly fading away in a cruell world. One of these was Funn Hua - a wise and kind woman who was famous among her relatives for her gift. She was "contemplating time" - it means she could see the fate of anyone and help them change the fate in the right moment. But many years after the magic left the world ang souls of dino-folks, her gift lost its clarity, becoming more like vague visions of the future, interspersed with speculation and dreams. But Funn Hua didn't retreat and tried as hard as she could to keep faith in the light and good in a small village that was in the farthest province of the world of dino's. With varying success, she make it, but local residents still avoided Hua and because of that she was forced to live away from the village only occasionally visiting the local market and old-timers, who still treated her with respect.

But in this world came another misfortune. In the midst of autumn, the cold and frost unprecedented for these world fell on the lands of fire creatures and dinos. Snow fell almost around the clock, covering the houses untill you could see only the roof. The wind mercilessly made his way under the clothes and closed windows. The sun disappeared under a dark curtain of cumulus clouds. Wells, rivers, roads, cultivated fields, some animals - all of this froze. Winter was killing not only livestock and crops, but also the population. The worlds fell into despair. Lacked everything: food, firewood, clothing, shelter. Discontent and rebellion flared up everywhere for any heat and its source. Funna, using the remnants of her magic, made small heaters for the inhabitants - a tiny light sharpened in a glass bottle and eating everything that was placed in it. Temporarily this was enough, but things were even worse with food. People were starving, there was nowhere to wait for help.

And the terrible happened - in almost every town or village, it was possible to find abandoned eggs frozen in snow and ice. Children who were not even given a chance to appear from the desire not to starve them and others. The cruel mercy that Funn Hua didn't support. If she could she would punish everyone who trowed their future child on the cold.

Thus in the evenings she went around the village with concealed fear, looking for "abandoned" in the snow. For all the time of the beginning of a long winter, she found about five of these, but it was impossible to save them, no matter how hard she tried.

And when one evening five months after the onset of a sudden winter and daily urgent conversations with the young villagers about responsibility and mercy, she was returning home after a detour and she found still warm egg in the snow. Funa hurried to get it at home. She wouldn't have noticed it in the gathering twilight and raging blizzard if she hadn't stumbled over it, almost crushing them. The egg was delivered to a warm house at the time the blizzard started to grow stronger, washed and arranged near an enchanted fireplace, wrapped in several blankets. That was a regular monochrome burgundy egg like raptors with wavy gold splashes, like the Tyrexes. Having lived among dino-people for a long time, Hua perfectly distinguished their types and physiology, from which the egg surprised her even more. Nearby didn't live a single predatory species of dinosaurs, the village was entirely of uranos (uranosaurus) and bront's (brontosaurus). And because of the frosts, no one traveled to these regions, on the contrary, every dino-folk strove to the capital of the world, where, according to rumors, they coped with misfortune better than in the provinces. Small carts with provisions, clothing and firewood were brought from there. Could they, along with food supplies, also deliver an egg? No, it would have frozen even long before coming here, and it was warm when Hua found it. So there is someone has lost it because of the blizzard and probably they doesn't find a place for theemself because of the fright. Phoenix only could suggest there was a pregnant woman who had probably given birth on the road and could have arrived with supplies carts. This guessing confirmed the size and bright color of the egg.

The next day, Funa tried to find that awkward mother, but not a single woman was suitable in appearance and age, just as no one had come to the village for a long time and no one was passing through. On the request to accept the egg, everyone refused. Their children have nothing to eat, and they must feed someone else child? No way! In confusion, the phoenix returned home, with a chuckle calling the egg "the star that fell on my head."

Thus, the foundling remained with Funn Hua, who was filled with sympathy for the future orphan. What to do with the baby when he or she hatched she did not know, a little afraid to think about it. But Hua couldn’t throw him/her out into the cold. Something prompted her that it was a fateful meeting. The egg didn't cause troubles, basking peacefully in an improvised nest of pillows and blankets next to the fireplace. So that he/she does not feel lonely and abandoned, Funn Hua talked with them, gently touched the rough shell with the tips of her fluffy fingers and took the egg to bed on particularly scary nights. Without noticing it, she became attached to her/him every day more and more. For too long, Hua was by herself, at a distance from everyone, from her kind, forgotten and alone. And for her this “gift” became a temporary salvation. At least she thought it was temporary. Until the spring is coming. Until help is coming.

So when after three more months a crackling sound came from a pile of blankets and pillows, Hua panicked. The egg jumped on the spot from which it rolled closer to the fireplace, where the little fighter continued the unequal battle with a hard shell. Funna was fascinated and silently watched the process of birth. She knelt next to the egg that was spinning in place, not daring to intervene in the process. And when the crackling suddenly stopped and the egg became silent too, she was frightened.

- Come on, baby, just a little bit left. Try again, - she whispered, with shaken wings putting the egg on a blanket so that it would not roll away again.

After a few minutes of weary silence, scuffling resumed. Hua sighed with relief. Finally, the shell cracked and a tiny foot appeared in the light, which immediately disappeared inside to punch shell again in another place.

Once, second and third time.

Then a large piece flies to the side and a tiny creature rolls out onto a blanket. The first thing Hua noticed is that the child was not naturally small for such a big egg. However, they clearly did not feel any discomfort or embarrassment, sprawling on their back, joyfully waving their tiny paws and mumbling on their own language, obviously happy to see her.

Taking child in her arms, she began to examine them carefully. That was a boy. With tiny legs and arms with small claws; with light orange skin; he hasn't have yet a protective plates on the body; no shell and scales; with a short but joyfully wagging tail; he has sly yellow eyes with vertical pupils, like any other reptile or dino-folk have, which was curiously looking all around; and with still soft, but completely obvious horn on the head.

The kid looked like a cross between fire raptors and how strange it is for the dragons Peace Keepers. Perhaps he was a half-breed, which more fully explained his slightly different appearance from ordinary dino-creatures. But his size ... The baby was half the size of any dragon and three times smaller than any raptor child. Funna suggested that because of the mixing of blood, the baby didn't go through a full cycle of formation. The raptors were born within three-four months after the egg was taken down. With dragons was different; babies could sit in an egg for more than a few years before hatching.

From her thoughts she was pulled out by a quiet adorable sneeze from a slightly frozen child, who by surprise coughed and clumsily waved his paws near his nose. Hua looked at him sadly. Not a dragon, not a raptor, not a lizard. Different. Alien.

- You are someone completely new and unknown to this world, - she said softly, bringing baby to her face.

He grunted happily, clinging his fingers to her clothes and looking into her eyes. For her he look adorable, but for others...

Poor child. The world of dino-creatures will not accept him. No one in this decaying world will accept him like ... equal. Normal.

Unknown parents doomed him to die by the mere fact of his birth. From this thoughts, Funna's heart sank and tears flowed from her eyes. Hands themselves pressed the child to her chest, next to a pounding heart. With her own hands, she wanted to hide him from the cold claws of "reality." From pain that other creatures would cause him.

That was not fair. It was dishonest and cruel to a innosent creature that was just born. He didn't deserve such a fate.

Abandoned. Helpless. Infinitely lonely kid.

- And what should I do with you, sweet pea? - asked Hua to the empty house and the child, who was silently looking at her chewing her closes.

In response, she could only hear the measured crackling of burning logs and ticking of the clock on the wall. Hua sudenlly raised her head.

The storm outside... subsided? That couldn't be! Looking out the window, she can't believe her eyes. The snow stopped pouring, the clouds gradually dissipated and the sun ... It reappeared in the sky, which quickly acquired blue tones.

Funna mysteriously smiled at the lightening sky, gently running her fingers over the top of child's head, who cozily curled into a ball in her hands, clinging to chest next to her heart.

- It seems the sky has really sent you to brighten up our loneliness, - she began quietly. - I am so sorry that the beginning of your life turned out to be so sad, but I promise you that I will try to light your way in this gloomy and cruel world. I will be there until the last remnants of my magic die out in me. I will love you as my own baby, whom I have never had. I will guard you against all misfortunes and sorrows, - Hua tenderly and gently pressed his little head to her lips, whispering these more important words in her life. - As long as I live, you are my son, and I am your mother. My sweet baby. My Ripto.

~~~

- Look, dear, what a sky above us.

- Blue! Big! Bright!

- That's right, sweet pea. And one day everyone will know that's you who made this miracle happend. Those bluest skies above you.

[steadycoffeeflow]

Day 13. Guarded | CyberLife Office Party

“Why did you go and do such a thing?” The laughter was cruel, but let Steady know there was nothing behind it beyond superficial malice. There were no suspicions. Still, there was reason to be guarded.

Steady raised her voice in defense. “Carol, I made you a dairy-free dessert. It’s nice to be inclusive.”

“Yeah but I’m a human, Terra.”

And with that comment, Steady realized she’d done something mortally wrong. A fatal misstep. Any defense she had died and withered within her gut.

Steady’s life was a step-by-step guide on how to lose people and alienate friends, each mistake a stone she’d leap to, one to the next. This was shaping up to be another stone.

She pulled back the tinfoil from the dessert, exposing the deep indigo within. At the sight, she made tears spring to her eyes and she looked over to Marissa, who she shared a cubicle wall with. Thought about something dark - the dog she had in grade school and how her arms would never be full of that white fluff again - and the tears came easy then. “Is it...well. I thought it would be nice.”

“Oh Terra.” Marissa leaned forward, patting her shoulder. Steady hunched up over the bright indigo.

“It’s a waste of thirium,” Carol interrupted. “We’re fighting wars for that.”

“Carol, lay off. She was being kind.”

“Well I don’t think that’s an excuse to be thoughtless.”

“Pumpkin pie, anyone?” a new voice interjected, lofting a glass dish high in the air as a distraction.

The CyberLife break room was more or less three rooms adjoined into a central hub. It was the nicest break room Steady had ever been allowed to use in her life. And this was just the one on her floor. Sometimes she stole up to other break rooms - mostly so no one would notice one or two snack bags taken from different levels vs. the many taken from her own floor.

Given the size of the place, the decorations seemed small and out of place. Orange and black and purple didn’t really jive with CyberLife colors. But the decorations had been put up by HR just a few hours before the potluck and were likely used each year. It was the C-Suite who benefited from the fancy glass pumpkins, likely.

This was for the Marketing and on-site Sales team, people having brought chili, pies, finger foods and other various desserts. Steady was excited to get the free food at the price of exchanging desserts.

She just...had genuinely thought the office androids would have been invited.

Marissa squeezed Steady’s shoulder tighter. “It was nice. C’mon. I want whipped cream shot into my mouth before it’s all gone.”

“Thanks,” Steady said, laughing despite herself, wiping her eyes. She set the thirium dessert on the counter, apart from the rest of the food just in case someone was confused.

They’d settled in within ten minutes, idle chit chat as people loaded up their plates and social divisions were formed. Steady and Marissa stayed near each other, social politeness.

It was almost missed, in the bustle of it all.

Why he was there, Steady wasn’t sure. Maybe just to check in that everyone’s needs were met. He kept to the walls while Steady complained about new integration protocols upstairs was rolling out. Let someone else take the reins just as he walked past the bowl. Then he frozen, drawing close to backtrack and examine it. Steady moved.

Shoved to the edges of the room, no one else could eat it. It, therefore, had no worth.

“It’s android safe,” she said, voice low as she used the sink as an excuse to stand near him, filling a cup up of water. “Have some. It’ll go to waste otherwise.” He hesitated - designation 30. RK. He looked over his shoulder. She sensed it, the negative response, and headed it off. “Or, if you feel better, I’ll bring you some. To your office. After the party.”

His grip relaxed. Even blue. “Thank you.” Soft and quiet. Then, he offered a smile. “Would you like a fresh pot of coffee, for the events?”

Steady laughed, swished the water in her mug and then looked over the gathered humans. The only one who had glanced at her so far was Marissa. Everyone else were just people in suits. Steady could barely recall their names. “Yeah. I’d like that. And I’ll be over later.”

RK nodded, busying himself with filling the coffee pot with water, eyes on the blue dessert. Marissa ticked an eyebrow at RK’s back. Steady wiggled her fingers and didn’t say anything else, already pushing her luck. “He’s making us coffee,” Steady said, gesturing with her mug. “I think I need it if Samson wants us staying for that 8pm meeting.”

“Oh god. Thank him for me,” Marissa whispered as Steady joined them, and Steady hummed in agreement.

[cnhonestcn]

How to Choose the Best Commercial Potato Chips Machine

Whether you are a high-end restaurant, a bar, or even a small food business, you need to ensure that your kitchen is equipped to handle your customer’s needs. Commercial fryers used in most kitchens take a lot of time and food needs to be cooked in separate batches as well as monitored closely making it time-consuming and difficult.

However, potato chip machines are perfect for all types of kitchens and come with a range of different features and functions that can be used to match your establishment as well as the type of food you’re making. With so many potato chip machines on the market, here are some tips to keep in mind to choose the right one that matches your needs as well as your company’s requirements.

• Can you cook different types of food in the same machine?

The first thing when it comes to a potato chips machine is that this machine should allow you to cook potato chips, hot chips, fries, potato wedges and much more as well as have a compartment below that collects all the debris and dirt keeping your oil clean so that you can cook several batches and don’t need to change the oil in between. Certain fryers are also quite easy to clean and will ensure that the quality isn’t compromised, this allows staff to save a lot of time they would otherwise spend on cleaning commercial fryers and allows them to focus on other important tasks at hand.

• Can you fry frozen food?

When preparing larger quantities of foods such as frozen fries, spring rolls, nuggets, and more, you need to ensure that you thaw your food before frying it. An ideal potato chips machine will have various heating levels and ensure that all your food will have the perfect crunch consistency as well as be cooked evenly throughout. Look for a machine that is designed as a one-click setup and offers easy operation and maintenance. The best machine will be easy for your employees to grasp and understand as well as requires less labor so that your staff can focus on other important tasks around the kitchen.

• Does it take long to fry your food?

With a potato chips machine, you need to check how much food you need to fry daily and how long it will take, this can help you understand the right size fryer for your kitchen. Always do your research and choose a brand that can offer you fryers in different sizes as well as help you determine the cooking timings of your fresh fries, potato chips, appetizers, and other small dishes. Most reputable and trusted brands will offer you fryers that come with a range of features, specifications as well as various sizes suited to your needs. This can help you ensure that you can cook the right quantities of food for your customers and never fall short.

In Conclusion

At the end of the day, a good potato chips machine can offer you a seamless cooking experience and will keep the quality and consistency of your food high while ensuring that everything is evenly cooked. This allows your staff to be free to handle other tasks and makes it easier on the management, especially if you are running a big restaurant that receives a large number of customers. Always do your research and check the website before you purchase any machines or fryers as well as read the reviews, testimonials, and social handles, this will help you choose the right fryer to match your requirements.

[gotfanfictionsforallyouhoes-blog]

The Mouse and the Bear (Chapter 2)

BEWARE of SEXY SCENE IN THIS CHAPTER (VERY SEXY)

ALSO A BIT OF NON-CON BUT IT DOESN’T LAST VERY LONG

As the boats leave the shore you instantly regret not bringing a coat of some sort. You start to shiver uncontrollably and your teeth start to chatter. Without realizing it you scoot closer to Tormund in hopes that some of this body heat would get onto your frozen one. 

You lean up against him and he looks down at you and laughs “Only a little way away from your home and you are already freezing, you are going to have a hard time beyond the wall.” 

You ignore his words and shove your face into his fur coat still freezing. He puts his arm around you and pulls you close, he motions for another wildling on your boat to get a fur coat for you. He puts the coat around you and you thank him. He only nods at you but doesn’t let his hold on you go. 

You feel oddly content with his strong arm wrapped around you. You look up at him again and you finally get a good look at this man. Your thoughts drift to how attractive he actually is and you blush. Now you never really got to see a lot of men because you were stuck in your home your whole life with the exception of a couple of trips to the market. But as you look up at Tormund you can help but think about how red his beard is and how soft his hair looks. You also notice just how huge this man is, massive you could say. Definitely twice your size and at least a head taller than you.

He suddenly says  “What’s with the staring lass.” you and and quickly look away embarrassed to be caught. You stutter out a “I just didn’t get a good look at you earlier and I was curious.”

He chuckles and asks “How old are you (Y/N)” You don’t know why you feel the need to lie but you quickly say “twenty.” He grabs your face with a strong hand and forces you to look him in the eyes and you are shocked for a moment. “I will say this right now. I don’t like liars (Y/N). So how old are you really.” You gulp “sixteen.” He lets your face go and says “I’m guessing your a virgin, aye?”  Your eyes go wide and you blush madly startled by his blunt words. “W-why do you suddenly ask such an inappropriate question!?” You ask still embarrassed by his question. 

He gives a laugh and replies “You fancy folk always getting uncomfortable by blunt words. It is very funny to see you all bothered. I wanted to know because most of my men will except me to say how I fucked you. Since I took you and claimed you they will except me to make due on that claim, if I don’t they might try to take you for themselves thinking I’m uninterested in you.” Your eyes are as wide as saucers, you have never heard anyone talk so casually about sexual relations before.

 You no longer feel cold since all your blood has rushed to your face by you being flustered. You sigh lowering your head a little but finally answer a simple “Yes, I am” He nods “I expected as much since your face is the color of my hair.” You give him a look of slight annoyance and the conversation fades.

You stare up into the beautiful northern sky and you suddenly feel exhausted, you slowly close your eyes still leaning against Tormund you fall into a dreamless sleep.

You are jolted awake by a rough shake from Tormund. You had landed on a shore and he was speaking to you “Quick lass! There is a heavy storm coming and we need to get to cover, don’t drag behind and keep a hold on me, now get your ass up!” 

You get up as quickly as possible grabbing onto Tormund’s arm scared that if you let go he will keep on going and leave you behind for the storm to take you. You are walking and trying to keep pace but his legs are much longer than yours so you are practically being dragged by the man. You hear him huff in annoyance and he turns to you quickly sweeping your legs out from under you he picks you up “easier this way, I can go faster rather than you going as slow as a newborn” 

You simply put your face against his chest squeezing your eyes closed not wanting to see the snow whipping around your face as you feel the wind picking up. You hear Tormund shouting at the rest of his followers to head into the caves up ahead.

You only open your eyes once you stop hearing the howling wind. You look up at the man still carrying you and you can feel him breathing heavily. “thank you” you whisper your body trembling from either fear or cold, maybe both. He carries you to a secluding area away from the rest of his people and sets you down. “Wait here lass I will be back, don’t move” 

You notice how oddly warm it is while sitting on the cave floor. Almost a little too hot, you take off the fur coat you had on and set it down next to you. You heard Tormund but only faintly, it sounded like he was a good way away talking to his people. The warmth of the cave started making you drowsy and you start to nod off. Suddenly you feel someone come up behind you and in a split second they had their arm around you and a knife was to you neck. “Scream and I slit your throat bitch” You blood runs cold and for a second time in only a span of a few days you are facing the chance of death.

You try to turn your head slightly but you can tell by the voice it is a wildling man. “Tormund claims you as his but he has yet to actually claim you. I never liked that giant and my fucking you will prove I am a better man than he is.” He whispers evilly in your ear. You start to sob but he just puts a hand over your mouth and tells you to shut the fuck up. He uses his other hand to start touching your breasts. 

Your mind wanders trying to escape the situation you are in. You think how could your whole life be so horrible? You thought that after you got away from your dreaded home things might turn around, but if something can go wrong, it will.

You are snapped out of your thoughts as you hear the heaviest and loudest footsteps ever, you didn’t know footsteps could ever sound angry but you do now. You see Tormund coming towards you with such anger each footstep seemed to shake the whole cave. The man that was on you immediately jumps up and takes his weapon away from your throat and in front of himself for defense but it is no use. Tormund barrels into him with what sounds like a war cry. The man stood no chance, you faced away from the messy scene but you could still hear everything. You think almost every bone in your attackers body was broken before you hear a knife sliding across skin and the screaming goes silent.

You are holding yourself still crying. You hear Tormund breathing heavily coming down from his anger and his steps come closer to you. You are staring at the ground but you see his shoes in front of you. He kneels down and you see people in the corner of your eye carrying the dead man away but Tormund makes you look him in the eye. When you look into his eyes you see why they are called Wildlings. He has such a wild look in his eyes almost animal like. 

“How bad did he hurt you” You shake your head  “H-he didn’t hurt me just threatened to kill me and he almost-almost” choke out a few words, “hush now lass you are safe” and pulls you into a firm hug while you sob. You wipe your eyes and whisper a thank you. 

You reluctantly let go and you look down at him and notice that blood got onto his clothing. “Y-you have blood on you, you should clean up” You say he looks down at you and replies “Aye but I just got it all over you too lass.” You look down and see blood was wiped onto you from when you hugged. 

“Oh, is there anywhere to wash up?” You ask he chuckles at you “Did you not notice how warm it was in here girl? This is a hot spring so yes there are pools you can wash yourself in.” You blush and laugh a little “My thoughts are a little scattered forgive me” 

“Don’t apologize, it’s alright” He chuckles. He takes your hand and helps lift you onto your feet. You walk with him to a nearby pool and you thank him thinking he will leave but he walks over to you and starts trying to take your dress off. You jerk away from him your face heating up and scrunched up in confusion. He laughs “You can’t get this thing off by yourself, can your arms really reach behind your back?” You look down and allow him to untie your dress for you.

You thank him and wait for him to leave but he keeps standing just staring at you “Can you at least please turn around while I undress please?” You ask. He scoffs “I’m going to see you naked soon enough so why not now?” Your face is back to being dark red and you just shout out a please before he rolls his eyes and turns around. 

You slip out of your clothing and into the pool. You back is turned away from Tormund and you start scrubbing the dirt and blood off of yourself. You hear something hit the floor and you turn around in confusion and alarm thinking another person might be sneaking up on you. You let out a screech and you cover your eyes turning back around quickly. Tormund decided to join you and you just saw his well you know. “What? Never seen a mans cock before (Y/N)?” You shake your head frantically blushing like crazy “NO! NO I HAVE NOT! PLEASE DON”T SAY THAT WORD”

He starts laughing loudly at your words and he gets into the pool next to you but you scoot away from him. He laughs more “Come on now lass don’t be shy, you are my woman after all might as well get to know all of me.” He says lifting his eyebrows and grinning. You keep shaking your head and you pull your legs against you chest. He just follows and sits next to you. 

He leans closer to you and whispers in your ear “You know what a cock can do but have you ever thought about the wonders a mouth can do” You are shocked and for some reason that one statement started a small fire in your loins. You slowly raise your head and look into his eyes and you see it again. The same look when he killed a man but this time there was the wild mixed with what you could only describe a lusty hunger. His look just made the fire flame higher. Your eyes wide when his words register in your brain. You think to yourself you started a new life with wildlings and you are with this man now why not add to the list of insane changes in your life? You slowly lean forward closing your eyes and finally your lips meet. He takes this as a yes and wraps his strong arms around your waste, one of his hands dips down and pinches your ass. You gasp which lets him stick his tongue into your mouth. You feel his manhood get harder against your body which just fuels the fire in you and you feel yourself get wet you have never experienced any of this before but it all feels amazing.

He breaks the kiss and grins at you saying “I won’t be taking your maidenhood tonight but don’t worry I will still pleasure you like nothing you have felt before.” He whispers seductively. His words just make your lower regions even more slick with anticipation. He starts to kiss your jawline and slowly go down, when he gets to your neck he bites and sucks a little harder wanting to leave marks to show his claim over your body to others. You gasp and moan quietly as he goes down farther. Your eyes go wide and your mouth falls open as he takes one of your hardened nipples in his mouth. He uses his hand to play with the other breast. Your hands find his luscious hair and you tangle your fingers in it. He groans and bites down softly making you moan. He suddenly picks you up and puts you on the edge of the pool with your legs dangling off. You lean your head and body back onto the warm floor and you feel your legs being spread. You suddenly feel embarrassed and try to shut your legs but you hear a growl and he firmly keeps them open. Suddenly it feels like a bolt of lightning goes through your body and your fist clenches and you moan shamelessly. You feel a mouth directly on your clit drawing circles around it. He latches onto your sex with such ferocity it shakes you, his beard tickles your thighs but just adds to the pleasure. He puts the flat of his tongue at the bottom of your folds and slowly licks up to you clit. When his tongue finds the bundle of nerves he bites down and you lets out a scream of pleasure. His tongue goes in and out of your body and your eyes roll into the back of your head. You start to feel a knot tightening in the pit of your belly. Your breaths start to come out short and ragged as you moan “D-dont stop, please oh gods yes” He can tell you are about to snap and his tongue starts to work even harder than before. You reach your climax with a loud moan. Your body feels like a dead weight and you are more tired than you have ever been in your whole life. You hear Tormund chuckle from down below you as he rises up and licks his lips he whispers to you with a grin “you taste better than anything I have ever eaten.” You just blush and cover your eyes again. “I am too tried to deal with your crude words Tormund.” He just laughs and picks you up taking you to the the bed of furs that has been made for you both. He lays you down under the blankets first then wrapping his arm around your waste he pulls you close. You softly smile and drift into a peaceful sleep which you have not had in a long time.