#I’ve been thinking about the crown animal forms lately I think I have most of the bishops

[spiderin-space]

Ascended Goat……

[beni-draw-ikemen-please]

Casablancas

Tags: 5+ Years AU, Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Teasing, Hair-pulling, Vanilla, Rough Sex, Cunnilingus, He is a boob man, Not Beta Read, Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Feels, Light Angst, Waiting, Unrequited Love

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Word Count: 6,443

Rating: Explicit 

Pairing: Jade Leech x Asami Oda (OC)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32076625/chapters/79462633

A/N: All my TWST works will reference my original long fic of my OC, Asami and Leona Kingscholar.

If you'd like to know how the relationships got established, you may read the long fic EYES NOSE LIPS. I was in desperate need for some Jade teasing and smut and this came to me and I JUST - I needed to write it. Thank you so much for @pseudofaux​ for the help with writing some of the imagery I had for this piece. 

She is an amazing writer and writes for most Otome Fandoms (and anime) tastefully, skilfully and beautifully!

Chapter 1:  I’ve missed you

It would be like this. The quiet week when Jade finally takes a few days off from work. It would be subtle, but it was a regular occurrence, a few days in the middle of the month.

A few months before he finished his final year in the magical university, Jade was given a shiny opportunity as a manager-in-training for a luxurious hospitality agency. And while Floyd opted for a more adventurous career, Jade quite liked the more domestic approach. He liked staying in one place, and doing what he knew he could do best. To serve .

Triton Hotel is strategically and most notably one of the most iconic landmarks of Santería — a neighbouring Savanna sharing a border with Afterglow. About six hours by plane, but only two hours to pass through a magic mirror.

He’ll clock out with everything in order, a set of phone numbers and potions at the ready if an event where he is desperately needed may occur. He'll make sure though, prior to this appointment that he won’t be needed. At least, until his awaited engagement was fulfilled.

                                           ══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════

As his gloved fingers aligned the last bit of stem on a vase of casablanca lilies, he straightened himself, brushed his jacket neatly in place as he eyed the clock. Any minute now—

A soft knock by his door. Precisely just as he predicted. His loft had been thoroughly cleaned, and he put on fresh flowers she liked. Got that room mist she picked out the last time they went out for tea. Jade Leech would breathe in, as if savouring the air through his lungs in this form. The form he felt fortunate to swell in.

To have this skin—

He reached for the brass handle, and as he opened the door, there she was. Raven hair tied neatly behind her. Her collared shirt buttoned just how he liked it. Her dark long skirt covered most of her beauty, beauty he was all too familiar with. Jade smiled at her, and gestured for her to come in. A gloved hand slowly finding themselves ghosting the small of her back. “Come in,” it tells her. Quietly, very gently hovering over, already anticipating the warmth of her supple—

“You’re late,” he chuckled, and instantly her cheeks would sport a mellow pink. And then, as he spoke and approached her, as his hands found her close and closer, the colour growing as intense, her apology now irrelevant, her face now too alluring, too inviting for him not to be this close. “Jade-san—

He wished she dropped the honorific. He felt as if she was calling someone else, someone familiar yet at the same time, still a stranger, even after all those years.

And though he was not present in her life, he hasn’t been for years— almost a decade— Jade felt that his shadow still clung around the scent of her hair. 

Still clawed its way into her dreams when they lay together at night.

“I’ve missed you so—” she did, and he could feel it. The way she pulled him close, so close to her, he would always need to reach down even though Jade knew he could easily lift her in his arms. But she wasn’t fond of that, he knew better. It would remind her of him— her other, her long-lost love. The one who didn’t return her affections. The one who left.

Remembering him ticks something inside of Jade.

Hands would trail from her small shoulders, slowly removing the white gloves with his teeth. A sight he knew always excited her.

Thumbs slowly finding themselves by the small of her neck. He’d stop there, mismatched eyes of ochre, and lead admiring her features, gently—fiercely. Jade always felt the need to compete with a ferocity that’s been a struggle for her to forget. Even with him there.

She is the same Asami, yes she is— though, the years have certainly made her even more impeccable than the days she used to waltz across the floors of the Mostro Lounge. And her long hair now, framed her face better. Not that her shorter hair didn’t. Something about her keeping it tight and in place behind her excited the fins under his flesh, under this form.

Something about the way she kept herself from others; from the long sleeves she always wore, to the way her hosiery clung to her skin, something about it made the corners of Jade’s lips pull up to a satisfied smile. Thumbs now gently finding their way around her jaw, and now she’s looking up at him. Lips slightly parted, pale and luscious — just the way he likes her. Flushed and eager with anticipation. She’s always been stirred around him, and as the years went by, and as she learned of his affections towards her, she was able to let her guard down. 

She was able to relax around him, and every now and then, she’d open the doors that led to her locked heart. 

Heart that’s been locked away for him— thinking about him made the inside of Jade’s stomach coil and quiver.

A man he loathed but thanked at the same time. For he made her so beautiful, made her wait, made her patient — exactly how he loved her.

Devoted, hungry and yearning — and how, as time twirled her around and around, the precious seconds that she’s on her own on this marble polished twisted floor—of magic and wonderland, of things that will never be known to her— he was able to perform his best steps so far. Like Rothbart, he was patient to learn that dance, he was patient to learn the music, patient to learn when the prince would step away from crescendo, patient to finally have her hands slowly find his.

And he was sure not to ever let her escape, not ever.

His lips were gentle on her cheek, and Jade could hear her soft humming as he trailed gentle kisses up to the side of her head just above her eyelid. Gently, very gently on her forehead, then his hands would slowly and gingerly press themselves along her jawline, his lips—now hungry and bruising against her chin, and then her jaw.

Longer, sweeter, and heavier kisses followed his fingers as he carefully trudged across her skin like gravity couldn’t help but press himself towards her . And Jade would feel her hands on his forearm, desperately pulling him closer. She can be impatient, with so many years being too patient. For him, it wasn’t an issue. He is willing to give her what she wants, what she always wanted but never felt like she deserved.

His lips would finally land on hers, and she was very quick to open her mouth to him. Inviting him into this world only of lush and velvet— of sweetness and bitterness, the taste that’s uniquely her.

He would always know.

“Jade,” when she is desperate like this, she is quick to lose herself. Quick to drop the politeness she once so carefully honed like he did. They were quite similar in this aspect. But in the way Asami lost herself, Jade found her over and over again. His tongue now finding salvation, finding comfort in her mouth. It’s been weeks since they saw each other. His work didn’t allow many days  for him to be away, certainly not even weekends, to their dismay. And she was unable to travel through mirrors without a companion bearing magic. Certainly not for more than a few minutes.

Her hands pulled him closer by the nape, her smaller figure trying her bestest to reach up to him, “I’m—

She is panting now, and it’s one of the things that Jade loved the most. Even more than his precious terrariums and the many trinkets he’s collected off the land throughout the years. She was like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow . The trinkets he’s collected, polished and admired were merely coins, coins that just sunk to the bottom of this grand marble fountain. And she was the centerpiece, and the rainbow her mere crown. Jade didn’t think it was possible to be this hungry, this crazy about a human woman.

Asami tugged at his collar, and with fingers almost as skilled and swift as Jade’s, his tie was immediately on the floor. His jacket was already coming off as she pushed him down his leather couch. A rich crimson, and with dusts of gold, much like her eyes. Eyes he’d admired for so long.  Jade is relaxed under her stare, she looked like a beast from this angle. Like a panther, ready to devour. He quite liked that contrast as she was as quiet and as shy as he could be prowling. Her knees resting between his legs, letting him know she wanted to take charge, maybe today if he let her. And Jade would smile, hands tight around the small of her back, and gently smoothing themselves around her waist, and then resting firmly by her lower abdomen.

“Come,” he invited her, his voice a smooth Ambrosian—a drug to Asami. 

Her hands rested around his shoulders as she leaned for another sweet kiss.

Jade loved the way she would seem brave as she leaned close, and how softly  and easily she melted under his embrace. And her head would gently rest on his shoulder after kisses, she would always be embarrassed like this. And Jade's hands would only pull her closer, gloved hands like a virtuoso of her melody, gently lifting the hems of her shirt, untucking her blouse and slowly undoing the buttons from the bottom, and then she moans.. And she would watch him, cheeks flushed red as he unbuttons her shirt. 

Her hands, still on his shoulders.

Jade would run his hands, from the bottom wire of her brassiere, to the fullness of her, cupping her breasts with his hands as she slowly reached for another kiss. Hands heavy around her, and then back to where he knows she loves it best. Orchestrating touches that earned him the sweetest of sounds. Her chest, her neck, and then again, her jaw. Followed by wet kisses, and eager nips. Hands finding themselves back down her breasts again, and Asami would always wonder when she’d black out during this slow languid way he fondled her. Her blouse would be on the floor in an instant. And his hands were already pulling by her ass, lips and tongue now lapping at her full softness.

Jade was sure she won’t always be conscious of it, but her hands would pull him closer by the nape, breathless and parched for him. Music clung to its pilgrims. And he is, as he so lovingly puts it, both the virtuoso and the instrument. Only for her songs, only for her pleasure.

“It felt like forever,”  it was a gradual process, how she eased into his fins. And Jade almost marveled at how their little human lost her composure the closer they fell for each other.  Closer and closer , slowly, she revealed herself to him like she had never before, even after all these years of knowing.

Jade knew how much of herself she devoted to Kingscholar, so, to see her come undone like this, for him specifically, was a sight to behold. A reward for all that waiting.

Though she wasn’t one to take charge, the way she pushed him down his leather sofa proved to be quite the surprise for Jade. The way her chest heaved let the silk organza she wore shimmer under the warm lights of his loft. Like mellow clouds illuminating heaven, and she was the brightest shine, the goddess that pulled that world of light and love together.

He felt blessed to be in this form. In this form, his hands could run from her shoulders, to the small of her back. Down to her ass, a place he didn’t think would be this delectable, this tempting. Her cheeks have the sweetest tint of apples, and he quite liked the way she looked whenever she was embarrassed. Parted lips that seemed to call out to him, in every language--- human and merfolk, how her shoulders pulled themselves together under his gaze, how she’d avert her eyes— his stare can be too much for her— she admits that one time.

But Jade was quite fond of that look on her face.

And as Asami watched his eyes, she almost forgot how his hands were already undoing the last button that let her blouse down. Curious, slender fingers now teasing the top part of her chest as he pulled her closer, and closer.

She knew Jade knew his way around her like this. Her bra would come undone in an instant, and sometimes she’d wonder how much experience he’s had before her. Before all of this.

He is careful as his mouth enveloped her like this. She trusted him to be careful, though Asami knew, after a certain point in time, that Jade needed more. He needed to let the ferocity hidden behind features like alabaster and pearl, behind polite speech, behind knifelike teeth out.

Out to ravage her.

And the old fear she knew around him slowly sublimated, slowly fed a newfound feeling for him.

Something akin to the hunger she once felt for someone else, though she tried her bestest not to compare.

Wet. It was warm and wet. And though at times Jade Leech looked like he was nothing but.

Though she knew his form under the sea, savage and cold— unforgiving—the Jade before him was warm, inviting, just as hungry as she was. Just as parched as she was.

And she would gasp, and wrap her arms around him. Her face hid by the crook of his neck. Jade’s hands now grabs her thighs, and slowly drags himself across her skin. Fingers now find himself on her inner thigh, and she would gasp again. The anticipation nearly unbearable for Asami, but she quite liked the thrill of waiting. She was primed to wait, and Jade was always set to reward her.

“I— I thought I’d,” she thought about it. Taking charge. But Jade is always quick to give her the illusion that she could. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t think she would be capable of it. It was more that he enjoyed the image of her unravelling. The sounds she makes as his fingers tease her wetness. Her eagerness was fully displayed by the lack of underwear. But Jade quite liked how she kept the garterbelt on, and how the stockings hugged her plump thighs. Jade didn’t think it would be possible to want a human woman like this. To hunger for a creature of land, like this.

“I didn’t think you were the naughty type,” he chuckled against her hair. And then, he inhales . A deep inhale, savouring the air around her like this, with this form . His two fingers now inside her wet cunt, Asami moans and Jade lets himself breathe more of her, strands of her raven hair getting caught between his teeth, her hands around him tighter.

“Only, if you’ll be the one to punish me,” she tries her best, sometimes she’ll play a part -  but Asami is always soft, always so sweet. He admits playing pretend sometimes gets his fins excited, gets his mouth watering, his cock hard. But Jade loved her like this. Just as much as the timid and docile Asami he’s loved over the years.

His hands reached for her ponytail, a soft thug. She moans after a soft gasp. Jade’s mouth smothering her breasts with kisses and nips. His other hand pumping into her core softly, but deeply. Two, and then three. Asami’s hands are tight around him, holding herself together. He could be unforgiving, and she’s learned to brace herself when he is in a steady pace like this.

His hands on the knot that holds her hair together, now tighter. Pulling her hair tight, slowly wrapping her hair around his wrist. His mouth lapped at her nipple, taking her— as much as possible — in his mouth.  

“I’ve missed you, Asami—” he murmurs onto her skin, followed by wet nips and then gently picks her up. She holds on to him, arms wrapping tight around his neck. She didn’t like it when he did this, but it stirs something inside Asami and she can only go quiet, she can only let him.

And he carries her, legs wrapping around his lithe figure, towards his bedroom. He is as quiet as she is. And he inhales the scent of her hair. Jade gently pushes the door close with his heel, and then very gently settles her there. 

The finest artefact he’s ever acquired off land.

Chapter 2:  Tamed by You

Trinkets and treasures, flora and fauna he’s collected off the land receive a special space in his loft. Carefully curated around him, like the work of the princess of the sea who collected treasures from sunken ships. How he admired her fortitude. How he wished to be surrounded by such beautiful, such wonderful things, too.

Surely, none of them could be bad?

But only the empress of his world deserves the prime space of his collection, the shelf of his bed.

Unfortunately, his empress seems displeased. Being carried, like the way he brought her to the bed… Jade knows she dislikes it. That it reminds her of someone else, someone with the same kind of fury, but rougher, harder. 

The sight of her pouting worries Jade, but it amuses him just as much. He hovers over on his mattress , the weight of him like an aphrodisiac seeping into her skin, into her lungs, into her lust. 

“I told you,” she whispers, cheeks flushed, and the corners of her eyes shining with almost tears. “I don’t like being carried,” and he knows this. He knows this well. 

But couldn’t help doing it anyway. 

He plants a chaste kiss on her cheek, and then her forehead, his hand smoothing her forehead under him. “Forgive me,” he hisses, whilst taking her hand and planting soft kisses around her knuckles and fingers. Jade never wants to truly disappoint or upset her in any way. 

But if it will rile her up in the end, he has the tendency to try. 

“What would you like?” Another kiss, to her wrist. Then to her elbow, while he waits for her to decide and answer. His eyes never leave hers. Asami hums, and she takes a minute, while watching him plant kisses all over her hands and wrist, and then she takes him by the hand. 

Pulls him back up to her into a full embrace. 

She is quiet for a bit as Jade holds her tight. Then, she is facing him again, her eyes misted with want, and lips parted — ready and very, very delectable, to Jade.

“I want you,” she whispers as she pulls him close, lips parting just for him, at least Jade hopes. Her mouth invites him in, making way for only him between those lips of hers. He loves them so dearly. But whenever she expresses it like this, Jade can’t help but wonder if it is really him that she is asking for. He would very much prefer that she call his name. 

Sometimes, even in these heady moments of pleasure and satisfaction, Jade’s mind can’t help but go there — to Kingscholar’s image. The subtle ways he dragged her around, as if wielding lace entwined with barbed wire around her neck and she couldn’t quite tell the difference. His indifference towards her, and how she lapped every crumb of affection he hands out every now and then. 

How she deserved so much more. 

It was ridiculous, how easy it all looked, how easy it all felt. All of a sudden, she was within Leona’s arms. And just like that, he let her go. No explanations, nothing. 

But Jade tries to convince himself. That he is the one there, not him. 

He is the one undressing Asami, with his hands, in this skin. 

Not him. Not Leona Kingscholar. 

Jade’s hands push the hems of her skirt up to her waist, and part the soft fabric to reveal her skin. How he has missed her like this, quivering and wet underneath his stare, underneath his hands. He leans in and trails wet, rough and jagged kisses across her neck, to her collarbone, to her shoulder, biting his way back down to her chest. His hands tightly pin her wrists down. 

You’re mine, they tell her.

All mine, she hears it through his ragged breathing, through the grip on her skin. His kisses feel like warnings, beware, they tell her. But she isn’t one to listen. Not when his lips are so inviting, not when his hands of alabaster guide her so lovingly toward him. Another kiss, on the side of her breast, and then he sucks on her sensitive skin. Jade knows exactly where to kiss, exactly where to touch to put her in pieces, moaning underneath him. His fingers are trailing where the garterbelt clips, and they are easily undone by his skillful hands. 

The sound of his belt unbuckling is music to Asami’s ears. She loves it, and she looks forward to the events he can lead her to after.

Her eyes try their best to focus on him, and the shape of his waist. The abdominal lines that excite her so. His trail, a darker shade of teal that makes her insides quiver. Jade Leech is a curious creature. He’s also a creature of beauty, of ferocity, and something else Asami can’t spell, not with the letters that this world can wield. 

Jade knows how much it pleases her, when he is in this state of undress. The blush on her face alone is enough to know: she can’t get enough, and she wants more. More. 

Jade leans in, for another sweet and tender kiss, and Asami’s hands are pulling him close, from the nape, and her hands snake around the back of his ear, her fingers gingerly caressing his earlobes. Jade doesn’t understand why she does this, what the need for it is but he lets her anyway. Maybe she is amused with sleeping with a partner who has human ears, maybe? The thought makes Jade chuckle, though she doesn’t ever seem to notice it. 

“Jade.” He hovers over her like a spell gone wild, a premonition, and he languidly breathes into her skin, down her abdomen, his fingers following after— and then down her belly, fingers stroking her thighs. Heavy hands now guide her thighs up and open for him, so he can finally have the perfect view of her. 

He was quick to learn the ways of pleasure for creatures of the land, but for Asami’s sake, he had to go very slow. He had to make sure he knew what she wanted, or at least, what she thought she wanted. Jade Leech leans in, and she holds her breath, her hands anchoring her to his mattress. 

Asami feels him, wet and hot, a very very hot mouth on her. Tongue, a different kind of sensation than what she was used to,  not as rough, not as shocking. And she feels the movement of some smooth recitation from Jade Leech’s curious and dangerous lips onto her wet cunt. 

He hears the softness of her breath, the music it brings out of her, and Jade is delighted. His hands tighten around her thighs as dips his tongue deeper, alternating sucks and broad drags of his tongue. Tasting her. 

She reaches for him, hands  desperate to hold him as she looks into his mismatched eyes. Asami likes it whenever Jade does this, and his eyes never leave hers. 

When he stares right back into hers, into her core, she feels the affection she has never thought she deserved. The love she has been hoping for. It just took her several years to realise that perhaps, it was meant to come from someplace else, from someone else. She is grateful. 

Jade reveres her like an empress, like she is the fairest of all the land - maybe she truly is , for him at the very least. 

She is a confection of delicateness, and melodic sighs— everything Jade wants, everything he loves most. Her legs shake from pleasure and the intensity of his touch, and he loves the way she looks as she searches for something, anything, to tether herself into this bed— his domain — desperate to keep herself in place. Because she knows if she doesn’t, she will be drifting away in pieces at how hard he is going at her clit, how hot his mouth feels on her and how much he is teasing her.

But his hands remind her that he is present, he is there. 

He is her anchor, and her storm at sea — all in one. 

His forearms push her down, while his hands reach for her breasts— he can, even with this form, he surely can— mouth, tongue and almost teeth still on her cunt. There have been times when he thought about doing all of this to her, with her, in his true form, and he wonders if she will ever be up for it. Jade’s mind wanders for a second, but he does not let up, it is still all about her. If he wanders too long, her voice will bring him back, her voice— as if it is truly the most precious, valuable thing in this world — brings him back to the shore of her body, the coast of her softness. 

Asami holds her breath when she feels she is close, but Jade Leech wants this to last. 

So he sucks hard, earning him a gasp, and then a groan. Asami chants towards enlightenment; she has to redo it and try again, if Jade lets her. 

Jade feels it when she opens herself wider, urges him to push her down harder and heavier, she is close. Jade takes her by the thighs, and adjusts himself so he almost looks like he is ready to slip his entire self into her and his tongue yields her soft, hot and wet flesh, and invites her to come. Softly grazing her with his tongue, and then, sucking, and then again licking her softly. 

Time feels like it stops when Asami holds herself like this, holds her breath again.

When Jade finally lets her have it, he continues his pace as he listens to her. He is desperate to make her concentrate on her sweet bundle of nerves, the touch of his tongue, and the warmth of his breath onto her.  

And she finds release, her thighs tighten around his face and she cries out incoherent words and mews of satisfaction. Jade adores how she coos, and he kisses her inner thigh, continuously, letting her ride the waves of pleasure he so patiently lavished. Jade carefully moves her legs, and moves up to watch her face as she pants. Her eyes find him, smiling, and she doesn't utter a word, but Jade’s fingers are quick to trace her cheeks that are now so red, down to her lips that now look so desperate and wanting for more.

When they meet like this, a few days in the middle of each month, he savours every opportunity to make her come, and Jade finds great satisfaction in making sure she enjoys the best release, every single time. He is particularly proud of the way his masterful hands seemingly wrenched the pearl of her soul out of her oysterlike prison— out of the steel bars of the lion’s den— and into this world that is his bed. 

She is his pearl, his treasure.

His precious Asami, pearlescent and soft and beautiful in the centre of his world. How he loves her, how desperate he is to keep her right there. Away from the clutching grip of the past, away from the claws of unrequited love and away from Kingscholar, forever, if this world so allows. 

“P-please,” she moans, and she begs. Jade can’t refuse her when she does this. Her voice sounds like she could break, any minute now, his precious pearl. His lone casablanca. 

Jade starts slow. Getting accustomed to the pleasures of this form, within this skin, didn’t take very long. She is irresistible to him, and when she first let him have her, he was surprised to find how easily he could break underneath this spell she is so unaware that’s binding his heart, his fangs, his claws and his very essence to her. Her alone. 

Jade’s hand now firm on her ass, Asami opens her legs a little bit more, his grip tighter and his breathing slower and heavier than hers as he brushes the tip of his cock against her cunt. 

A greedy woman, she truly is. And Jade can feel his lips form a satisfied smile, so maybe he made her this way. 

“P-please,” she moans and she begs as he rolls her over.

They fuck hard and she can barely keep herself upright as Jade pushes his entire length and girth inside her. She is thankful he is so considerate, making sure there were pillows underneath her, and her face is properly cushioned. But sometimes she wonders if he truly is thoughtful, with how hard his nails are digging onto her skin, with how hard he is fucking into her. 

A heavy force, just as rough when you let him be, Jade Leech. 

Leona and Jade - different sides of the same ferocious coin. 

But it is funny to Asami how, in between gasps and out-of-breath kisses, in the spaces between Jade thrusting himself into her, she finds these comparisons. She doesn’t want to compare them, but a common ground always seems to connect her hearts to them. Her past, and now present. 

Her maelstrom, her lighthouse. Her Jade. 

His scent long forgotten, his fangs long absent from her skin. Bruises long healed. 

Jade bends down, sucks on her shoulder as he pounds her harder. Harder. Faster. And Asami cannot hear herself and how she is moaning, but Jade can hear her, only her. Sometimes muffled against the pillow, and then she tilts her head to the side and gasps for air.

Hands circle around her, feeling her breasts, and then he adjusts himself, his hands supporting themselves on her hips once more. He smoothes them down to her ass. 

Jade knows she likes it hard, and he has always found that he wants to compete with that ferocity he knows she once loved. The only kind of love she knew, until him. Sometimes he wonders if she still loves him. If he is only a replacement. Sometimes his mind wanders. And then he goes harder, harder, pulling her pony out so he can let her hair down. Just to grab it up so it is held by his fingers instead and he can pull her hair so much tighter as he bottoms out. He is rough, and Asami is near to tears. But she likes it, she loves it. He knows she does.

“J-Jade,” she moans, drooling on her pillow. Jade pulls out, turns her so she is laying on her back. “Face me,” he growls. His voice lower now, deeper. His hands are pushing her thighs down and open, and he goes for it yet again. His thumb slowly glide down her clit as he enters her again. She gasps sharply, her eyes watching his every move, so she sees the shimmer in his eyes - dark and dangerous- and the way it encourages her to let go and come again. 

He wishes someone could watch the way he fucks her. There is elegance there. His ferocity is carefully wrapped around by elegance, wrapped around her and her finger, though she doesn’t know this. Not fully. 

He fucks her hard. And he takes her ankles and plants wet kisses there. Alternating with eager nips, bending and then pushing her down, harder. Kisses to her knees, it feels so good. “Ah-,” he grunts as he pushes down her legs, this lets him go deeper, more forceful. 

The composure and finesse that hold Jade Leech’s demeanor together slowly break as he fucks her. 

Jade knows that she isn’t made of glass. She can take it, blow by blow. So he wants to make her. He repositions them again, and puts her up so she is sitting on his lap. And then he lets her work herself down on him. He grips her tightly around the waist before he slides his hands toward her ass. His middle finger gently strokes her there, wringing another sharp gasp out of her. He knows Asami finds support around his neck whenever he teases her like this. She is breathless, and she is blushing, but she wants all of this and more. 

The perfect view of her face, and the expression she is now wearing— so different, a far cry from her prim, proper, pure self outside his domain. 

Only for him, she is like this only for him. Only like this—  because of him.

Jade Leech doesn’t think he is deep enough, so he pushes her down, shocking Asami with the swift movement. Jade’s laboured breathing is something she can never get used to, just like the way he blushes whenever they are so close like this thrills her. His hungry eyes seem to see through all of her, exciting her insides, making her drip. Jade is thrusting into her again, and she can feel how close she is. His pace becomes more erratic, his elegance slowly crumbling to a jerky staccato that’s very unlike his usual rolls into her. 

“Asami,” he hisses in between heavy breaths, and she tries to touch his thighs— as he fucks into her, starved and ravenous like the predator that he truly is. She wants to touch him too. She wants him too. She wants her hands all over him too. 

Asami’s soft fingers call out to him, and he is quick to go into her embrace. His hips crash onto hers so feverishly she feels her whole body jerk and bob up and down. She feels good, she loves his relentlessness. He is close himself, brought there by her body, by her arms around him.

She stretches for a kiss. Her fingers toy with his earring, as their lips lock once more. 

What is it about predators that attract her attention, make her fingers tingle? What is it about carnivores? Asami doesn’t understand it, but she knows Jade is so beautiful to her. She can  feel him hitting the deepest parts of her. There is a slight sting, but the pleasure of him, the pleasure of it all, is stronger. 

“I love you,” escapes her soft lips, and Jade wonders if she is really talking to him. Sometimes the trust he so lovingly bestowes upon her betrays him in the most unfortunate moments. But he tries to push that thought aside, looks directly into her eyes so he can see only her and she can see only him. 

And how the light seems to reflect on her eyes, always. He loves her, too— of course he does, so much. He has thought of her with fondness since the first time they met. It took him a long fucking time to make his move but here he is, cock-deep in her, finally. 

Not for the first time and not the last.

That thought is what makes him come, hot and slick inside and desperate to stay there. Her legs squeeze him lovingly, her arms pull him tight as he bites the side of her neck and feels how the last of his release oozes into her This skin, his temporary form, how grateful he is for it right now. How grateful he is for anything that lets him be with her. 

                                            ══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════

The aftermath of it all is a sacred time for Jade. He lays beside her, eyes carefully watching the soft shadows of her lashes on her cheeks, even breathing from her softly parted lips. The dark of her hair all over his pillow and her back, she lays on her tummy and he pokes her cheek with a soft chuckle. 

What a beautiful creature, he thinks to himself. He won’t ever get used to it, he won’t ever get tired of her, this view and the many things they could learn and explore together. Jade runs his fingers through her hair, and gives her a kiss on her cheek. 

And then on her fringe, inhaling deeply. He wanted to run a bath for her, but she insisted on staying in bed, and being held. He can never refuse her. 

Even though Jade is the one who trims the stems of the bouquet, and sets each flower in place...even though he is the one usually in control, she rules his heart. He is on his knees because of her. She is the queen of lilies after all, the empress of his world, his precious pearl. He cannot force her and he cannot taint her.

He can only try to improve her vase.

Maybe this is what brought the king to his knees. Maybe this is why he left. Maybe he realised how big an impact she could make on his life, on his heart. But that thought makes Jade chuckle. He hasn’t been a coward, he thinks. And he marvels at how long she has waited, and how long he waited for her, the intersections in the past where they connected and met. He believes, has believed for so long, that he is the one for her. 

The delicate petals, much like her lips, the precise way the flower bends, the purity of it all— his heart sings for the queen of lilies, for his casablancas. 

Carefully curated, skillfully placed, within his domain.

Purest white set upon the backdrop of his darkness, elegance and ferocity…but he knows deep down, he is a mere devotee. Not a director.

Beauty tames ferocity. Always.

A/N:  I just want to say thank you A BIG BIG THANK YOU to pseudofaux for helping me with this delicate piece. I wanted to stay consistent and faithful to the first chapter. I also never really written a full sexual scene so I was struggling a lot. Thank you Pseu for your patience and for your hardwork. Thank you. 

I also want to thank scummy for helping me sent the pace and tone/flow of the first draft. Thank you so much! 

Thank you so much for reading this piece! If you enjoyed this story, please do let me know what you think! If you're interested to see more of my TWST art, 

I am over twitter most of the time. ♡(｡- ω -)

[kitaychan]

White flame

Chapter 18

Rating: M

Warnings: Blood, Psychological horror

General Summary:  As their two Kingdoms get closer to a war, the past keeps on hovering around their choices. Prince Ivan has a hard time controlling his magical powers while being tormented by a mysterious ghost and Prince Alfred embarcs in seeking a revenge that might cost more than it’s worth it.

Preview: A fire started, the coals turning bright red, the flame was white, dancing rapidly. Chun Yan gasped, grasping his shoulders and shoving him back.

Ivan’s hands trembled, his heart hammering on his chest. “I’m sorry, are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she said, retrieving her hands. “I think I've just ruined your coat.”

Ivan paused, shaking his head, there were black fingertips imprinted on the fabric. A chuckle escaped him. “I can’t believe you’re worried about the coat.”

“I’ve only seen blue flames,” She said, observing the fire and reaching out her hand, pausing. “What did you think about to make it white?”

Chapter 18: Family

The sunlight emanating from the window was warm, strange, though she would not complain about the weather, this year the winter seemed to be kinder to them. Yekaterina smiled as she observed her penmanship, the soft traces of ink were perfect, she was proud of her doing, Maddeline had praised her writing before and Katya was happy to provide her with a poem so she could keep it as a gift.

Looking over the desk, she saw that old looking silver clock, holding it lightly, she observed the hour, 2 o´clock, it couldn’t be that late, she woke up early in order to finish the letter, it couldn’t be possible. A soft chuckle escaped her as she noticed the clock was still, maybe that’s why her brother had left it there, the window opened harshly, a cold breeze moving the curtains.

She straightened her posture, her back aching from slouching over the desk, her feet were cold and her hands were messy, splotches of ink on her fingers. She approached the window, the gardens were vibrant green, a bit wet from the early coldness, she could see her brother fooling around by the fountain, dragging along Tolys.

Some days, she wished she could have been born a boy, she would have been happier like that, her father would have probably taught her how to ride a horse properly, she wouldn’t have to wear heavy dresses on the ceremonies and she would tag along with her brother, perhaps he’d listen to her.

Other days, she was happy with who she was, there was peacefulness in knowing she wouldn’t partake in conflicts, likewise, she couldn’t picture how she’d look if she were a male, it was beyond her thoughts, maybe she’d be taller but what was the appeal of that, she already struggled with it when the tailors took her measurements. Why would she wish for her life to be different?

“You would be the one ruling.”

Katya shook her head, those couldn’t be her thoughts, it was almost like a whisper, the voice was familiar too, not her own, it couldn’t be, it was probably her tiredness.

She turned around slowly, holding the clock in her hands, her lips quivering slightly. Her eyes widened at the sight in front of her, on the chair where she was a few seconds ago, a figure sat, lifting the letter and examining it.

Yekaterina faltered, her voice shaking. “Father?”

The man turned to her, leaving the letter on the desk. “Ah yes, Katya, Vanya and Natasha, this youth has not yet chosen a path, I wonder who will take the lead.”

“I don’t understand, what lead?” she asked, stepping back.

“How naive. You look like someone I knew, but younger.” The figure loomed around her, a cold hand caressing her cheek, a wide smile spread on his face. “Yekaterina, you want to rule but there’s a nuance on your way, there has always been someone eclipsing you.”

“That’s not true!” Yekaterina gasped, moving the hand away from her, letting the clock fall from her hands and stumbling to the door. She gripped the door frame tightly as if that could prevent her from listening to that voice whispering in her ear.

“Selfless, naive Yekaterina sent the crown to greedy, obedient Natalya, I haven’t spoken to any of you as I should. Svetlana was a good listener, diligent, if only she were braver, but neither are you Katya, I’m afraid you'll end up being another pawn.”

The window closed with a thud, Katya opened her eyes slowly, a sigh escaping her as she found herself alone, she retrieved the clock from the floor, a crack had formed on the glass, her hands were shaking. Was she going mad?

---

Natalya tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, layer by layer of heavy covers embraced her, the stone walls didn’t keep the warmth, she huffed, shifting another page from the old book as she squinted her eyes, the penmanship was messier now, she had to observe the words carefully to understand what they said.

She tossed the book aside, rubbing her eyes, a headache was starting to nag her. What if this wasn’t the information Ivan wanted? She was wasting her time, reading this nonsensical book, requesting that scholar Feliks recommended and freezing on this awful fortress.

Natalya stood up, making her way to her dresser, her feet cold, the wood shrieking as she opened the delicate box, the silver glint of the crown greeting her, she placed it on her head, heavy, cold, soothing.

The light from her candle ran out, darkness surrounding her, she reached for the night stand dropping the crown with a thud. Sighing, she lit the candle, only for it to die out again. She stumbled on the dark, reaching the wall, following it until she felt the soft fabric, she opened the curtains, the dim moonlight illuminating softly the inside of her room.

She gasped at the sight of someone observing her, the door was opened, a figure stood there, holding a bundle of white fur, Natalya let out a breath. “Mother, what are you doing here?”

“I thought you were cold.” she said, entering her room slowly and lifting the crown from the floor.

“Thank you” Natalya nodded, approaching, her mother smiled as she enveloped her with the coat.

“Why aren’t you asleep?” she said, her eyes focusing on the book on the bed as a small smile settled on her face. “My father used to read me that tale.”

“What tale?” Natalya asked, retrieving the book swiftly in her drawer. “You should be resting.”

“General winter was my friend until our mother died,” she said, sitting on Natalya’s bed, tracing the crown with her fingers. “I never understood...he didn't choose me, he just stopped talking to me, but I know my brother could see it too.”

“There is no general winter in that book,” Natalya said, taking a seat beside her. “It’s father frost, remember? the children’s tale.”

“It’s not a tale, how else do you think my brother could freeze those armies, didn’t you see? Our father used to drop us into the forest, said we had to pass a test, and we always managed to find the way back.” She held the crown closer to her chest, chuckling. “I mentioned the dare to my mother and she followed us once, my father was so mad that day.”

“I don’t understand.” Natalya said, pursuing her lips.

Her mother frowned, placing the crown on Natalya’s head. “You should have seen him, all he could say was Svetlana! Svetlana! What have you done? how could you!” She laughed, clenching her hands on the skirt of her dress. “That’s what the clock is for, I was not the one to blame, my brother was mean to the general, it wasn’t my fault.”

Natalya knitted her eyebrows, taking her hand lightly. "Mother, what are you talking about?"

"The forest, the hare, isn't that what you are reading?" Her grip on Natalya’s hand was tight, she shook her head. " My brother said Ivan was cursed too, the poor child, but if you stay close to him, you will be..." She gasped, running her hand through the white fur enveloping Natalya. "You'll have to… to…”

Snatching the crown from her, Natalya flinched, her mother pulled her into the hallway walking hastily. “Natasha, my dear, we have to leave, this place is cursed, we can't stay, I don't want you to be the hare."

"Hare?" she asked, trying to keep up with her pace, she whined. “Mother, you are hurting my wrist.”

"My brother killed a hare, I cried for days, he chose to kill it because he knew I loved her. He knew our father loved her. He loved her." Svetlana’s voice grew frantic, she stopped, throwing the crown away and embracing Natalya tightly. "We have to leave, you said that Ivan liked to hunt. Natalya, the hare!"

Natalya struggled on her hold until hurried steps echoed on the hallway, she merely observed as her father took her mother away, she was shaking her head, tears running down her face as she repeated. “Natalya, the hare!”

The words echoed in her mind for the rest of the night, it was nonsense, she couldn't help but feel uneasy. Natalya pried herself on being brave, braver than most girls but there was always a shadow casted upon her family, looming over them in the form of whispers, madness ran in her family but it always seemed far, in the form of that faceless grandfather nobody talked about, yet everyone knew somehow. In the form of her dying uncle, though Yekaterina made sure of hiding it from others.

Tonight, Natalya had encountered said shadow, grasping on her shoulders and nailing nonsensical words on her mind, the forest, the clock, the hare. She stood up, making her way on the empty hallway, her feet cold, the wood shrieking as she kneeled to retrieve the silver crown, placing it on her head again, heavy, cold, soothing.

“Poor Svetlana, she never got to wear the crown.”

Such cruel words, Natalya thought. That wasn’t her, it couldn’t be. She didn’t sound like that, she wouldn’t talk like that about her own mother. A sob escaped her and she snatched the crown from her head, glaring at the object, hidden, in the silver glint there was a dark spot, burnt, the opaque shadow on it seemed to mock her.

“Poor Svetlana, she never got to wear the crown.”

---

The neighing from the horses was visible as the exalations of the animal disturbed the otherwise cold air. Ivan smiled as soft laughter emanated from the boys, though it was a bit unfair of him to call them that, they were probably twelve, thirteen, perhaps fourteen, he was sure Kiku was the youngest.

Yekaterina was late, strange, the neat line of children had broken their formation long ago, some were chatting, others sat on the grass and pointed at the palace, he spotted Feliciano caressing one of the horses’ crests while Kiku observed, boredom showing on his face.

It was odd, Kiku seemed so distant from the place, he was accustomed to the palace hallways and the ornamental gardens. Instead of awe as in the other children’s faces, Kiku displayed apathy, Ivan dared to say a bit of hatred towards the whole situation.

He approached Kiku and Feliciano, the latter stiffening his posture and smiling politely, Kiku greeted him, lowering his head.

“Is there something wrong?”

Feliciano shook his head quickly, giving a sheepish smile. “Everything’s fine, your majesty, we were admiring the horses.”

Kiku nodded, shifting his feet and patting the horse lightly.

“He’s scared of going alone.” Feliciano blurted, gaining a glare from Kiku.

“You are not going alone, Feliciano will go with you,” Ivan chuckled but Kiku didn’t meet his gaze. “Part of the appeal of this exchange is for you to make new friends. If you see Ludwig around, talk to him about the star chart, or rather ask him about it, he knows a lot.”

“Feliciano has an uncle in the middle kingdom, Elizabetha’s father is going to meet her there and a lot of the others will travel with their parents.” Kiku frowned, lowering his voice. “I don’t even know how I will contact my sister while I’m there.”

“You’ll have to write her some letters.” Ivan hummed.

Kiku raised his head, a slight trace of a glare appearing on his face before vanishing, he sighed. “Of course, why didn’t I think of that.” he said, it was almost a grumble, the boy turned away.

“I’m sorry,” Feliciano laughed nervously, taking a step back. “He’s like that sometimes, it was the same when the teacher told him that he was a slow reader but just like with that, I’m sure Kiku will go past that, he just needs a bit of time.”

Ivan nodded, Feliciano trailed after Kiku with hurried steps. A slow reader? that had to be a lie, with the quantity of books he had seen in their small house. Ivan wanted to slap himself, Kiku had read to him in that foreign language, that’s why he used the dictionaries and that’s why Chun Yan struggled with letters. No wonder why Kiku was frustrated with his suggestion.

When Katya arrived she was pale, stumbling over her words during the speech and looking around as if looking for someone, Ivan took over her speech in an attempt to ease her nerves, though she seemed to grow restless. As the scholars were dispatched, and the horses started their run, Katya enveloped him in a tight hug. “I am a horrible sister, a bewitched woman.” she said, burying her head on his shoulder.

“Don’t say that, Katya. What has gotten into you?”

She shook her head, reaching for her pocket. “I broke it, I saw…. I... I was dumb and I broke it.” she said, handing him the clock. “I sent Natalya the crown, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s fine, I don’t like that clock anyways. Katya, our father said it was bad luck to have that crown around,” Ivan said, pushing her away a bit, giving her a small smile. “but he said a lot of things, I’m sure Natalya’s happy.”

Yekaterina nodded. “I’m sure she liked it. She made it clear in her letter. Why don’t you write to her? She wrote a couple of.... interesting things” She took a deep breath. “I will hand you her letters.”

Ivan nodded absentmindedly, a prickle of anger was nagging at him to reprimand Katya for going through his correspondence, for acting without asking him but her nervous demeanour kept him from doing so.

When the sky grew darker, Ivan approached the gardens again, fumbling with the clock, the crack it had before had turned into several, he frowned, that glass was about to break.He walked around for a bit, rubbing his hands together, his fingers were growing numb, perhaps he should have brought gloves, the sunny weather of the morning had deceived him.

He glanced around, there was smoke coming out of one of the chimneys, probably from the kitchen, a bit of whatever they were cooking would surely provide him some warmth.

Approaching the kitchen, heat emanating from the place, he ducked his head, on one side of the room there was a large cauldron, boiling, probably water, as the meal had been served about an hour ago, he could see Sadik, the cook, slicing the meat and seasoning it.

On the other side of the kitchen, the chimney had a lower flame, Chun Yan was retrieving the heated coal with a ladle. Ivan stayed silent, observing her as she finished her task, her gaze focused on the oven, reaching out her hand as if testing the heat, she smiled, rubbing her hands, stained with the black powder of the coal.

Her smile faltered as she turned around, she took swift steps towards him, her voice hushed. “What are you doing here?”

“I grew bored of waiting and I want to eat something.” Ivan hummed. “I thought you’d be there to bid goodbye to your brother.”

“No, if I bid him goodbye, he won’t come back.” She frowned, fidgeting with the hem of her apron. “You shouldn’t ask for more food, the meal was served not long ago.”

“He will come back, he was doubting as he left, thinking on how to contact you once he arrived.” Ivan placed a hand on her shoulder. “Please, I am starving.”

“No” She shook her head, moving his hand away, she paused, sighing, returning to the kitchen, retrieving some water and washing her hands. “Sadik, can I leave? I finished my tasks.”

Sadik spared Ivan a glance, giving her a slight nod before chuckling. “Of course, every day I grow more convinced that you are your father’s daughter, Chun Yan. He managed to boss around a few royals too.”

“I’m going to need a couple of those coals.” She hummed, taking off the apron.

“You just washed your hands, I don’t think you should touch that again.” Ivan said, standing in the entrance awkwardly, shifting on his feet as Chun Yan and Sadik stared at him, a small smile forming on her face.

“Very well, Ivan, could you retrieve them for me?”

He nodded, approaching them hesitantly, why were they staring at him? He reached out his hand but she pulled it away, chuckling. “I thought you would refuse.” she said, scooping a handful of coals swiftly with a small bucket. “I can’t believe you almost burned your hand.”

Outside, the air was colder, the way to the small forest was not as long as it seemed before, Ivan could easily walk around without tripping, he glanced at the sky, there were few stars on it but the moon was full, providing a soft light.

They neared the pond, the water was still, even though the fishes swirling. Chun Yan stopped, touching lightly the cinders, she took one, presenting it to him. “They’re still warm, so lighting one shouldn’t be so hard.”

“Lighting?”

She nodded, “Yes, the idea is to focus on the warmth, fire is very tricky because sometimes it has a life on it’s own, but I find it easier when you use something that’s supposed to catch fire.”

“I don’t know, why don’t we just talk? I don’t feel like doing much tonight.”

“It’s coal, the worst that can happen is that it turns into ashes.” She said, dropping the bucket. “Give it a try, I’ll help you.”

Ivan sighed, sitting beside her, poking the coal, his finger caught the black powder as he touched it. She seemed to notice his hesitation, taking a hold of his wrist and placing on his hand a piece of coal. “Don’t be so picky.”

She mirrored him, closing her hand on a fist. “I normally think about the flames of an oven, a bit lame, but it’s the kind of fire that I see everyday.” she chuckled, opening her hand, the coal was lit by a small flame. “It’s predictable, try it.”

He nodded, closing his hand, the lingering warmth from the fire was barely there. Warm, a candle was warm, the sunlight was warm, the fire on the chimney was warm. He opened his hand, the flame mirrored the one on her hand.

“I told you it was easy.” She beamed, closing her hand, the fire dissipated as well as the coal, leaving her hand stained with black.

Ivan mimicked her but the fire did not die out. He gave her a concerned gaze.

“That happens… sometimes.” She laughed, enclosing her hands around his. “Try again.”

He did so, several times, growing more confident until she asked him to start a small campfire with the cinders left. He hesitantly obliged, reaching out both of his hands above the small pile of coal. A small fire, like the one from the chimney, like, like...

"like the knight."

Before he could stop himself, Ivan's thoughts led his mind to the horrid cries of the knight and the blinding flames that engulfed him.

A fire started, the coals turning bright red, the flame was white, dancing rapidly. Chun Yan gasped, grasping his shoulders and shoving him back.

Ivan’s hands trembled, his heart hammering on his chest. “I’m sorry, are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she said, retrieving her hands. “I think I've just ruined your coat.”

Ivan paused, shaking his head, there were black fingertips imprinted on the fabric. A chuckle escaped him. “I can’t believe you’re worried about the coat.”

“I’ve only seen blue flames,” She said, observing the fire and reaching out her hand, pausing. “What did you think about to make the flame white?”

“Why don’t you tell her?”

Ivan flinched, that voice again, murmuring in his ear, he reached for his pocket, frowning. “I don’t know.”

A weight settled on his shoulders, the silvery voice resounded. “Tell her how you killed the knight.”

He retrieved the clock with a trembling hand, the silver reflecting the light from the fire. Ivan reached out his hand, placing the clock against hers and holding their hands together lightly. "I'm sorry, could you fix it again?”

"What 's wrong?" She asked, a concerned expression crossing her face, she observed the clock, opening it and running her fingers through the cracked glass.

“Tell her how you killed the knight.” The silvery voice repeated with a thunderous chuckle, Ivan’s heart sped up as the laughter increased. "Perhaps instead of telling her, you should show her."

Ivan tightened his hold on her hand. He could hear the glass break and she gasped, swiftly freeing their hands, the clock fell into the floor, blood staining the silver engravings. The smell of smoke, the feeling of blood in his hands and the sight of the horrid ghost overwhelmed him.

Ivan shook his head, lowering his gaze, stumbling over his words as he told her about the forest, the knight, the ghost, the wolf. He found himself shaking, his voice faltering until a sob escaped him.

He tried to take a deep breath, to stop his sobbing, but the tears kept on falling, covering his face with his hands, he tried to soothe his outburst. The thunderous laugh echoed in his mind.

She pulled away his hands with a firm grip, Ivan was enveloped in warmth, he was ashamed, ashamed that instead of pushing her away, he was clinging to her, wanting to be hugged. She ran a hand through his hair, Ivan managed to stop his sobbing, glad that there was silence.

Though it didn't last long as the horrid laugh resumed, Ivan felt shivers, nailing coldness into his bones, he buried his head on her shoulder, trying to keep whatever little warmth that lingered from her embrace.

Chun Yan sighed, loosening her hold until her body grew limp, her weight resting on him. Ivan drew out a shaky breath, laying her down gently, she held a serene expression, as if she were sleeping peacefully.

“There it is, well done Vanya." The ghostly figure grew visible, the cold hand grasped her wrist, humming. "Her magic is familiar, way too familiar."

Ivan observed her hand, stained with blood, his own hand smeared with the scarlet liquid but he felt no pain. Prying the cold bluish hand from her, he asked. "What have you done to her?"

"Me? Nothing, I was not the one holding her." A dry chuckle came after those words, the pale hand hovered above the campfire, the flame turned blue, growing smaller until it died out.

In the darkness, Ivan could see the ghostly figure tossing him the clock. Ivan made no move to catch it, a devious smile formed on the spirit’s face. "Now, it’s my turn to tell you a secret." The silvery voice said, "The wolf was not a wolf, it was a knight and the knight was not a knight, it was a magician. Can you guess what else the magician was, Ivan?”

The ghost hovered behind him, reaching out a pale hand and caressing Chun Yan’s head. “The magician was a father.”

[poptod]

Aren’t We Monumental? (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: His reality is splitting at the seams - you’re in his dreams, a comfort as he loses his grip on what makes him happy.

Prompt: Fishing

Notes: I’m all for historical accuracy so I’ve decided that from now on, in my Ahk fics that take place in Ancient Egypt, the reader is going to have dark skin. I myself have incredibly pale skin and I have no problem reading about it so @ any pale people reading these, you shouldn’t either. Also, your name is Meryt! It means beloved :) The songs in this are written by me, because I didn’t want a recognizable modern song and I’m not sure how to write ancient egyptian song lyrics. Gender neutral again. Warnings: Ahk is PRETTY depressed in here and develops some major symptoms of anxiety. 

Word Count: 12.4k AO3 Link: Aren't We Monumental?

In the distance he sees the unapproachable, casting a net to the water. Every dream he’s had as of recent is plagued by you, far away and unreachable. With every step closer he grows further away, till tonight he sees the futility of his actions, and sits on cold ground, staring at your blurry form. For the first time you turn to him, watching over every breath he takes. With a wave, he finds himself beside you, staring up at you. You’re distinct, clear against a backwash of a dark, unseeable background. Aimlessly you stare forward, pulling the net from the water and back into your hands; it drips freezing water onto his hands.

“There’s a love in simplicity that cannot be achieved in any gluttony,” you say, still staring ahead at nothing. Casting the net back into the water you drop down, sitting cross legged next to him on the wooden dock.

“What?” He asks, his brow furrowed. Now that he’s met you, the first thing you say makes absolutely no sense. He tries to not let it irritate him.

“Work with your hands, good fellow,” you tell him, and for the rest of his dream you don’t say another word. Silence encompasses the both of you, only broken by your net dragging back up to shore. Again, no fish, but there is a rock inside that looks rather beautiful. There isn’t anything particularly special about it, no swirls of color, no skeletal shape inside, but it’s very smooth, and very dark - in his hands it shines in dim moonlight, the shadow of his reflection staring back at him.

“Can I keep this?” He asks, holding the rock up to the moon and admiring the odd shape of it. You don’t reply, you don’t even move, so he, perhaps incorrectly, assumes it’s alright and holds the stone tight in his grip.

His awakening late in the morning is slow, rays of sunlight prodding him gently to consciousness. As always his servants dress him, and as he stares dully ahead they push a crown atop his head. In the mirror he spots it, the gold catching his eye.

“I haven’t seen this before. What is it?” He asks his servants, taking the crown off his head to examine it. A braid of gold encircles its entirety, a cobra with fangs unsheathed sits at the front. It’s well made, he notes, though he’s not quite sure as to its purpose.

“It’s a gift from your father,” Naguib, his personal servant, tells him, head bowed politely as always. Ahkmen sniffs, setting the crown back on his head - it doesn’t look bad, he decides, and for another moment he admires himself in the mirror. Yellow isn’t his favorite color, but status is enshrouded in gold, and status is of the utmost importance to his father. Thus, the only cloth he wears has gold sewn into it, and gold is somehow assigned to him. Blue is Kahmuh’s color, which is unfortunate - he favors blue over gold, while Kahmuh envies the amount of gold Ahkmen is constantly surrounded with.

His day continues as it usually does; there’s the daily fight at breakfast as Kahmuh inevitably has another outbreak about how much he hates Ahkmen. This time, it’s about the gifted crown, and how he doesn’t get a crown. His father just rolls his eyes, shakes his head with a sigh, and ignores his eldest son, while their mother attempts feebly to calm him down. Kahmuh storms out of the room, and the rest of the morning is spent in silence. In Merenkahre’s meetings Ahkmen stands by his side, opposite of Shepseheret like a mirror image. They’re a perfect family without Kahmuh, who watches the court from the shadows of the archways leading into halls.

By afternoon Ahkmen is back in his room, his head hanging off the bed, staring listlessly up at the ceiling and trying to remember what exactly happened in his dream. As important as it was to him, he always has trouble with his memory, an unfortunate genetic trait. Caught up in his thoughts he doesn’t notice Naguib enter his room, tapping his shoulder.

“Um, my prince?”

He perks up, staring upside down at his servant, who is carrying a basket in his arms, his shoulders tight with nervousness.

“Yes?”

“You told me to tell you when I was going into the city again… you didn’t tell me why, though,” Naguib says quietly, unsure of every word. With a deep breath Ahkmen gathers himself, standing up and brushing out the folds in his clothes.

“Will I draw much attention like this?” He asks him, opening his arms for observation of his outfit.

“Quite a bit of attention,” Naguib tells him honestly. Nodding, he changes quickly into something more inconspicuous - a simple skirt and necklace.

Distantly he recalls asking Naguib to tell him, and though the exact reason escapes him he assumes it was for fun. He and everyone close to him knows he doesn’t get out much, and certainly not without being noticed and paraded as a prince. He loathes the attention, always self-effacing and hesitant to think of himself as above anybody else, even though it’s what he’s been told all his life. But Naguib knows the streets well, helps him not to be noticed, taking him through lesser known paths filled with fewer people than the main markets.

“What are we looking for anyway?” He asks as Naguib grips his wrist and pulls him into an alley as a large group of nobles pass by.

“The physician’s assistant is off on some adventure, so I’ve been filling in for them. Adom needs herbs of some sort… I don’t remember the name, only what they look like,” Naguib explains, glancing around the new street the two of them find themselves on. Ahkmen hums his acknowledgement, trailing after Naguib when he leaves suddenly into the rush of the crowd.

Amongst a mass of people he sees a variety of things he’d consider odd - though, when mentioning these things to Naguib later, he doesn’t react the same way. Apparently carrying live fish in a water basket isn’t strange, and neither is snakes in pockets. There is one thing he hesitates to mention, back in the safety of his room; something he is convinced didn’t really happen, but the memory is so clear that he’s at war with himself.

In the end he doesn’t tell Naguib what he saw. Instead he lets it haunt his memory, the image of a black jackal baring its’ teeth lucid like nothing else he’s seen. It jumped at him, or at least he thought it jumped at him, as by the time it should’ve landed on him the mirage dissipated. Luckily, in the crowded market no one noticed one man flinching away from nothing.

By evening time his parents are berating Kahmuh for reckless behavior again. According to them, he wandered out into the desert, but according to Kahmuh, he was hunting for a specific animal. Though, considering he can’t seem to name the animal, Ahkmen doesn’t particularly believe his story. As he does during most dinners, he eats in silence, blocking out the arguing and yelling. Quietly as he possibly can he slips away, tucking his chair back underneath the table and heading off to what he hopes is a good nights’ sleep.

When he opens his eyes to his dreams his hand is heavy. Looking down, he finds the rock, and in sudden clarity he remembered what had happened - now, he’s lying down in a hut, a fire burning beside him. The cot he’s laying in is soft, softer than it should be, and out the open door he sees you’re on the dock again. Slowly he moves to his feet, leaving the rock behind on the bed as his eyes never leave you. The echo of his feet against the wood is loud, making you turn and smile when you see him approaching.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” you say, fixing his messy, sleepy hair with your free hand. The other hand holds the line connecting the net back to land.

“How long?” He asks, unsure of why he’s asking it.

“I’m still waiting,” you tell him, softer and regretfully forlorn - with half lidded eyes you stare back out to the wide river. The other side, which last night he saw so easily is so far away all he sees in the distance is fog.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his conscious self still confused, but something inside him speaks without his permission. You just nod, a gentle, homesick smile growing slow on your face.

As conversation quiets you pull your net back, finding nothing in it. Sniffing, you reel the rest of it in and with a mighty throw, it’s back in the water.

“I…” he starts, thinking back to the jackal he saw in the market, wondering if you’d have anything to say on the subject. “I saw something today. Something I’m not sure I should’ve seen.”

You respond with silence, no nod or any acknowledgement that you heard him, but nonetheless he continues - you’re dangerously easy to talk to, he notes.

“I was in the marketplace with my servant, and when we reached this crowded area… I turned, and there was a jackal, a black jackal staring at me. He was growling, ready to lunge at me, but when he did.. he disappeared.”

“What comes from nothing becomes nothing itself,” you finally respond, the words useless to him. Exasperated he sighs, wondering why he thought it was a good idea to tell you in the first place. “Don’t worry on what can’t hurt you. Anything that can cause worry can bring peace… if you can fix it, there’s no need to worry, and if you can’t fix it, find solace in your helplessness.”

“Oh,” he breathes out, the exclamation coming out involuntarily. He stares at you, his brow knitted together as he tries to figure you out - unlike anything he’s seen before, and so painfully familiar, like a cosmos he’s admired for too long. “What if it happens again?”

“If it frightens you, tell someone who may help you, good fellow,” you say, and with a short glance to the water and back to you, you’re gone.

“Where did -“ he starts, but realizes before he’s through that it’s fruitless to call for you. He doesn’t know your name, or anything you might respond to, and you seem like the type of person who wouldn’t reply anyway. Disappointed, he wanders back into the hut, slipping away into nonsensical dreams that he can’t care to remember.

Your words calm his thoughts, but only temporarily - by morning he’s forgotten exactly what you said to him, only recalling you told him not to worry. With a sigh he curses himself and his horrid memory, going about his day in a thought-heavy wander that brings his health to question.

It isn’t for another three days that something odd happens to him again, though this particular version of odd is different from the jackal. In the palace, there’s an absurdly long corridor that leads to the water gardens - it’s empty, barren of torch or painting, and it’s an unsettling sight one must go through to see the beauty of the outdoors. Ahkmen has asked his father three times to put something in the hall, but there’s always been something more important, and thus nothing has ever happened to the absurdly long corridor. When he turns down it, he sees the end as usual, a small rushlight set on the single shelf at the end. But, as he walks nearer, a fog rushes in from the corner - a sick scent fills his head, and the world turns dizzy. The smog draws closer and closer, growing thicker till he can’t see. He can’t feel his heartbeat, can barely feel anything, but the shaking of his fingers is a telltale sign of his anxiety returning to him. Swallowing thick and shutting his eyes he crouches, trying to find a wall to ground himself against but he can barely see the floor he stands upon.

No one finds him. No wise words are imparted upon him, and anxiously he waits for night to receive any answer. You’re the only person - can he call you that? a person? - that he’s trusted thus far; no one else knows of the visions he has. The smog, the jackal, it’s something he’s heard of before, though accounts vary on what exactly it is. He can’t remember what exactly they’re called, or what they may mean, and he doesn’t bother to search for answers before talking to you. He goes to bed early that evening, and finds himself sitting on the edge of a very familiar dock.

This time, you’ve already caught a fish - out of the side of his eye he spots you, tending a small fire, a fish impaled and roasting slowly over the heat. Stumbling to his feet he makes his way to you, his steps slowing as he nears.

“It’s happened again,” he says, desperate for any answer you could give. Anything nonsensical, even - he hasn’t heard you speak in a long while, it feels. Yet you give him nothing, carefully watching your catch cook. With a half-groan he kneels on the ground, watching the fish with you, and wondering if he copies you, you’ll finally talk to him. “Fog, this time,” he continues. “I felt like I was suffocating, and I hated it. I mean, obviously I hated it. I don’t know why I said that.”

Still nothing.

“I also had an orgy with seventeen people,” he says, a shocking lie to get you to respond, but still you say nothing.

For a good while he just watches, irritated at your silence and coming up with ways to get you to talk. When the fish is done and safely set on a plate too fancy for your home, you finally turn to him, staring him direct in the eye. Digging into your pocket you pull out the rock, and vaguely he remembers the beauty he’d admired so indefatigably only four evenings ago.

“You forgot this,” you say, almost stern, but still more caring than what fits the relationship you have with him. Extending your hand to him, you wait for him to close the gap, which he hesitantly does - his hand hangs open, palm upwards and below yours. Your grip loosens and the rock falls too heavy into his hand. He almost loses his grip, watching with a quick panic as his hand drops with the weight of the rock.

“That’s… heavy,” he says, the words instant and he regrets saying it the moment you look up. With one short glare that almost says as if I didn’t know, you turn back to the cooked fish.

“I used to dream of you. Since then I have never known peace,” you tell him, doing nothing but confusing him further. Heaving a tired sigh he sits on the ground, watching the flames of your fire reach lower and lower, till they dim to glowing embers.

When he closes his eyes he expects to wake to his bedroom, but he doesn’t - the cloth of the bed is a dark red, darker than blood, the bed floating lazily down a slow-running stream. He evens his breath, takes a look at his surroundings, glancing twice at the empty space beside him. By the third time he looks you’re lying there, not sleeping, not quite alive and not yet dead, horribly pale and still.

“Are you alright?” He asks quietly, setting a hand on your shoulder. Your touch freezes his fingers, spreading up his arm till he grows as pale as you, like a white paint coating every inch of his skin. Somehow he manages to not panic, simply lying down next to your unmoving body, waiting for something to happen. Wishing for you to speak again. In the entirety of the dream you haven’t said a single thing that could help him, only words that add to a story he can’t understand. He turns his head to you, your eyes open and dripping a steady flow of tears. A shiver runs through him; the sight is unsettling in a way he wishes he couldn’t know.

By the next morn he’s up earlier than usual. Dreams bring him no solace, so he turns to books and whatever knowledge they may store. He knows he’s heard of his condition before, these images that feel so real, so real he can’t know they aren’t until they’ve disappeared. Ta’i, the bookkeeper, leads him down rows of scrolls and clay tablets till they reach the medical section, where Ta’i leaves him. He can’t trust anyone with what’s been happening to him, not when he’s got the status he has - if it slips out to the general populace that their prince is unwell, it welcomes invaders and those who would dare to usurp power from the rightful family.

Most scripts don’t mention his condition, thus leading to a search that spans much longer than he originally intended. Without the help of Ta’i telling him exactly where specific books are, he’s left to what little knowledge he has of the organization of the library. It isn’t until afternoon that he finds anything that even mentions it, and it isn’t till evening comes that he finds any actual information on it.

Some scholars say visions are prophetic, and a gift - others say it’s a curse, that Gods vowed their hate upon the victim. Others say it’s magic. All he can feel is hunger, and he remembers, dusting off older parchments that he hasn’t eaten all day. Leaving the papers open upon the desk he leaves, wandering down crowded halls to the kitchen, barren of people.

When he emerges, date bowl in hand, the halls are empty save for Naguib, carrying a massive basket of lotus flowers. Curious, he stops him, asking what the flowers are for - when Naguib answers, nothing comes out but silence, and he continues on down the hall towards the physician’s room. A little shaken from the encounter, though not deterred, Ahkmen resumes his research, and comes up with little comfort besides the fact that he’s not the only one.

During dinner his parents coddle him, asking where he was all day - apparently he missed the unveiling of some sort of garden temple, and his mother tells him he’ll have to go see how beautiful it is at some point. He registers the words, knows what they mean, but it doesn’t process in his head; he’s far too lost in the information he’s read.

He resumes his search after dinner, and as night grows long he falls asleep at the desk - Ta’i doesn’t have the heart to wake him and kick him out, so they leave him there, a blanket draped over his shoulders like a cape.

Back on the dock, he opens his eyes to see you wading in the deep waters of the nile. He almost stops you, anxious that you’ll drift away in the current, but you seem perfectly fine - calm, even. More welcoming than ever before you smile at him, waving in a friendly-stranger sort of way.

“Still looking for answers?” You ask, your voice raised to be heard across the distance. He laughs, though he doesn’t know why, and sits on the edge of the wooden dock, his feet dipping into the warm water.

“I’m still at a loss for answers, if that’s what you’re asking,” he replies, watching you drag fish traps out of the nile.

“Perhaps you’re asking the wrong questions,” you say, huffing with the effort you give. Hair falls in front of your face despite the fact that it’s brushed back, and you tuck the stray strands behind your ear. At the simple motion he feels his heart quicken, careful to observe the way you smile, and the way you express your exhaustion. In all the time he’s known of you, you’ve only ever caught one fish, and it wasn’t exactly a very big one. Watching you set the traps up, he wonders how you get by, the fact that you’re a dream escaping his mind - all that’s left is the fact that you’re standing before him, moonlight reflecting off the sheen of sweat on your dark skin. And in that moment, he finds you’re very beautiful, and he wonders how he never noticed before.

There isn’t anything grand about your stature, the way you carry yourself, or the way you dress and look - your words are are the only unearthly thing about you, but still he finds himself staring at you.

“What do you think I should do?” He asks you when you begin wading to shore. You don’t answer till you reach the sand.

“Look at the causes. Not the symptoms,” you tell him with a soft smile, patting his shoulder with a wet hand. “Know you are loved. Wake up.”

“What?” He says, furrowing his brow. Wake up?

“Wake up,” you say again, and he wakes with startling clarity - his father has a hand on his shoulder and is shaking him awake.

“My son, what are you doing here? It’s so late,” his father says, quiet and worried.

“Oh, uh… fell asleep. Sorry,” Ahkmen mumbles, his eyelids still heavy with exhaustion.

“No need for apologies. Get yourself to bed,” he instructs him, patting his shoulder once more. Without another word he drags himself to his room, forgetting about the open scrolls on the desk, and falls asleep on top of the blankets of his bed.

He doesn’t dream, not of anything, and not of you.

Come morning time he hears voices outside his door, whispering their woes in hushed voices, ones he barely recognizes. Blearily he comes to his feet, padding over to the door to open it - on the other side stand his parents, who halt their speech at his appearance.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his voice still rough from sleep.

“Ahkmen, we’ve been… discussing something. Father found you last night amongst a lot of our medical scrolls, and we’re worried you’ve been hiding a condition or illness from us,” his mother says, pinching her lip with her fingers as she speaks. A wave of anxiousness shocks his body, his shoulders and hands tensing. His fingers shake as he tries to come up with some sort of excuse.

“I - I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he says, a half truth. “I’m trying to figure it out.”

“You could at least tell us what’s wrong, your symptoms. Adom might be able to help you,” his father says, his arms crossed as his weight switches from foot to foot.

“I’ve - can we talk about this later?” He only asks to gather a semblance of a good excuse for not telling them, and the fact that he just woke up. “Breakfast maybe?”

“Alright. We’ll see you there,” his mother murmurs, kissing his forehead, and leaving with his father when he closes the door. Heaving a sigh he groans, clutching his head and rubbing his temples as he tries to reckon with the fact that his little issue isn’t a secret anymore. Muttering excuses to himself, he doesn’t notice Naguib enter, carrying his usual day clothing.

He doesn’t say anything, only directing Ahkmen to the right positions to set the clothes round his body. Ahkmen hardly pays attention, doesn’t look at himself in the mirror - the last time he looked, he didn’t have much skin on his body, and a fear seizes his heart whenever he catches his reflection in any object. When he’s done, Naguib bows and leaves the room, and Ahkmen makes his slow way to breakfast. There’s still no excuse, at least no valid one in his arsenal of excuses that would explain his reluctance to talk about his condition. As he sits at the table, he decides the truth is the only thing left to say.

His parents, sitting next to each other, stare expectantly at him, while Kahmuh at the far end of the table is glaring at him as per usual. He hates to show weakness in front of his brother, and can feel that hatred physical halting his speech, but he tries to get words out.

“I’ve been seeing things,” he finally gets out, a weak explanation that doesn’t clarify anything.

“Like… with your eyes?” His father asks, promptly hit by his mother. No one says anything more, so he tries his best to continue.

“Little things, sometimes. Like I’ll see a light in the corner of my eye, but when I turn it’s not there. But sometimes it’s…” he eyes Kahmuh, who is watching him intensely, “bigger things. The other day I saw a spider crawl up my arm, but when i went to get it off it wasn’t there anymore.”

“When did these visions start?” His mother asks, always the first to comfort and pretend as though nothing’s wrong with him.

“A good while ago. I was in… the garden,” he lies, “and I saw a jackal.”

His mother and father share a look of concern, and don’t reply - breakfast continues as normal, just much quieter. By the end they direct him to Adom’s study, following him to make sure he really goes, which is fair enough - the thick atmosphere of the room is sickening to him, let alone the stench.

It isn’t for another several weeks that Adom really comes to a conclusion as to what’s really wrong with Ahkmen. During that time, he doesn’t see you quite as much in his dreams; you’ve wandered past that, into another apparition that wanders the palace in silence. The urge to chase after you grows stronger with each day, and with each incorrect prognosis his vision of you becomes clearer. You don’t talk to him in this real-life form, you hardly even interact with the world, but you’re there, leaning over his shoulder and listening to Adom. The night before Adom’s final diagnoses he finally has his first coherent dream in weeks.

“I’ve seen the roots, and seen the skies,” you sing when he opens his eyes to the roof of your hut, the sight a familiar comfort. Sitting up, he sees you tending the fire - you toss in a couple of twigs, continuing to sing. “But I’ll see you again, my love…”

“What.. what are you singing?” He mumbles, deep and warm in a way he doesn’t expect. The melody isn’t anything he’s familiar with, nor is it similar to anything he’s heard before. You keep humming till you turn to him, a knowing smile on your face as you stand. Sauntering over to him, he lets his legs hang off the cot, and you kneel before him, one hand on each knee.

“I haven’t forgotten you, you know,” you say, your smile growing into a giddy grin. As usual when it comes to you, he’s left with many questions, but you stay knelt before him, unlike your usual ‘speak-and-leave’ method. “I kept your rock.”

“My what? Oh, oh. Right,” he mumbles, remembering the smooth pebble from long ago. “You didn’t need to. It’s not that important.”

“You thought it was important once. Eventually, anything that was once important will become so again.”

“I thought I was important, once. I’m still not important,” he says, and the words don’t weigh heavy in his heart. He’s already fully convinced himself that it’s the truth, but you tut, reaching for his hand and tracing veins it with your fingers.

“Perhaps now you think you’re unimportant…” your eyes dart across every feature his face has, every imperfection and mark, every impeccability. “But the feeling will come and go, just like every other feeling. One day you will know you’re special.”

“… special?”

“Incredibly. Have you met anyone that looks like you? A person who walks with your stride, or smiles in the way you do? I’ve never known a soul who thinks the way you do. Not one.”

“You aren’t real, though,” he says, for once remembering he’s only dreaming.

“How do you know?”

“You’re just in my head, like those damned visions I have,” he says with a biting hatred, his throat tightening along with his hand, fingers curling to dig his nails into his palm.

“Have you met every person on earth? There’s no proving I don’t exist somewhere. But… for now, breathe,” you murmur, reaching up to rest your hand against his cheek. He sniffs, and you wipe away the single tear the escapes him, smiling softly in a way he wishes you wouldn’t. The care evident in your eyes isn’t something he’s equipped to handle, a love he hardly ever gets is unbearably strong in your hold. His parents’ coddling can hardly count as love, and outside the palace he hasn’t got any friends - and to be fair, he hasn’t really got any friends in the palace, either. The closest he has is Naguib, but he can’t exactly count him.

Only then does it hit him how incredibly distressing his life is. He doesn’t have a single outlet for stress except for dreams he can barely remember, and the constant arguing between his parents and his brother has to have some sort of toll on him, even minor, though at this point it’s safe to say the effect is major. The only real happiness he finds is in sleep, either in the nonexistence of his consciousness or your presence, which is comforting even though it really shouldn’t be. When he finally sees out his own eyes again, you’re still kneeling before him, gazing into his soul and knowing what he’s thinking. With a sigh, he melts into your touch for the first time, letting you hold him.

“Oh, my dear. How long you have yearned for a warmth you’ve never known,” you say, smiling sadly at him.

+

His parents stand beside him, one at each shoulder as they collectively listen to Adom’s deductions and explanations. The study isn’t quite as smoke-filled in the afternoon sun, and the smell is down to a tolerable level, not that he wants to tolerate it. Adom prattles on for a good while, discussing the different symptoms Ahkmen is experiencing, and is astoundingly correct on most accounts, before moving onto the many conclusions he came to, before the final one, which is more conceivable than previous ones. At least, conceivable for Ahkmen - prophecies of the future didn’t seem quite right, but stress-induced hallucinations sounds much more plausible.

“What could be stressing him out?” His mother asks, worried if not scared.

“A number of things. He’s a prince, for one. But Ahkmen could tell you more about it himself than I can,” Adom tells them, and all eyes fall to Ahkmen, who is starting to wish he hadn’t attended this meeting.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbles, barely hearable but the message gets across. Neither of his parents are satisfied with that answer.

“Well we can’t just let it be, you said these visions are disturbing, so you want them to end, right?”

“Of course I do,” he retorts at his mother, “I don’t want to talk about what’s stressing me out, is all.”

“Ahkmen, if it’s a girl, we’re fine with that. We aren’t going to punish you for anything,” his father says, but it only works to irk him further.

“I don’t want to talk about it!” He snaps, his fists clenching tightly as he storms out of the room. They watch him leave, hesitant to follow after, for which he’s grateful, though the emotion is blurred by his anger. First he thinks to go to his room, before quickly remembering that that’d be the first place they’d look to find him, so instead he heads towards the kitchens. The people there are kind, quiet, and tend to avoid talking to him, which is exactly what he needs.

As expected, he finds the kitchens mostly empty save for a few servants, dutifully preparing for his family’s next meal. Pulling aside the head chef, he instructs her to tell no one of his whereabouts, and doesn’t wait to see if she agrees or not - instead, he goes direct for the wine cellar, where it’s dark enough he doesn’t have to think about anything too hard. Without thought for anything except that he doesn’t want to fully exist anymore, he grabs a pitcher, filling it with wine before chugging it. He’s never drunk this much at once, and a sick feeling swells in his heart that makes him nearly choke on the drink. His world is crashing in on itself and he feels no need to keep experiencing whatever life has to offer - but perhaps it’s all his fault.

Tucked away in the dark corners of the wine cell, tears burning their way down his cheeks, he wonders if maybe it’s all his fault. Maybe he should open up to his parents, and get a grasp on his life, make some real connections, but when the thought occurs to him an anxious shiver runs down his spine.

I’m not ready, he repeats to himself in his head, over and over until he drinks himself into a blackout.

+

“My dear, good fellow,” you murmur, running your fingers down his cheek. Blearily he opens his eyes, seeing a sky holding so many stars it might as well be daytime, though the earth he lies on is dark.

“What…” he rasps out, slowly coming into his senses as his consciousness slips fully into his dream.

“Panic attacks take a heavy toll on the soul, especially one as gentle as yours,” you say with a doleful smile.

“Panic attack?” He repeats, trying to sit up, but you hush him and tell him to lie back down.

“Don’t think on it, don’t worry, we’re taking you somewhere you’ll be happy,” you tell him, your voice strange and not fully yours.

“What? Where - don’t take me anywhere,” he begs, gripping tight at your shirt, his voice cracking with the force of his speech.

“Shh, don’t worry,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

With a sigh he realizes reality is seeping into his dreams again, and there’s little to do about it. The last time he tried to force himself to wake up, he had a dream about waking up, which led to an even worse dream. So he lets you stroke his hair, comfort him with your touch while knowing all the while that it’s most likely his mother.

They’re probably taking me somewhere where I can be someone elses’ problem, he thinks to himself bitterly, finding it harder and harder to just lie there. Still, he manages it, trying to enjoy ‘your’ affections to pass the time.

I wish I wasn’t alive.

+

“Ahkmen, we’re here,” his mother says in her usual, soothing voice, though it does little for his anxiety as of late. He opens his eyes to white sails tied to a mast, the smell of salt thick in the humid air, and he safely assumes he’s near the ocean. His mother hangs over him, his head in her lap as she runs her fingers comfortingly through his hair.

“Where are we?” He asks, his voice hoarse. When she halts for a reply he slowly sits himself up, looking around at the land brightly lit by a blazing sun overhead. Squinting, he realizes he’s still in the Aur, surrounded by palm and date trees - a relieved sigh leaves him at the idea that he hasn’t really left home. The nile still flows, and he can still live beside it. He glances at the other side of the nile, the sight making his breath catch in his throat, his heart beating too fast against his chest.

He knows this place. The riverside hut is too familiar, the bonfire circle to the left of it something he’s known for a long while, and with wide eyes he watches his father speaking to someone he can’t see. They’re standing half inside the hut and half outside, but his father is much bigger than they are, so the little he does catch of them isn’t helpful. Fingers shaking, he tries to get a different angle, anything to try and confirm his creeping suspicion. Turning back to his mother, he gestures his confusion, attempting to get an answer out of her, any answer.

“Your father thought it’d be a good idea for you to get away from whatever is stressing you out. I suppose it is a little presumptuous, to assume being a prince is the thing stressing you so terribly -“ he’s astounded their guess was correct - “but I think time away will be good for you either way.”

With a nod from his father, his mother helps him to his feet and leads him off the boat, and down the wooden deck he’s known but only now felt - an impending dread fills up his head and heart as he grows closer to the entrance of the little hut, thickening his blood and slowing his thoughts. At long last his father steps to the side to make room for him and his mother, and he sees you - smiling politely at him, your hand outstretched to shake his.

Gingerly he clasps his hand in yours, the short touch electrifying his nerves, but he manages to keep himself under control as his father introduces you to him.

“This is Meryt,” he says with a smile, “and you’ll be staying with them until you think you’re well enough to come back home.”

I don’t think I’ll ever want to come back home, he thinks to himself distantly, feeling out of place in his own body. How, exactly, a real person becomes a character in his dreams, complete with the right house and job escapes him - all he can see is the gold pattern of the sun shining through the thin canopy and onto your skin. Your eyes glitter a brilliant color, staring into his soul without a care in the world. As his father continues talking, muted into the background, he wonders if you already know how important you are to him.

It’s a few hours before his parents leave, sailing up the nile in the royal barge, leaving him with you. Behind the little house, the sun is beginning to set, and you pull a net out from a box on the dock, pulling it to the edge and throwing it out into the water. Looking up at him, you pat the wood beside you, and he sits carefully down beside you.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ahkmen,” you say with a pleasant smile, your head drifting from side to side gently to music you hear in your head. “As your father said, my name is Meryt. My friends call me Merry.”

“Merry?” He asks, surprising himself with how quiet he speaks.

“Yeah, you can call me that if you’d like,” you say, and when a silence spans between you, you start humming. He sits beside you for a good long while, wondering how to bring any subject up - his dreams, the reason he’s here, the fact that he’s probably a damper on your daily routine. Before he can think of anything to say, you tie the net line to the dock, and head inside. He almost follows you, but you remerge a second later with two cups. Handing one to him, you sip from the other, sitting back down next to him, your legs dangling off the edge.

“So, um,” he stares down at the gold liquid in his cup, “what is it you do here?”

“Various things,” you answer vaguely, giggling when you see his confusion. “I fancy myself a fisher, though I’m not very good at it. It was really more my fathers’ thing. I’m a brewer, sort of.”

Glancing at you, and back down at his cup, he takes a sip - it’s beer, which he usually doesn’t have, but it’s certainly sweeter and kinder to taste than the brews he’s had in the past. When he looks back up you’re watching him, gauging his reaction, so he smiles, thanking you for the drink.

“I’m glad you like it. It’s what I sell in town, but the beer itself I buy from Umut, who’s the actual brewer. I just add some special ingredients, but other than this, I don’t get around much. Most everything I need can be supplied by what I already have.”

“Probably why I’m here,” he mutters to himself, the simplistic lifestyle a clear reason as to why his parents would bring him here of all places.

“I heard you’ve been having visions,” you say, quiet and sincere. He looks away, a blush crawling to his cheeks as he scowls. “I have a friend that used to have those. Though, I don’t think they were as bad as yours are… is it alright to talk to you about this?”

He nods, slow and shy, but a definite yes.

“She used to see these lights, like stars but close by… this mage from the East said they were fairies. Your parents didn’t tell me much, but I don’t think yours are like hers, are they?”

“Not really,” he mumbles, pulling his knees up to his chest and hugging them close.

“Mm. You can talk about it, if you’d like, or we can do something to get to know each other a little better,” you suggest easily, and it almost annoys him how kind and down-to-earth you are. You’re nothing like his dream, at least not thus far, but he doesn’t know what he expected anyway - you aren’t a dream, you aren’t solely his, at least not anymore. He retracts the thought a second later, but for a single moment he wishes you were entirely his own, a secret safe from a world he’s started to fear.

“Do you have any advice?” He asks weakly, flinching when he hears his voice crack.

“Advice…?” You think for a moment, staring out into the nile before looking back at him. “There’s… there’s no way to tell if you’re doing the right thing, or if the path you’re on is the one for you - but there’s comfort in the inevitable, and in the unchangeable, just as there is love in the ever-changing.”

“Oh,” he gets out in a whisper, staring at you as you watch the water ripple with the breeze. The way you smile strikes an uncommon warmth in his heart, welcoming and anxious all at once - in this moment, watching your lips turn up at the sight of turtles at the shore, more than anything he wants to be close to you in a way he knows he can’t. People have boundaries, he warns himself, though the ache to know the softness of your hair and the blush of your cheek against his fingertips is more enduring than anything, and for a fleeting moment he thinks maybe it’d help him. Maybe you could help him. But when he breaks from the trance, he’s far too terrified of poisoning your innocence with his brokenness to do anything of the sort. Instead he watches you, the dying light of the sun casting shadows across your skin, dipping around the creases your smile makes.

“I’m sorry,” you say, pulling him away from his thoughts. “I’m not very good at giving advice.”

“No, no… it’s good. I think it’s good,” he mumbles, his nails digging into the wood of the dock.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

For dinner you make an assortment of fruits and vegetables, and though it’s not exactly the cuisine he’s used to it isn’t bad. Sitting at the fireside, the hut sheltering you from the wind growing stronger as night grows, the two of you eat in silence. Afterwards, you share another cup of beer, and you tell him a little bit more about your life and what you do.

“You know quite a bit about me now,” you say after sharing the basic information about yourself. “What about you?”

“Me? I’m - I’m not very interesting, I’m afraid,” he blurts out, almost choking on his drink when you ask.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“… what?”

“Your favorite color,” you repeat. His mouth hangs open, confused as his eyes dart from side to side.

“Uhh… blue,” he answers slowly.

“There you go, that’s something interesting,” you say with a brilliant smile. For the first time in months he laughs, shaking his head.

“That counts as interesting?”

“Of course it does. Everyone has interesting things about them. There’s a story in everyone… why’s blue your favorite?”

“Oh, I don’t know, um… I just like it, I guess,” he mumbles, thinking just how I like you as the words come out.

“It’s a nice color,” you say with a kindly smile.

“So does my favorite color tell you anything about me?” He asks, taking another swallow from his cup.

“Just what type of things to get you. Now if I see something blue that I think you might like, you’ll like it even more.”

“That’s…” he wants to say dumb, because it’s really such a childish gesture, but what instead comes out is, “… really nice of you, actually.”

“Well, you deserve kindness.”

He begs to differ, but instead of pursuing that, he changes the subject.

“How do you know my father? I’m sure he didn’t just drop me off here without knowing you,” he asks, and in a few aspects he’d be right.

“My father knew yours when they were young. Unfortunately, my father was a very solitary man, never told much about himself… I think the only person he ever opened up to was maybe my mother.”

“That explains why your home is sort of in the middle of nowhere.”

“Do you believe in soul bonds?” You ask out of nowhere, taking him by surprise. Furrowing his brow, he shifts uncomfortably.

“Um… I - I don’t know what that is,” he tells you honestly, setting his cup down and fidgeting with his fingers, staring into the low flames of the fire.

“People who are meant to meet, connected beyond status and distance,” you try to explain, and he understands for the most part.

“I’m not sure,” he answers, thinking of how he dreamt of you, wondering for a moment as his eyes flicker to you if he’ll dream of you again tonight.

“Fair enough answer,” you say. “I just thought you might, because when you looked at me, you looked like you’d seen a ghost.”

“I did?” He says, his voice tight.

“A little - are you alright?” A concerned look grows quick on your face as you shift to be on your knees, scooting closer to him, looking over his face.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” He says, but his voice is still cracking and far too high. I’ve forgotten how terrible a liar I am, he thinks as your hand brushes against his. Swallowing thick, he tries to ignore your attention, staring into the fire.

“Ahkmen, if you’re seeing something you can tell me. I won’t think any differently of you, I’m here to help you after all,” you say with a weak chuckle, clearly too worried to fully comfort him.

“It’s - can I tell you later?” He gets out in a rush, unable to catch his breath long enough to speak a full sentence. You back away, sitting back down on the floor as you watch him, curious and concerned.

“Of course. Take your time,” you tell him, gently patting his hand curled into a tight fist. You take his cup and plate and your own, cleaning and putting them away. By the time you get back, he still can’t breathe right, his chest strained and heavy with anxious weight.

When you sit next to him, you place your fingers on the side of his face, turning him to look at you. His eyes flit across each of your features, clear as day without the muddling of his dream-state, and he nearly cries at the care in your half smile.

“Breathe with me,” you murmur, taking his hand in your own and pressing it upon your chest. Slowly he feels you, your heat, and the even movement of your breath. He tries desperately to match, watching with a frightened intensity as his fingers shake against you. Every second moves embarrassingly slow as he notices every detail of you, watching every move you make, but he’s in your bed before he knows it.

“Wait, where are you going to sleep?” He asks, already drowsy from his panic as he holds your wrist.

“I have a blanket,” you tell him, and for hm, the answer is hardly satisfactory.

“I can sleep on the floor,” he mumbles, barely able to keep awake.

“Go to sleep,” you say, kneeling before him and petting his hair. With an undignified hum, wishing you’d just take your own bed, he falls into sleep.

The following couple of days he tries to distance himself from you, and though it’s clear you don’t understand why, he thinks his reasoning is obvious. When you cast your line out to fish, you ask for him to sit next to you, but he often refuses - he doesn’t want to be a hindrance to your life. When you prepare food, he eats as little as he can - he knows you’re not exactly rich, and food can be hard to come by, even if it is a plentiful summer. Still you push him to eat more, saying the portion you give is what you can afford, often noting his noisy stomach.

“I don’t -“ he tries to get out how he feels, attempts feebly to tell you what he means, but the words clog his throat till he can’t speak anymore.

“You’re not a bother. Your basic needs physically cannot be a burden, not on me. Not on anyone. Certainly not on yourself,” you tell him, pulling his hands away from hiding his face. “Hey,” you murmur. “I know you’re hungry. Eat.”

Staring into your worried eyes he relents, sighing as you smile, pushing a plate into his lap.

By the fifth day you’re fully comfortable with him - the same can’t be said for him. He’s still a nervous wreck in your presence, complete with sweaty palms and weak knees, and a variety of reasons for this go through his head. It could be that he simply doesn’t know you very well, or it could be that you’re still in his dreams, kissing and touching him where he’s rarely ever touched, or it could be that you’re more strikingly handsome than any foreign princess. Eccentric and classic, you’re a succor he’s desperately needed for so long a time.

The more comfortable you grow with him, the more you begin to act like you do in his dreams. Quiet, thoughtful, and never one for direct answers; it gets to the point where the only way he can tell the difference is that in his dreams you touch him incessantly. In real life you always ask, uncertain of his wishes and hesitant to comfort.

“Looks like there might be a storm,” you say, gathering up the net from the water to put away.

“What?” He asks, pulled out of the memories of his dreams, looking up at you. As usual, you’re to the left of him, though this time you’re standing as he sits, his feet just barely touching the warm water below the dock. Your clothes are beginning to soak with the net gathered in your arms, sticking tight to your skin.

“The wind comes from the north, which,” you point to the gathering clouds, “is where the clouds are coming from. I’ve been expecting it for a while now.”

“Really? You didn’t say anything,” he says, hurrying to his feet to help you.

“Wasn’t sure until now. Either way, I’ve been stocking up food, so if it’s bad, we’ll be okay,” you say with a charmingly positive smile. He doesn’t understand your unending optimism, and doubts he ever will, but he most definitely appreciates it.

After helping you pull the rest of the traps out of the water, the wind growing steadily harsher, he follows you inside and shuts the door. By the time he turns around you’re already working on starting a fire, sparking your flint against the wood. All around the outer walls the wind begins to howl, growing louder as rain begins to fall down. Once the fire is fully started, the rain pelts down on the roof, a far too loud white noise, but luckily quiet enough that he can still hear you talk.

“Did I tell you my mother built this home?” You say, sighing when you finally relax into your makeshift seat on the floor, a bundle of pillows and blankets set out in front of the stone hearth. “Except for the fireplace. That was my father.”

“It’s well made,” he says, unsure of what response is appropriate. Often, you’ll talk without any meaning, not expecting a word from him though appreciative when he does add his input.

“Yes…” you breathe out, glancing up at the ceiling, then back down at the fire. “Well made. Like you.”

“… Like me?”

“You were made with love in mind. We’re all creatures of hopeless regard and admiration, dedication and loyalty,” you say, poking him right where his heart sits.

“Not everyone,” he points out, remembering court stories of rape and abuse.

“The Gods have a story in mind for every one of us. In the heavens each of us are crafted from nothing… isn’t that beautiful?”

“One time you said what comes from nothing becomes nothing,” he says, growing quieter as he remembers that’s something you said in his dreams. But you just go with it, your mouth parted slightly as you try to think of answer, shifting in your seat.

“That’s true. But until then, we exist as love incarnate,” you murmur, smiling soft and hesitant at him in a way that far too often makes his heart stop. “Don’t forget our world came from nothing. Ptah came from nothing.”

Technically, you weren’t wrong, but it didn’t settle well in his stomach anyway - you’re pure, wonderfully positive and endlessly loving. He feels like he’s nothing, he knows he’s nothing, his life can’t mean anything, and it shouldn’t mean anything to you. He must’ve had a look about him, because you scoot closer, tracing the soft skin of your fingers down from his temple to his jawline, and at the motion he lets out a shaky sigh and closes his eyes.

“Every king and kingdom, every emperor that claimed to live forever came from nothing. We are all equal. Your father has as much power as a peasant - if they switched positions, no one would know the difference.”

“That’s treasonous talk, you know. I could have you stoned,” he jokes weakly.

“You could,” you say as though it doesn’t matter. It does, it matters a great deal to him - you should feel fear at the thought of your death, but you’re at peace with death just as much as he’s at discord with living.

“Merry, you can’t… you can’t just agree with me,” he gets out in a whisper, squinting as though it’ll help him understand you.

“But you’re not wrong,” you point out, and he grumbles, irritated.

“No, but aren’t you afraid of death?”

“A little. Fear is natural. I don’t wish myself to be in pain, but… death is just the next step and it’s necessary. It’s something we all go through in the end. Fortunately we have a little leeway on how we die,” you say with a curt smile, patting his knee.

“To be honest,” he says, interrupting you from almost standing, “I’m not sure if I believe in Gods anyway. Even if they did exist, I don’t think my father would be one.”

“I think of Gods more as magic. The beauty in the world,” you say, nodding your head distantly before meeting his eye again.

“Well, yes, there are little bits of magic in our world, but… nothing absolute. I’ve never seen any god, nor any trick to warrant belief… but.. I want to believe. Have you ever seen magic? Actual, true magic?”

“I saw you.”

He scoffs, almost rolling his eyes as he looks away from you. It’s such a corny answer he can’t decide if you’re joking or not, but by the way you scoot closer, it’s safe to assume you’re being completely serious.

“Hey,” you say softly, resting your hand against his cheek to push him to look at you. “Look at me. If you think about it, you’re phenomenal. Gods can number many, and the stars are innumerable but there’s only one of you. Ahkmen, galaxies are more commonplace than you! A unique being, capable of complex thought - isn’t that wonderful? Aren’t you monumental?”

Stunned into silence he can’t respond, his mouth barely parted as you stroke his cheek with your thumb. Smiling soft and sweet, so commonplace he’s almost used to the sincerity, you stand.

He watches you pull ingredients from your various cabinets, throwing them together in a mix and placing it inside the fireplace. As you pull down a loaf of bread to slice, he intervenes without word, cutting for you. In your appreciation you peck his cheek quickly - you’re not tall enough to reach his temple, but the affection still leaves him blushing bright red nonetheless.

“You’re such a sweetheart,” you tell him, still smiling brightly - he can’t find it in himself to respond, but he tries to smile without meeting your eye. Instead he concentrates on the bread, trying to pick out the smell or think of the ingredients as you handle your own task behind him.

As he finishes, pulling the honey down from the cabinet, he hears music, and he halts - he hasn’t heard music since being in the palace. You usually don’t sing, at least not in front of him, and he doesn’t play any instruments. Turning around, honey pot still in hand, he sees you standing with your eyes closed, swaying back and forth to the music you play on the lute. You don’t notice him staring as you start to sing, melodic and breathtaking; he nearly drops the pot.

“… and in the dust, you are saccharine sweet to the endless you seek… You spoke to me, whispered in my ear, ‘lets live forever!’ But we chase the lust of living for creations’ dissever…”

He swallows thick as you continue.

“I didn’t know you could sing,” he rasps out, throat dry by the time you finish.

“I’m afraid I’m not very good at it. But I’m good enough for children, and for birds,” you tell him, setting the lute down behind a chest.

“… birds?”

“That’s usually who I sing to,” you tell him, taking the pot from his hands and drizzling it over the bread, taking a pinch of your spice mixture to sprinkle over it.

“Did you write that song?” He asks quietly, frozen in place.

“Yes, actually… it’s a hobby of mine.”

“I.. I never learned any instruments,” he says, kneeling in front of the fire.

“I’m self taught, but I could help you start if you’d like,” you say, sitting beside him and handing his plate to him, a row of small slices on one side as you pour the vegetables from the fire on the other side.

“No, I, um… I like hearing you,” he mumbles, pinching his skin as his anxiety spikes up at his own sincerity.

“Thank you,” you giggle, ruffling his hair.

The rain creates a nice ambience, he decides, the muted pattering on the roof working in tandem with the crackling the fire. Like a melody he can’t decipher, completed by your presence beside him, comforting and nerve-racking all at once - sparing a glance at you, you’re still off in your own world. He wants to hear your voice, wants to hear you sing again but has no idea how to bring it up again, so he decides he’ll settle for just hearing you talk.

“How does the chimney stop the rain from coming in?”

“Hm? Oh, the chimney has a hat,” you tell him, quickly returning to your meal.

Damn, he thinks at the short conversation that could barely qualify as a conversation. The rest of dinner he tries to think of another topic, of anything to get you to talk, but before he can think of anything you’re cleaning up the dishes and he’s tending the fire to continue burning as the two of you sleep. When you finish with your task, you sit beside him again, a little closer than usual, and you breathe a little harsher than normal - absently he wonders the cause.

“Ready to sleep yet?” You ask, watching him for any reaction. He doesn’t turn to you.

“Can you play another song?” He asks weakly, still not facing you.

“Of course,” you say with a smile, patting his shoulder as you stand to fetch the lute.

I’ve known you from a distance, longed for the sweetest shame,

But it’s been far too long since I’ve felt the embrace of someone dear to me,

so cling to me, the sweet ambition, cradled in innocence’s swath -

Though I may know you for a century, I’d give myself for a minute more.

The dearest touch of what is known -

I beg to gently press my kiss to your chest,

to hold your tender heart as my own.

You’re much closer to him as you sing, knelt beside him as you strum. He almost wants to sing along, but it’s finished much faster than your last song, and he lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding.

“Do you have these written down somewhere?”

“Not everyone can write, Ahkmen,” you say with a soft laugh, once more putting the lute away, hidden from sight. He nods as he remembers where he is, and who he’s talking to - perhaps I’m still too used to palace life, he thinks, and not for the first time that day.

With a small yawn, you undress, and as usual Ahkmen does a full turn to avoid staring at you. Once you’re dressed in night clothes, you make yourself comfortable on the cot, wrapping the thick blanket over your shoulders and pulling your knees to your chest.

“I made this bed big enough for three people,” you tell him, and when he looks it doesn’t really seem it. Then again, his bed is about the size of your entire house, so he assumes his doubt has to do with his status once again. He wonders why you bring it up, but you take his hand, pull him to his feet and sit him down next to you on the cot. With drooping eyes you lean against him, yawning again. “We can sleep together tonight.”

He freezes, nearly choking on his own spit.

“What?”

“It’s gonna be cold,” you mumble, not bothering to elaborate as you lie down, your head on the pillow and the blanket fully wrapped around your own body. Still finding it hard to breathe, all he can do is watch you, your little hums of comfortable pleasure pulling him deeper into his consternation. Slowly, his eyes never leaving you, he leans down till his head is beside yours, staring at your tired face.

“You… want me to sleep… with you..?”

“Mhm,” you hum, surprising him - he’d asked the question, yes, but he thought you were already asleep. Without opening your eyes, you pull another blanket out from a nearby basket, handing it to him with very little grace.

“Why?” He asks, but at that point you’re asleep, your breathing even and slow. To calm himself he tries to match his breathing to yours, watching your lips just barely part in your sleep.

“You need to do something about me, you know,” you say as he wakes in his dreams, the sky above clear and blazoned with an eternity of stars. You’re sitting cross legged on the soft grass near the waters’ edge, his head in your lap as you run your fingers through his hair.

“What do you mean?”

“Love is an unsure thing, naturally it cannot be hindered or birthed… it’s a choice as much as it is unavoidable. Though you have loved me for so long, choosing to keep loving me… you say nothing,” you murmur, and when he meets your eye they’re sparkling with tears barely there. He sighs, knowing you’re right.

“I’ve really only known you for five days though,” he says, and though he’s right you shake your head.

“A soul may know another from the beginning of time and past the end of it. Sometimes these souls meet each other in the physical realm, but memories are fickle - don’t take our chance meeting for granted. Tell me of your dreams, I’d love to hear it, even if you don’t think I do. I care so deeply for you,” you say with such honesty he can’t help but believe, the ache of your heart reaching through your words and into his mind - maybe you do care for him.

When he wakes in the morning, the feeling is gone with the storm; you’re lying on top of him, hair tussled with sleep as your breath tickles the bare skin of his chest. For a moment he cherishes, you stay asleep as he brushes his fingers against your face, working his way up to your hair that he combs till it’s untangled, though it takes a good long while.

He doesn’t say anything about his dreams, about his infatuation for the entirety of the day as he helps you clean up the mess the storm left in its’ wake. In fact he doesn’t even bother to think of it for months until it’s staring him in the face, too clear that even the blind would see and the deaf would hear - in the middle of the village market he feels as though every person in a hundred mile radius would know all his doubts and fears were proven wrong. He’s known you for months know, stayed with you what seems like forever, but you still surprise him.

It was very simple, really; a gesture anyone could give. People had done it to him before, always looking to gain his favor or coerce his opinion, in fact most people had gone a level above. But you’re different, he’s convinced you’re special in a way no one can never be.

In the middle of the bustling trade market, he’d lost sight of you for a moment - you left him on a bench with a pastry you’d bought a few minutes earlier, telling him you’d be back soon. Trying his best to believe you he sits quietly, watching people flit past in their busy lives and keeping a lookout for you. Eventually you return, bag in hand and a smile on your face as you sit beside him.

“I got something for you,” you say, handing the bag to him.

Eyeing you nervously, he looks down into the bag. There’s paper in the way, blocking the gift from view, so he looks back up at you.

“What is it?” He asks slowly.

“Check for yourself,” you reply, your smile growing as you tear off a piece of the pastry to eat.

Once more he looks to you, then removes the paper. Underneath is a blue scarf - the edges are lined with gold fabric and down the center are sewn white flowers. Holding it in his hands he feels its’ softness, nearly as soft as his own royal robes, and he wonders, astounded, how you managed to afford it.

“How… how did you get this…?” He asks in a quiet, confounded voice, his brow furrowed as he examines each stitch and its material.

“Over there. Traders from Persia, I know them well. I know you don’t really have much to your name right now, so I asked them to keep an eye out for something that you might like… something blue,” you murmur, your smile fading slightly as you get quieter. For a moment you allow him to admire it, answering any question he has with answers that leave him adoring you even further.

“You asked them to get this? How long ago?”

“The trek to Persia and back is long, but not too long, fortunately. I asked them the day after you told me your favorite color.”

“That long ago?”

“Something like that, yes,” you say with a giggle, leaning closer to inspect the scarf with him. “I think it’s pretty.”

“Yeah…” he mumbles, caught up and enraptured in your smile. Your eyes drift over the material, delicate and detailed, humming to yourself when you find nothing wrong. “Um, yeah. It’s pretty. Can I - can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” you say, leaning back to see him fully.

“I think I’m in love with you,” is what blurts out of his mouth, and while he originally planned to go for a much less direct approach, you’re still blushing dark red.

“Oh, um…”

When you don’t answer immediately he can already feel the stinging of his eyes, anticipating tears before they form. I shouldn’t’ve said anything, he thinks to himself, repeating the phrase over and over again as he’s shocked into paralysis. Staring at you, waiting for your reply, he can’t move, can’t run away as he desperately wants to.

“No one’s… no one’s ever said that to me before,” you mumble, half embarrassed and half surprised.

“Seriously?” He asks, finding his own surprise in your statement. “I thought you would’ve heard it quite a bit.”

“Well I don’t know that many people to start off with, so…” you trail off, finding your words again a moment later. “Ahk, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to love me.”

His heart could’ve stopped beating and he wouldn’t have noticed - all he can feel is the ache in his chest, the numbness of his arms, and his thoughts repeating that he shouldn’t’ve said anything.

“I do adore you, more than anything I’ve known, but my place is here. Your place is with your family. Sometimes love isn’t enough,” you say, your voice cracking with the tears you’re trying to hide.

“I’d stay with you forever if it meant you’d love me,” he replies, dropping the bag to the ground to take your hands, holding them in his lap against the silk of the scarf.

“You can’t give up everything for one person. It’s not healthy and -“

“Meryt, we are fated to be together -“ you try to interrupt him - “just listen to me… please?”

Slowly, you nod.

“I dreamt of you. Long before I knew you, before I even thought I needed help, I dreamt of you nearly every night. You’d tell me these wonderful things, you’d hold me close and whisper to me, and I don’t know how it’s possible but I’ve known your love for so long I think I would surely waste away without it,” he pleads with you, searching glassy eyes for your gaze.

“That’s why you looked the way you did, when we first met, isn’t it?”

He nods.

“Will you let me stay with you?” He asks soon after, desperate for an answer.

“I… your father will look for you, he loves you very dearly,” you say, your fingers trilling soft pressure into his palm.

“Then we’ll run away, join those Persian traders,” he says, smiling wide when you giggle at the idea.

“They aren’t Persian, they just go there to trade,” you say, still laughing as a tear runs down your cheek.

“Is that a yes then?” He asks, holding you closer than before, still searching for any sign of an answer.

“… yes.”

+

The traders welcome you happily, mostly thanks to your previous connections to them - they know you’d never steal or cheat them, and by extension they trust Ahkmen. As grueling as the travel is, the people you meet always spark your interest. More often than not a simple hello turns to a long, drawn-out conversation about birthplaces and life stories, to the point where Ahkmen usually has to drag you away, still smiling to himself the entire time.

Though you kiss him often, and did it far before the prospect of a romantic relationship was ever a thought, you don’t really kiss him until you’re sitting in a desert oasis, far away from the nile that used to comfort him so deeply. You and Ahkmen have the habit of staying up the latest, watching the stars swarm the sky, sometimes shooting across the darkness as your campfire dies out.

“My mother says she makes a wish when she sees a shooting star,” Ahkmen murmurs, not breaking his stare into the endless sky. You hum, nodding distantly as you silently make your own wish.

After a moment, he asks, “what did you wish for?”

“I’m not telling you,” you say, laughing. “That’s bad luck.”

Caught up in the golden swirl of his eyes, you lean in, eyes half lidded as you come close enough to feel the heat of his breath against your skin. When he leans in the rest of the way, he feels the softness of your lips for the first time - endearing and forever his.

I like that, he thinks to himself, melting further into your touch as you move to be closer to him. Your chest against his you trace your fingers down his face, temple to jawline, before cupping his chin and pulling him in deeper. 

Forever his.

+

End Notes: hope y’all enjoyed Ahk’s trip to Ye Olde Mental Hospital. I gave it an AU ending because it was the only way to make everyone happy and I’m tired of the sadness. We all deserve love.

[blacknovelist]

Half-Empty, Half-Full (FE3H Fic)

hey hi what’s up lads, so I like, 100% forgot I could post my piece for the @threehouseszine Beneath The Banner (also available on Twitter under the same name) and as such I’m like ten years late. :) But the zine has been sent out, and I finally noticed like the fool I am that others have posted their pieces, and thusly, I too will post mine! Because I can. And I want to.

My focus was on the Golden Deer post-skip, specifically in some nebulous point during the war. Being part of this zine was really, really cool -- I can’t wait for all the books and merch to arrive with everyone!

(will reblog with links because we all know tumblr likes to break things.)

A beat of something nice, amid the fragments of harder times.

In the spaces between war — between scattered supply checks and ration distribution, bandit skirmishes and long watch nights — Hilda finds the time she needs to breathe.

It came easier, back in the academy. She could simply step back and let the world move around her, steadfast in her belief that it would still be standing when she returned. Nowadays she steals the air in her lungs from glances at the sky and quick delivery walks, from the chip of chisel and steel against stone and wood, from the sensation of gems and petals inlaid on clothes, chains and hooks when she can afford to lay down her axe. Infrequency makes the beats between battles all the more precious.

With the professor around she can afford more pauses still, but Hilda watches herself. She knows, all too well, just how young she is. Claude lies at one year her junior and the professor, with their five year hiatus, sits at two. It wouldn't do for her stubborn leaders to find someone they can’t believe in among their ranks, now.

She’s on the run for errands when she spots a hint of not-plant green and wood not far off the beaten path, and she wastes no time following that tried and true Deer instinct to take a peek. Ignatz is there, as expected, easel propped on a patch of flat land, what she can see of the canvas a tasteful blend of browns and golds. He leans in, fingers dabbed in the same off-white his paintbrush dusts onto his scene. 

Now, Hilda doesn’t paint, but she does understand the stress and struggle of art, different forms aside. Which is why she waits until he leans back before she steps forward and taps his shoulder. 

“Hey, Ignatz.”

Ignatz yelps, almost drops his brush and earns himself a stripe on his palm for his troubles. “Hilda! Hi. I’m sorry, I didn’t notice you there.” 

“Don't worry about it.” She clasps her hands together. “What’re you painting?"

"I wanted to capture the cathedral, while it's still under repair." He gestures to his piece — the white forms the glint of sunlight off patches of rubble, steel and glass, along with the robes of monks and priests as they shift and sweep aside what debris they can. "A lot of artists depict places in their prime, or utterly destroyed, or after they've been restored to their former glory. I thought it would be nice to show the in-between for once. People from every background imaginable, coming together to rebuild for the future. A little different from what I usually paint, but sometimes a little variety is nice." 

"And you're doing it all the way out here because…"

"I didn't want to be in anyone's way, and I come out here a lot. I've got plenty of references with me, so it's not a problem." Ignatz shifts and Hilda catches sight of a stack of sketchbooks, some more worn than others, half-spilled from a bag. The top one gets plucked up and held between them as he flips from page to page. Statue busts, the altar and rows of pews among pillars rendered in charcoal and sleek pigment lines. Sometimes, she catches glimpses of green and blue and other colors, or shapes that don't quite match the church art he focuses on, but Ignatz flips too fast for her to see. 

Or, almost. "Go back two pages," Hilda says. A grin tugs at her lips. "Was that Claude?"

"Oh! Uh, yes." Though Ignatz learned to leave embarrassment and nerves about his art behind, something in his chest still squirms, just a bit. An image of their leader in the library, face cast in candlelight and more at peace than he ever is during daylight, stares up at the duo. "It's easier when I’m with a person, but sometimes I'll do studies on my own. Practice makes perfect, after all." 

"It's beautiful." She reaches out, pauses. "May I…?"

He passes it over. "Here. You can look at the others, too. I don't mind." Then he turns back to the easel and reaches for his paint. "Anyway, I thought this was as good a spot to work as any. There's a field down that way you can see best in the spring, and I like the view of everything from here."

"You'll have to show me when it's in season." 

Her eyes flicker over thick paper. Statues. Flowers, trees, forest paths. Distance shots of people, strolling towards town. Swirls of filigree and patterns fill whole pages in patches, tiny stylized animals and the occasional dragon tucked into the empty space. Silhouettes crowd around the pews, and even if she recognizes clothes, many of these smaller figures are faceless. 

But she finds a loose sketch, hair popping blond against black ink, of Raphael and a young girl with the same square jaw and broad shoulders. Claude himself appears once more, this time in wireframe form, ordinary steel bow drawn all the way back and arrow pointed to the left. When she plucks one of his other books from the stack it follows a similar trend — renderings of the cathedral, inside and out, stuck in among horse-drawn carriages and sunlit grass patches and clothes and people, both familiar and unfamiliar, faceless and defined. A few drawings are from the past few months: Sylvain in his armor, Baltie with his open-chested shirt, Leonie and her long hair, the monastery scaffolding. 

Most of his drawings are from the academy days. 

Lindhardt, leaned against a tree, the shadow of leaves mottled on his lap. Herself and Marianne seated in the dining hall. Lysithea, with a book in one hand and a swirl of magic in the other. Claude and Lorenz mid-argument. Felix as he trains blade blurred and bent as he lunges. Dimitri and Dedue bent over a table in their classroom. Edelgard as she strides across the courtyard, Hubert one step behind. Busts of the professor and Jeralt, side by side, the faintest quirk in their lips. 

Hilda looks up and pauses. Ignatz presses so close to the canvas he’s peering over the wire frames of his glasses rather than through, brow furrowed and jaw set. She shuts an eye as the sun slips out from behind what’s left of Garreg Mach’s spires. Greyscale flowers peer up from the pages, a reflection of the few asters scattered around their feet. Mountain monastery air goes down sweet and full in her lungs.

"I gotta say, Ignatz,” she says, the edge of her thumb smudged in stray charcoal. "These are amazing. How long have you been doing art?"

"Since I was little." He leans back, considers his work, then leans in again. "My parents are merchants, so we delivered paintings and statuettes to a lot of noble houses in the Alliance. One day I found some extra supplies lying around so I just… picked it up and gave it a shot."

"Well, I'm glad you did. Even these plain sketches look much nicer than anything I could do, and don't even get me started on painting. No offense, Ignatz, but no thank you. Definitely not my wheelhouse."

Ignatz pauses. "None taken, and thank you. You draw?”

"Not much." She waves a hand. "My talents lie in accessories. I like to plan before I start working, figure out how it should come together and doodle in the margins a little sometimes, that's all."

"You're always wearing beautiful jewelry, but I didn't realize you made them yourself." A smile breaks out across his face. "That's amazing, Hilda!"

A blush rolls across her cheeks and she can't stop the tug of her lips into a matching grin. "Oh, stop it. Really?"

"Of course! The colors and shapes you use match your hair, complexion, and the clothes you tend to wear quite beautifully." His brush plunges into a cup of water by the foot of his easel and faces her fully. "When did you start?"

"A long time ago, now – I'm not even sure exactly how long, anymore. I used to make flower crowns and necklaces with my big brother, and it just spun out from there." The book lies closed in her hands now. Her finger runs up and down the paper, feels the grooves between unaligned pages. "I could make them as pretty or ugly as I wanted, so long as I was happy in the end. No one ever expected anything more or less. Not that I ever made something ugly, mind you."

Ignatz hummed. "Have you ever considered selling them?"

"Not really.” Hilda tilts her head. “Do you think it'd be a good idea?"

"Absolutely! You should consider it, once the war is over. I bet people would love them."

She taps her chin. “I’ll give it some thought. What about you, Ignatz? What do you plan on doing once this whole mess is behind us?” 

“Well… Ideally, I’ll keep painting,” he says. “Even if I have to do it between my duties as a knight. It might make it hard to find a household to serve, but I don’t want to just stop.”

“Why are you aiming to be a knight? How come you’re not just going off to be an artist or something like you want to?”

“My parents sent me to the academy since my brother’s taking over the business. They didn’t really approve of the whole artist thing.” Ignatz shrugs. “I don’t really think I’m all that cut out for it, to be honest. Fighting’s never been my strong suit.” 

“Well that’s a shame,” Hilda says. “Have you ever spoken to them about it?”

He shook his head. "Not much recently, at least."

“You should. Maybe you can convince them, after all this. And if you can’t, then just come to House Goneril, okay? I’ll let you paint as much as you want.”

“That would be nice.” He smiles, then bends to reach for his bag. “Thank you, Hilda.” 

“Any time.” She holds the sketchbook out. Ignatz takes it, tucks it gently alongside the others. Before he can put his brush away, he pauses. 

“If you have time,” he starts. "Would you like to join me out here again tomorrow? We could work on our projects together, if you have any."

Hilda smiles. "I'd love to, but I'm on stock duty tomorrow. No shuffling off the responsibility for that."

"I see. That's too bad. Maybe next time?" 

"... Sure. I'd like that."

[smokeybrand]

Psyren Song

Way back during the silver age of anime in the US, when Toonami was making Dragon Ball Z everyone’s favorite anime and the Shonen genre reigned supreme, there were a lot f contenders to the Big Three crown. Shonen Jump had exploded in relevance due to a sudden influx of US fans and, at the time, there were three major manga that found their way to the top of the charts; BLEACH, Naruto, and One Piece. Now, One Piece was, and is, the undisputed king of manga. It’s incredibly evident that Monkey D. Luffy wears that crown. Motherf*cker has been running since 1996, literally the year after DBZ ended in print form. The stories of the All-Sunny squad are the only misadventures still being told of the original Big Three, threw the insurmountable force that is the Will of D. And the millions upon millions of merchandising sales.

I got to the Gum-gum party late. For me, it was BLEACH. I thought that sh*t was incredible. The art was on point and the narrative was unassailable. I don’t think anyone will fight me if i said that the Substitute Shinigami and Soul Society arcs were some of the best Shonen ever written, head and shoulders above anything either Pirate or Ninja Goku were pushing out at the time. Plus, early BLEACH easily had the best art. Kubo came through, killing everything with his distinctly detailed yet whimsically realized flavor and i loved it so much. Oda was dope, don’t get me wrong, but his sh*t was nightmare Mickey and Kishimoto’s stuff always seemed wonky to me. To this day, i always point to those first two arcs of BLEACH as the best of Shonen content available for people new to the fandom. Unfortunately that quality didn’t maintain.

The Big Three, i think, were great for different reasons. One Piece had it’s grad ass narrative, one that is still intriguing, if a little bloated, to this day. Naruto had an air of originality with how it demonstrated it’s world. That ninjitsu sh*t allowed for a ton of imaginative abilities an the Jinchuriki was an interesting take on an OP form. BLEACH, for all of my b*tching, maintained the dopest art, even after Kubo gave up and got pretty lazy. Even so, around 2007, the Big Three began to show there age. The title holders were vulnerable and a ton, an absolute slew, of brand new manga came for their throne. Tsugumomo (a personal favorite which I've written about numerous times on this blog), Spice and Wolf, Rosario+Vampire, Maken-Ki, and Deadman Wonderland (another favorite i should probably get around to gushing about) all developing a massive following but, out side of the two i mentioned here the one manga i found myself completely infatuated with was Psyren.

Psyren is everything you could ever want in a Shonen manga. It has fantastic art, an imaginative world, a compelling plot, endearing characters, and one of the best OP form i have ever seen in my entire life. I love this book, man. I don’t want to spoil too much but Psyren follows Ageha Yoshina, your high school protagonist, who stumbles upon a really f*cked world through a calling card game called Psyren. I don’t want to get too deep into the plot, go f*cking read this thing, but, suffice it to say, that narrative is all over the place. This thing takes you on a ride. There are absolutely great supporting characters and timey-wimey shenanigans all over the place. Ageha is every bit the protagonist that Luffy, Ichigo, or Naruto are and he could, arguably, hold his own with any one of them in a fight. Dude’s ability, however, is probably the most spectacular, outside of Ichigo’s Mugestsu. Seriously, the visual aspect of this book is f*cking stunning. Toshiaki Iwashiro‘s art could give Kubo’s a run for his money, especially toward the end. Not just in aesthetic, but in kineticism and power. Some of these battle scenes were exceptional. That climax where we see Ageha lose his sh*t? Yea, that would have been fantastic to see on onscreen, which brings me to the biggest issue i have with Psyren; Where the f*ck is my anime adaption man??

Psyren had a finite run. There was beginning, middle, and end. Iwashiro had a story he wanted to tell and he told it. Admittedly, it feels a bit rushed toward the end but i think that may have had more to do with Jump and their shenanigans than anything else. Jump relies too much on popularity polls and sh*t so when the audience looks to be waning in interest, sh*t gets the axe. In Psyren’s case, i don’t think that would have been the case if there was an adaption airing weekly. Psyren lends itself to animation, man. It’s glorious to look at and a lot of the battles, if animated with care, could have been truly brilliant to see. Instead, Psyren got the axe and, a decade later, still no anime in sight. It’s mad frustrating because all of those other 2007 manga i listed, they all got to see the small screen. Arguably the best out of all of them? Not even a hint. Missed opportunity, for sure. Even without an onscreen adaption, Psyren still kills. It’s an excellent story full of great art and dope characters. It’s truly a hidden gem and, if you got the time, i suggest checking it out. It deserves way more yes on it and this is me driving that traffic. Go read Psyren and tell people how dope it is. Sh*t deserves all of the shine!

[shatteredglassanimated]

Shattered Glass Animated Season 1 Episode 5 - Nice To Melt You

The resistance receives a distress call from their spy in Sumdac’s ranks. With the help of the Decepticons, will they be able to get him out in time?

Overlord Sumdac was not having a good day.

The robotic creature he’d had restrained in one of his labs had gone into some sort of internal lock-down after his first accessing of it’s database, making the retrieval of new data nigh impossible. Not to mention the weeks it had taken to to clean out his private laboratory after his first disastrous attempt to re-animate the robotic head. The cleaning drones he’d sent were efficient and quick (he had designed them after all), but even they could only do so much.

He hadn’t been able to work on any private projects for a week and it would cost him a fortune to replace the equipment lost in the failed extraction-attempt. The resistance kept eluding him and his police-bots proved utterly incapable of tracking them or any other giant, metallic creatures.

If he had been able to, Overlord Sumdac would have isolated himself in his private quarters for the rest of the day, doing nothing but working on simpler, smaller robots as he had often done in his youth when the world seemed determined to undermine his efforts.

Alas, today marked the final test run of a batch of new and improved police-drones. Taller, sturdier and with much more advanced recognition software. For the moment, they were his best bet for nailing the resistance-scum. And thus, too important a project to leave overseeing the tests to one of his underlings.

Especially to one specific underling.

Standing behind the railing of the platform overlooking the assembly hall, Sumdac took a sip from his coffee, noting with annoyance that it was rather cold already. From up above he could see the human workers, scurrying about like mice and throwing nervous looks at him every now and again. They knew he was in a bad mood. And it was never good when Overlord Sumdac was in a bad mood. The only smile in the room came from Fanzone, who was standing to his left, eyes wide with anticipation, like a child about to receive birthday presents.

“Man, this is exciting! Those machines are gonna do so much good on the street sir, I can tell! Dunno what my wife keeps whining about, I’ve never seen those bad boys target anyone they weren’t s’posed to-”

Sumdac did his best to blend out the man’s ranting, gave half-hearted wave. “Begin the final test run.”

The scientist working the console to his right, a nervous man with blond, long hair that made Sumdac keenly aware of his own bald crown and ridiculous sunglasses turned to push a few buttons.

The light signaling the drones being active flared up and the machine straightened from it’s motionless slump and raised its arm cannons. It’s build in police sirens blared as it moved forwards toward the target set up for it across the room. Sumdac huffed approvingly. At least some machines wouldn’t disappoint him today.

But then it happened.

The drone twitched, stopping in it’s advance. Then, all of a sudden, it began to turn away from the target, arm canon still raised.

Sumdac frowned. Fanzone nervously shuffled his feet next to him.

“Deactivate it,” Sumdac ordered, pointing at the malfunctioning drone.

A few hasty typing-noises came from behind.

The drone didn’t stop. Instead, it’s canon whirled to life and fired - right at the wall behind the terrified spectators. Bullets tore through steel and metal, sparks flying everywhere. Workers screamed in a panic, running for the emergency exists.

Sumdac barely managed to dodge a shot. He heard Fanzone give a panicked screech as he dove down.

“What are you doing you incompetent buffoon?” Sumdac barked at the scientist. “Deactivate it!”

“I’m trying, Sir! It’s not reacting!” the man yelled back, frantically pushing button after button on his console.

He needn’t have bothered. The drone suddenly stopped dead in it’s tracks. Sparks flew out of it’s joints, making it’s body twitch. Smoke billowed out of it’s back, followed by a small explosion that made it jerk forward, before, with a last, pathetic creak, it fell in on itself altogether, a sad pile of burning, sparking, smoking metal.

Sumday watched it all, the grip on his mug getting tighter with every second. A small crack formed itself on the mug as the robot burned away.

“How could this have happened?” he growled, slowly turning around to the scientist on the console.

The man flinched under his boss’ piercing glare. “I-I don’t know, Sir. Probably a glitch. I’ll have it disassembled an thoroughly checked for bugs!”

“I’ll do that,” Sumdac snapped. “Evidently I am the only scientist around here worth his salt!” He whirled around, heading for the exit, ignoring Fanzone who was currently whimpering on the floor in a fetal position, mumbling something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “I’ll never doubt my wife again.”

Sumdac snorted. How easily humans were cowed by minor setbacks. He would never have gotten so far in the world, had his enthusiasm been as easy to curb as his chief of police’s.

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

Prometheus Black watched his ‘boss’ leave, feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted off his back. Sumdac hadn’t suspected a thing. He’d been worried he’d been too obvious this time.

Though he suspected most of his luck in that regard was due to Sumdac being utterly uninterested in keeping up with his human subordinates beyond the most necessary interactions.

It was this attitude that had gotten Black into several high-ranking position in the first place. He’d merely had to show enough aptitude to be promoted and simultaneously be subservient enough to not get Sumdac’s attention too much. It was easier than it sounded. And it certainly made his job as a mole all the easier.

Though his latest maneuver might have possibly changed that. Prometheus wasn’t really happy with it. The new police drones would have proved disastrous to the rest of the resistance if he’d allowed them to be released at this point in time. He rarely got away from his job long enough to see to Aaron’s equipment and Cyrus’ mutation-device often enough these days. Penny was a good student and did maintenance well enough whenever he wasn’t available, but she was still only a child and it would have been irresponsible to put the work on her full-time. So he’d decided to take one for the team by risking his anonymity - and sabotaged Sumdac’s latest work.

It hadn’t been easy. It had taken him days to develop the acid he’d carefully applied to the drone before the final test and he hadn’t anticipated that it would affect the thing that much. The acid was developed from the blood (?) of the giant metallic creature Sumdac was currently housing in one of his bigger labs. Prometheus had snuck some of it away while his colleagues hadn’t been looking, after witnessing how some of it eat right through one of the toughest surveillance drones patrolling around the body.

Thinking about it now made him remember that his own laboratory still contained the vial he’d used to concentrate it. He’d have to clean that up first things first. Sumdac never visited his employees at their workplaces, but now was probably not the time to rely on a tyrant’s bad habits. Especially when said tyrant had loudly announced that he would investigate the matter himself.

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

“Failures! All of them!”

Sumdac brought his fist down hard on the table, shaking up the pieces of metal in front of him. At his orders, the drone had been disassembled and delivered to his private laboratory. He no longer trusted the scientists from combat-drone development to not completely muck up their investigation. And the ever-growing suspicion of sabotage had flared up again as well.

The drone had been working perfectly before the fateful test run this morning. It simply could have been bad luck that a machine that would have brought him closer to wiping out his fiercest enemies just happened to  break down on the day he’d wanted to determine if it was actually suitable for field deployment. But only fools believed in abstract concepts like luck. And Sumdac was anything but.

And so he examined. Upon closer inspection he managed to isolate a foreign substance unlike any of the fuels used to power the rest of his army. But no matter how he analyzed it, what methods he used to determine his origin, he  found nothing. It was like the substance had appeared form thin air. There was nothing on earth even closely resembling it’s structure, no components that seemed in any way familiar. It was maddening!

“This is hopeless,” he grumbled, letting himself fall back on his chair and massaging the bridge of his nose. “There is no being on earth who knows of this substance.”

“I do.”

“Well, no being on earth but you-” Sumdac stiffened. He whirled around, eyes wildly searching the room for an intruder - only to land on the disembodied head behind him, still hooked up to a multitude of cables. It’s eyes were glowing a piercing red. And it was watching him.

Sumdac blinked. “You... you spoke.”

It wasn’t his most astute of observations, but it was the only thing he could think of at the moment.

The head’s eyes narrowed a little and Sumdac got a feeling if it’s mouth had still been complete it would have given him a derisive smirk. “I did, Professor Sumdac.”

Sumdac felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine. “You know my name?”

“I know a lot of things,” the head answered nonchalantly. “Things that would surely benefit you. For example, that fluid you spend the last two hours analyzing. It’s concentrated energon.”

“And you know this how?” Sumdac asked, frowning.

“Because it’s an essential part of every cybertronian. Cybertronians like me or the Decepticons. And those last ones, for your information, are the ones that have been causing you so much trouble as of late.

“Fortunately for you, I have a score to settle with them. Specifically with their leader. So we’re currently, as you humans would say, in the same boat. You need information about... everything, really. And I need a body, so I can rip Megatron apart with my own servos. I’m sure you can see where I’m going with this.”

Sumdac was silent for a moment. His mind was reeling. In just a few seconds, this talking head of an alien creature a, a “cybertronian” had answered almost every burning question that had plagued him for over ten years. And it was offering more. Still, his paranoid self remained skeptical.

“And how do I know,” he said slowly. “That you aren’t in some way associated with those ‘Decepticons’? That you’re not just feeding me lies, to trick me into repairing you and then have your big friends out there break in and tear my empire apart?”

The head made a sound that sounded a  lot like a snort. “I would have to care about your empire to want to break it.” It’s eyes flashed for a moment. “And do not compare me to the Decepticon-scum! My name is Optimus Prime and I am an Autobot. We are infinitely superior to them.”

Sumdac nodded and allowed himself a small smirk. Interesting. There was more to those aliens than he’d realized. Evidently some sort of conflict took place between the two factions, the ‘Decepticons’ and the ‘Autobots’. And his guest seemed very invested in it. It was not much information to go on, but he’d built his empire from less. For now, he would have to gauge how serious ‘Optimus Prime’ was about cooperating.

“Let’s say I believe you,” Sumdac started, getting up and walking towards the head. “It still seems as if you are more dependent on this relationship than I am. I will need something from you, to know you really are as useful as you claim to be.”

“I can tell you the identity of the spy in your ranks,” Optimus replied.

“And how would you do that?”

“You’ve connected me to your entire network when you first tried to wake me up. My audials and optics are practically everywhere in this building. And they just so happened to pick up how one of your trusted employees sabotaged that primitive drone you tested this morning.”

Sumdac’s eye twitched at the insult to his robotics, but he suppressed his anger and kept his face neutral. “Tell me more.”

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

Prometheurs sighed. cleaning back in his chair. It was still hours until he could call it a day and he steadily found himself more nervous. He’d had no time to remove what remained of the acid from the drone before it had been delivered to Sumdac’s private lab. There was nothing about it that could have linked him to the failed test, but he was still on edge.

Sumdac would find it, that was for certain. Meaning he’d have to think of another way to keep the new drone from release. Maybe he could plant a signal-disruptor on it, to mess up it’s recognition software? Behind him, the leftover acid dripped away into a chemical waste container. It would take some time until he’d be able to dispose of it safely.

A blip sounded from his computer. Prometheus frowned and turned to face the screen. On a normal Sumdac-device, the sound would have been a reminder to get his computer to maintenance. Prometheus had tweaked his a little. Now it was connected to a private encrypted channel that would allow him to safely contact the outside world and be contacted safely in turn.

He pressed a few buttons and a video chat opened, showing a frowning,rotund man in his fifties wearing blue sunglasses and a grey suit.

“I was just informed that the new Sumdac Police Drone failed it’s final test run,” he said, not even bothering with a greeting. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?”

Prometheus sighed, dragging his hands down his face. He should have anticipated a lecture, really. “Look Mr. Powell, if those new drones would have gotten released, we would have been in big trouble. Their recognition software-”

“Prometheus,” Powell interrupted. “I’m well aware you wouldn’t take such risks unprompted. But I need you to realize what’s at stake here. Currently you’re our only inside man. And we’re thinly staffed as it is. I think Sumdac’s been suspecting me as of late. If he gets wise to you, I won’t be able to help you. Do you understand?”

Promtheus gulped. “Yes, Mr. Powell.”

“Watch your back, Prometheus.” The video call ended before Prometheus could answer.

Only a second after, a blip on the official message channel for Sumdac-employees popped up. Prometheus stiffened, before forcing himself to relax. It was most likely nothing. Probably a subordinate asking for advice. He would get those every now and again. He had a reputation for being surprisingly lenient for one of Sumdac’s inner circle.

His hopes were dashed as soon as he opened the channel and was met with Sumdac’s grinning face.

“Professor Black,” Sumdac said, tone cordial enough to make the hairs on Prometheus neck stand up. “I am afraid some issues have come up with your personal file.”

“R-Really?” Prometheus gripped the arms rests of his chair to keep his hands from shaking.

“Indeed,” Sumdac nodded. “I will need you to report to my office.”

Prometheus knew an order when he heard one. His left hand wandered into his pocket, coiling around a small quadrangular device with a single button on it.

“Sir, I really think I should supervise the reconstruction of our new drone model-”

“I did not ask what you were thinking,” Sumdac cut him off waspishly. “And neither do I care. You will report to my office, now. Do not make me wait.”

The video feed was cut off. Prometheus wasted no time. He pressed the button. He had approximately a few minutes before Sumdac would send security drone to collect him. If he hurried, he’d be able to grab a few of his makeshift emergency weaponry and fend them off enough to escape.

Prometheus turned around, only to stop right in his tracks, eyes widened. Unnoticed by him, the acid had eaten itself through the container, to the point the ground was about to give in. And it did. Warning sirens flared up as the acid hit the ground, noxious gas rising into the air and engulfing the lab.

Prometheus coughed, feebly trying to close his nose and mouth with his hand at the same time. He felt the gas seeping into his skin. It burned, a thousand times worse than any of the burn- wounds he’d ever gotten while working on gadgets for Sumdac or the resistance. It was all he could do to keep himself from screaming. Teeth clenched he frantically felt for the door, stumbling into the corridor, one hand still clasping the frame.

He couldn’t die yet. Who would supply Cyrus with the vitamins he needed to keep his body stable? Who would do maintenance of Aaron’s bow? Who would read stories to Penny? With newfound determination, Prometheus let go of the door and stumbled onward, unaware that the part of the frame he’d gripped had started dissolving.

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

Several miles away, in an abandoned mine in the woods, in the Decepticon’s medical bay, Aaron Archer looked at his communicator with a worried frown.

“Is something wrong?”

Aaron looked up at Megatron, who had made his way over upon seeing his on his human ally’s face.

“I feareth it is so, friend,” Aaron said gloomily. “Our scout stationed in the despot’s castle haseth send me a distress call on a secure channel. He would not doeth that, unless he was in dire peril.”

Cyrus gave an apprehensive grunt and looked over his partner’s shoulder. “If the prof’s in trouble, so are we. Our equipment’s been lagging behind for a while now. We’ll be hanging out dry if Sumdac get him into his hands.”

Blackarachnia, who until that point had been busy knocking a dent out of Lugnut’s leg, perked up at that. “You think he’s been compromised?”

“Optics on the repair-job, woman!” Lugnut snapped, nervously eyeing the small but solid hammer hovering over his leg.

“I should tell you that,” Blackarachnia fired back, turning back to him. “What kind of malfunction was your processor having for you to think exploring one of the oldest, most broken  tunnels would be a good idea? You’re lucky you’re heavily armored or you’d have been scrap-metal when it came down”

The bigger ‘Con huffed. “I was participating in an honorable organic ritual with the young organic, called ‘hide-and-seek’. That tunnel seemed like an ideal hiding place.”

Blackarachnia chose not to comment on that and went back to her work.

“What will you do now?” Megatron asked.

“Get him out, what else?” Cyrus growled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Won’t be easy though, ‘specially if Sumdac’s already gunning for him.”

Megatron nodded. “We will support you in any way we can. I will inform Blitzwing and  Starscream as soon as they and Penny return from their ‘hide-and-seek’-ritual in the woods.”

“The woods!” Lugnut shouted, smacking the medical berth with a servo. “Of course! Why did I not think of that? Truly, the small organic called Penny is a genius of strategy.”

“No, she’s just not a complete bolthead,” Blackarachnia mumbled, finishing up the repairs.

A few hours later, the Decepticons were standing outside the entrance to the mines, waiting for their two human companions to finish their preparations. Cyrus and Aaron had agreed to fly with Lugnut and Blitzwing respectively, instead of their own vehicle.

“He has no way to track us and we are sturdier than your glider,” Megatron had told them. “If we have to confront Sumdac’s forces in the air, you will be safer flying within one of us.”

Penny stood by the entrance, arms crossed and tapping her foot, Miles standing by her side quivering anxiously. He still didn’t fell safe around the Decepticons without her and even with her present he had a hard time keeping it together.

“Why can’t I come?” Penny questioned, pouting. “Miles and I can fight too!”

“We needeth you here to protect the metal knights’ base, Penelope,” Aaron said, giving her a smile. “Someone haseth to protect it from Sumdac’s metal fiends!” I wasn’t entirely a lie. In an emergency, Penny would have the skill needed to use the base’s defenses to their full effect. And she’d be as far away from Sumdac as possible.

“Transform and rise up!” Megatron called.

The Decepticons transformed, and the humans entered their partners’ vehicle mode, while Blackarachnia used a thread hold onto Lugnut. They took off Penny waving at them from the ground until she was out of sight.

After a few minutes of flying, the Sumdac Tower came into view.

“I say we break right through!” Lugnut shouted, immediately ramping up his thrusters.

Blackarachnia yelped, digging her legs into the metal to hang on.

“Lugnut, wait!” Megatron called.

Before he could react, Lugnut crashed into what seemed to be an invisible wall and slammed down on the ground, almost flattening Blackarachnia, who managed to jump off his back barely before he hit the ground.

Lugnut’s cockpit opened and Cyrus stumbled out, falling to his knees and taking deep breaths. “That’s it, I’m flying with the red one next time,” he wheezed.

“What the spark was that?” Lugnut complained, transforming back into robot-mode and rubbing his helm.

Blitzwing, who had touched down behind him and transformed as well after letting Aaron out, walked over to the sizzling blockade and laid a servo on it, frowning.

“It appears to be a force field. And it looks like it is going around the whole tower.”

“Pardon us, dear knights we shouldeth have told thee,” Aaron said sheepishly. “The tyrant possesseth an automatic shield that activates whenever his tower cometh under attack.”

“Great,” Blackarachnia grumbled, ambling to the group and rubbing her posterior. “Because we didn’t have enough trouble already.”

“Worry not! We hath prepared for just this instance!” With an elegant movement of his arm, Archer pulled out a small, rectangular card from his tunic. “Our noble scout hath given us this to trick the fiend’s foul, dark magic! It shouldeth allow us to break a hole int his shield and enter with nary a scratch!”

“That’s awfully convenient,” Starscream remarked. “What’s the catch?”

“The catch is that it only works for maybe half an hour,” Cyrus replied, having mostly recovered from his nausea. “After that we’ll be trapped like rats, unless we can turn it off for good.”

“Then we should not waste time,” Megatron said. “We will look for your scout, collect him and evacuate immediately.”

Archer nodded, then walked towards the field, pressing the card against it. A small current of electricity sparked up from the area around it and in the next moment, a small hole began to expand from the card, growing bigger until it was about ten times the man’s size.

“Err, hate to be the bearer of bad news, but that doesn’t look big enough for us,” Starscream pointed out.

Megatron frowned, kneeling down next to the opening. “It will have to do. Blackarachnia, you and the humans will enter first. The rest of us will transform into our vehicle modes and try to enter that way.”

“I think not,” a heavily accented voice said.

The group collectively jumped, before realizing it had come from a loudspeaker attached to the front of the building.

“Sumdac,” Cyrus snarled, clenching his fists.

“So this is the famous resistance I’ve heard so much about?” the voice said, sounding amused. “How disappointing. Though I would be lying if I said I’d ever had any interest in you. Humans, even insolent ones, are beneath my attention. Your companions, however, are another matter entirely. ‘Decepticons’. What a silly name for such an advanced species.”

The Decepticons stiffened. Blitzwing’s face shifted to Hothead who gave a menacing growl, Blackarachnia’s stingers twitched, Starscream readied his blasters and Lugnut’s optic narrowed.

“How do you know of us?” Megatron demanded, keeping a calm face, but reaching for his swords.

“Ah, let us just say I was ‘ahead’ of you this time,” Sumdac chuckled. “You will have ample time to figure it out - once I have you in my possession.”

“Thou wilst not lay a hand on the metal knights!” Archer shouted. “We shan’t allow it!”

“I thought so,” Sumdac said, voice taking on a disinterested tone. “Which is why I will have you disposed of first. And do not count on your little spy to save you. I have already send my drones to take car of him.”

With a crackle, the loudspeaker turned off, leaving the group to let Sumdac’s words sink in.

Archer turned to Cyrus, shaking slightly. “Cyrus, do you believeth-?”

Cyrus shook his head. “If the prof was dead, he would’ve lorded that over our heads. He said he send drones after him. That means he could still be alive. We’ve gotta get in there, now!”

With that he dashed through the hole in the shield, not waiting for any of them to follow. Blackarachnia groaned.

“What is it with my allies and running helm-first into danger?” With a bit of difficulty, she maneuvered her body through the opening.

Just as Archer was about to follow, the sound of screeching metal pulled everyone’s attention to another part of the tower. Another door had opened, admitting a swath of police drones to exit the building. The drones headed out of the force field and opened fire.

Blitzwing jumped forward, scooping Archer up in his servos and carrying him out of harms’ way.

Lugnut roared, bringing his explosive servo down on a cluster of drones. But he misjudged. The explosion destroyed the drones, but the recoil threw him backwards - right towards the hole. His body went half-way through, then stopped.

“This was not supposed to happen,” Lugnut snarled, trying and failing to pull himself out.

“Move your overgrown thrusters!” Hothead shouted, grabbing Lugnut’s arm and pulling. “You’re blocking our only way in!”

“What do you think I am trying to do here?” Lugnut snapped back.

“It’s no use, “Megatron shouted. “Blackarachnia, you will have to help Cyrus on your own.”

“Lucky me,” Blackarachnia murmured. She turned around to Cyrus. “You heard him, it’s just you and-”

The human wasn’t there anymore. When she looked up she could see the entrance door was open.

Blackarachnia ex-vented. “This just isn’t my solar cycle.”

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

Cyrus ran through the halls, doing his best to blend out the blaring alarms and not sure where exactly he was going, but also to angry to stop. Every now and again he’d rip open a door, find the room behind either completely deserted or out of spare parts and then slam it closed again. He finally screeched to a halt in a circular room, a huge elevator in the middle. In front of the elevator stood a sleek, white reception desk, with, Cyrus noted with annoyance, a robot behind it.

“Identify yourself,” the machine said in a monotone voice.

“Yeah, sure,” Cyrus growled, approaching the desk and cracking his knuckles. “Lemme just hand you my calling card.”

The robot gave a peep. “Voice scan does not match up. Intruder identified. Calling security.”

Cyrus froze. “Aw, slag.”

Suddenly a stream of a dark green acid hit the robot, immediately melting it down to a clump of deformed metal.

“Have a nice daayyyy...,” the robot slurred, before it’s voice box liquefied as well.

Cyrus jumped back, eyes wide and slowly turned his head into the direction the attack had come from. In front of the now open elevator door stood a human-shaped.. thing.

It was smaller than Cyrus (then again, most of his allies were) and seemed to consist of a slimy green fluid. It was wearing t remained of a modified lab coat with a  ridiculously wide collar and a pair of goggles where Cyrus supposed it’s eyes were.

“I dunno what kind of sick Sumdac-goon you are,” he sneered, assuming a fighting stance. “But you picked the wrong day to mess with me, buddy.”

The thing took a step back, holding it’s palms up. “Cyrus, wait! It’s me!”

Cyrus eyes widened and he abandoned his stance. “Professor?”

Before either of them could say anything more, a white stream of web shot up from behind Cyrus, pinning the thing he now knew to be Professor Black to the wall.

“Do organics just have no survival instincts whatsoever?” Blackarachnia snapped at him, running into the room. “That thing would have slagged you, if I hadn’t found you in time! What were you thinking, running ahead?”

“Hey whoa, chill spider-lady,” Cyrus said, quickly positioning himself in fro of Professor Black. “Sorry for ditching you, but this guy’s on our side! He’s the spy we told you about!”

Blackarachnia gave Professor Black a skeptical look. “That’s him? No offense, but are humans supposed to look like that?”

“Normally not, no,” Cyrus admitted, turning around with a frown. “What’s the story behind that, Prof?”

“It’s not something I’m proud of,” Prometheus sheepishly. “But I think we should focus on getting out of here first. If you would please tell the nice lady to cut me down, then - oh, wait, I suppose that’ll take care of itself.”

While he was speaking, the acid that made up his body had managed to eat itself through Blackrachnia’s string, allowing him to drop down to the floor again.

Balckarachnia whistled, impressed. “That’s some pretty strong stuff.”

“I could do without it,” Prometheus replied sourly, making his way over to the reception desk. “Cyrus, come over. I’ll need you to press the buttons for me. We have to deactivate that force field, if we want to make it out.”

“U-Uh, yeah! Coming!” Cyrus stumbled after the professor, awkwardly standing beside him on the other side of the desk. A multitude of buttons, levers and dataports greeted him when he glanced at the desk’s surface. Professor Black already seemed to be searching for something in particular, though how he could make out any sense of coherence in this overly complicated device was beyond Cyrus.

Eventually, Professor Black pointed at a specific lever. “This one.”

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

Outside, the rest of the Decepticons and Archer were still fighting off the drones.

“They just keep coming,” Starscream shouted, blasting a drone that had just attempted to shock him to smithereens.

“Let them!” Hothead snarled. “I nee to let off some steam!”

A yelp came from behind them.

“Either I am growing bigger, or this shield is growing stronger,” Lugnut grunted.

Megatron hastily put a servo to his helm. “Blackarachnia, whatever you are doing in there, stop it! You are strengthening the l!”

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

“It’s not working,” Blackarachnia told Cyrus. “Try something else!”

Prometheus tsked impatiently. “He must have changed the layout.One moment, I’ll have this figured out...” He leaned over the panel, eyes scanning the different levers, until they landed on a specific one, a little to the left of the on he’d told Cyrus to pull. “This one! I’m sure this time!”

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

A slight buzzing noise was the only warning Lugnut got before the force field holding him up flickered and disappeared, letting him drop to the floor.

“It’s open! We should move!” Blitzwing called.

“No! These drones keep on coming,” Megatron answered, shooting a couple of drones attempting to surround him. “If we retreat inside, they’ll block the exit. Lugnut! Go and help Blackarachnia and the humans! We will hold Sumdac’s forced off here and secure our escape route!”

Lugnut gave a curt nod, then stomped into the building.

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

“That should have done it,” Prometheus said, satisfied. “Now we should be able to-”

The rattle of metal joints interrupted him mid-sentence. A swath of security drones spilled out of the adjacent halls.

“Aw, slag,” Cyrus cursed, instinctively putting himself in front of the professor.

“Guess I didn’t interrupt the call fast enough,” Prometheus said, awkwardly putting his hands up. “I don’t think I can melt them all.”

Blackarachnia’s optics flipped between the crones and the panel. Ina few seconds, she made a decision. “You won’t have to.”

The drones got into position. Blackarachnia jumped forward and planted her servos on the panel. Her upper arms sprouted devices reminiscent of magnets. She lifted her arms towards the drones and just as they started to fire, a barrier closed around her and the two humans.

“Fascinating!”Prometheus exclaimed, watching her with awe. “You duplicated that advanced technology in less than a second? Just by touching it?”

“It’s kind of my thing,” Blackarachnia replied. “Any idea how we get out of here?”

Before Prometheus could answer, loud thundering footsteps rang down the hall and in the next moment, Lugnut entered the room, clearly in a bad mood and smashing every unfortunate drone in his way.

“Well that takes care of that,” Cyrus remarked.

Balckarachnia lowered the shield and Lugnut came to a halt in front of them. When he noticed Prometheus, his optic narrowed. “What is that?”

“The spy,” Blackarachnia cut in, before Cyrus or Prometheus could answer. “No time to explain, I bet there’s more of those things-” she pointed at the smashed drones on the floor,”-already on the way.”

Lugnut nodded. The four quickly made their way through the hall and back outside. The other Decepticons moved out of the way a Blackarachnia’s urging and she erected a barrier similar to the one she’d use inside, protecting them from the drones’ gunfire. Now in a safer environment, Megatron, Lugnut, Starscream and Blitzwing transformed into their vehicle modes, with Cyrus and Archer entering their previous rides.

Prometheus hesitated. “I don’t think I’ll be able to board any of you in my current-”

He felt a light buzzing under his feet and yelped when he was lifted up in a bubble consisting of the same material as the force field in the next moment.

“Already thought of that,” Blackarachnia called, steering the bubble on top of Lugnut and positioning herself beside it. “Can’t melt what you can’t touch!” She wasn’t looking forward to making the ride back in robot-mode, but in this case she’d just have to bear it. She knocked on Lugnut’s armor-plating. “Hurry up! I don’t know how long my download’s gonna last!”

The Decepticons took off, leaving the tower and the drones behind them.

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

Sumdac watched his foes slip from his grasp on the monitors, shaking with rage.

How? How could this be??? He’d had the advantage this time! Victory should have been his! The resistance should have been crushed then and there! And yet they had again managed to elude him!

Snarling, he wiped the documents from his desk. For a moment, he considered activating the canons on top of his tower to try and shoot them down. But they were already too far away and he didn’t want to waste ammunition. Besides... he was not completely beaten yet.

Sumdac smirked. he still had an ace up his sleeve. Slowly, he stood up from his chair, calling upa  few cleaning bots and then making his way to his personal labortatory.

Optimus Prime was following him with his eyes as he entered the room. Sumdac tried not to let him see how much he still unnerved him.

“The information I gave you turned out to be correct,” Optimus said. It wasn’t a question. “So? Do we have a deal?”

Sumdac didn’t answer immediately. He took his time comfortably settling himself in his chair, before looking up at Optimus with a sinister smile on his face. “Yes. Yes we have.”

[iris-somnia]

Catch Up Tag 🌸

Tagged by beautiful angels @yeoldontknow​ to do this catch up tag. Thank you, dear!

1. What do you prefer to be called name-wise?

I use Iris here, but I have other pseudonyms on other profiles in order to protect myself. I never use my real name online.

2. When is your birthday?

Late February.

3. Where do you live?

I’m currently living in a hotel I can’t afford long term. I hope to find permanent shelter soon but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t hard as hell.

4. Three things you are doing right now?

I’m AFK fishing on Black Desert Online because they’re doing the fishing event that gives free money and if I can’t be rich irl, I can at least be the big cheese with an avatar that looks like an eight-year old forest nymph. I’m also listening to WayV because they’ve consistently held up as a good choice no matter what mood I’m in this year. In about 15 minutes, I’ll resume watching the Crown and doing my sticker book (my guilty pleasure during homelessness).

5. Four fandoms that have peaked your interest?

Honestly, I’ve avoided fandoms this year because people really don’t know how to take a breath and enjoy shit. Most kpop fandoms have a subset of older fans who I enjoy interacting with because they only talk about the music and performances, but there are other wings of fans who are so obsessed with winning and being all-powerful that I don’t even want to listen to the music anymore because it’ll feed the monster.

The accounts/mutuals who I’ve enjoyed the most this year have been Starlights, Insomnia, Sirens (Chloe x Halle), and Warriors & Weirdos (Aurora). I’m seeing some promising reasons to get back into video game fandoms but lord, there’s so much drama in most of the companies that I am holding back.

6. How has the pandemic been treating you?

No one in my immediate family has gotten sick, but I did have to bury my grandmother this spring and many family couldn’t come to her service because of the restrictions. Some of my colleagues have COVID. Many more lost their jobs because of it and most of them who were laid off were done so under false pretenses and I’m still mad.

I’m working remotely, but a budget scare earlier in the year motivated my employer to announce a furlough for many of us, only to rescind it a couple of days before it went live. By then, I had already lost my apartment and had packed all my shit in storage. I’ve been couch surfing and living in hotels since August and it’s cost me thousands of dollars. I’ve learned that when you don’t have a permanent address, people assume you’re a junkie even when you wash your ass. I’ve had a lot of disappointments this year in terms of human behavior, but vices like alcohol and beautiful women keep me level enough to stay out of the deep end. That, and I meditate a lot. 

I have lost all my patience with assholes though, especially ones who puff up at me in public like I���ll be intimidated and fold. Confrontation and avoidance are two sides of the same coin and I keep flipping it like a gambler. I’m either pretending they’re dead or I’m ripping a new asshole in a way that makes those eyes pop like “oh shitttttt.” When I’m no longer in survival mode with my housing, I hope to go back to understanding the nuances of lived experience. Until then, it’s eat or be eaten and I absolutely hate living black & white like that.

7. A song you can’t stop listening to?

Megan Thee Stallion - Realer. 

8. Recommend a movie?

1917 (2019) - It’s a British war film that has some of the best cinematography I’ve seen in many years. I was on the edge of my seat with chest pains but wow.

9. How old are you?

32

10. School, university, occupation, other?

Employed at a non-profit that profits off human suffering. I work there as a form of prostitution because of my student loans but I’m considering going into a different training program so I can leave and work for myself. It’ll take a couple years to save up.

11. Do you prefer heat or cold?

I refer 70 degrees F because my winter coat’s in storage.

12. Name one fact others may not know about you?

I have two history degrees and used to teach civics, U.S. history, and world history for a living. That’s why I’ve taken this year’s politics harder than your average citizen and it’s why my Twitter account is raging against elected officials half the time. Historians don’t shut off.

13. Are you shy?

Eh, not really anymore. I trained out of it because shyness kept me from earning money. Now I’m selectively withdrawn because I understand that the more people I interact with, the more likely I’ll need a nap. 

14. Preferred pronouns?

She/her

15. Biggest pet peeves?

1 - People not wearing masks when my region has run out of hospital beds.  2 - Ghosting with no explanation. I would rather be told, “I lied, I hate you,” because it gives closure. Ghosting always means billable therapy hours as I revisit why I’m preparing for a life alone. 3 - Not tipping food service staff. If you don’t tip food service workers, fuck you.

16. What is your favorite ‘dere’ type?

In anime/manga, I enjoy goudere characters for comic relief. 17. How would you rate your life from 1-10, 1 being crappy and 10 being the best it could be?

A solid 5 which will jump to a 7 when I have permanent shelter.

18. What is your main blog?

It’s a reblog of my non-kpop interests: @my-astral-wanderlust​

19. Is there something people need to know about you before they become friends?

Honestly, I probably should consider myself anti-friend or at least perpetually unlucky with my track record.

I go through periods of time where I can’t communicate well for medical reasons and it’s not a reflection on that friend as a person, but rather a challenge I’ve lived with since childhood. It could be walls of text or radio silence depending on how much I trust someone and that’s always to my own peril. Withdrawal from socializing is common during time periods when I know I’m likely to hurt someone’s feelings, especially if I love them and care about their emotional safety. I struggle a lot sharing vulnerabilities and true feelings to friends because I have many memories and experiences of people telling me they loved me and then using those vulnerabilities as ammunition to hurt me later. I’ve had many ex-friends lie about the kind of person I am when talking to friends/family, on everything from sexuality to appearance to interests to how we know each other. That, and many who claim to be my friend ditch me the moment I call out shitty behavior like lying to me or not keeping promises. 

With that kind of track record, I’ll take a nice dog. Trusting people is almost unattainable and while it’s a sad state of affairs, I’d rather not get actively hurt constantly.

tagging: ...I think a lot of my mutuals have already been tagged here but my memory isn’t good right now. Sooo if you want to be tagged, consider yourself tagged!

[blueishfood]

A crown of petals and flowers (for a boy of flesh and bones)

-- -- -- -- <3

Pairing: Adrienette

Words: 1,9 K

Summary:

"Their eyes met, and he knew her answer. In that moment she seemed calm, almost at ease before him. 

“Close your eyes, or I might still be tempted to steal them with me.”

Adrien wasn’t entirely sure if it was a joke."

A/N:  This might be the weirdest story I've written yet. It is a story based on a folk tale/fairy-tale creature, so if you get confused, read the end notes for an explanation.

Also, if the story made you feel anything like the picture above, I did it right.

-- -- -- -- <3 

Adrien was standing in the middle of a wildflower field when he first saw her. He had been on his way to bring down the cattle, when suddenly, only a few meters in front of him stood a beautiful girl. Her long dark hair swayed in the wind. It rippled and glinted like a dark river, and she had not braided it like tradition demanded.

He stood for a second in complete silence, and watched her happily dance between his cattle. She petted them like dogs and sang to them a beautiful song filled with words he could not make sense of. Her long white dress looked like something made for celebration, but for some reason, she had ventured further up in the mountains than anyone did on a workday.

He froze when she noticed him. Adrien was sure he looked pathetic. Like some kind of lovesick fool, open mouth and wide eyes.

She giggled. Her laughter dipped and bounced off the large stone walls on their sides, the echo seemingly having even more fun than her. Adrien was reminded of the tiny river in his back yard, chuckling happily as it wove past his feet. He gave her a small grin.

“What are you doing so far up in the mountain, fair maiden?” The girl blinked at him, her long lashes bouncing off her round cheeks. Then she beamed at him.

“Conversing with your darling Betty, of course.” She placed her hand on his best dairy cow. Adrien lifted an eyebrow, and snorted,

“My ‘darling’ Betty is a cow,” he said, waiting for her to tell him she was joking. The young woman simply nodded.

“She is indeed,” she tipped her head to the right, “and she thinks you’ve been feeding her far too little for the work she’s doing.”

Adrien laughed, and figured he had time to spare. He sat down on a large rock and watched as she started picking the wildflowers growing beside her bare feet.

“You could come with me and feed her yourself,” he smiled, almost instantly regretting his framing of words. That sounded a little-

“I’m afraid you’re being far too forward, Mister.” The woman blushed, bowing her head, she hid her cheeks behind her curtain of hair. She fiddled with the flowers in her hands, weaving them into a petite crown before putting it on Betty’s head.

“Apologies,” he said quickly, attempting to smooth it over with a little laugh, “I have yet to introduce myself. My name is Adrien.” He gave a little bow, and the woman beamed. She had two tiny dimples by the tip of her lips. “May I ask what you call yourself?”

She bowed down, once again picking flowers and weaving them together.

“Names hold power, Mister,” she said, and left it at that. Adrien assumed she was a private person. There were many of those hidden between the fjords.

He decided to be bold either way. Something was spurring him on this early morning, a longing, a yearning to get the hand of this woman he had just met. He would have found it peculiar, but Adrien had always known he carried strong emotions.

“Miss, there are going to be festivities later, in Mr Johannsson’s barn. Would you like to accompany me?” The woman let out a small delighted fit of laughter, before she turned to him, and placed yet another crown in his soft curls. Adrien felt the hair rise on the back of his neck as her slender fingers brushed against his forehead.

“I would love to,” she smiled, “but I cannot.”

“Are you too tired?” Adrien wondered if he was pushing his limits. She had been kind, open and inviting, but he needed to know more about her. “I haven’t seen you before, are you traveling from afar? *Bjørgvin perhaps?” The woman smiled, and Adrien wasn’t sure if he imagined the pity on her lips. “My aunt has a spare bed if you need one. She lives alone.”

She sighed; her smile had now fully disappeared. Adrien let a small frown tug at his eyebrows.

“Do you not see it?” she asked, a gentle hand cradling his jaw, “Do you not see what I am?”

Adrien leaned into her touch until he caught her words. He leaned back a little, looking up at her fully.

Her dress flowed in the wind, her hair wild and a stark contrast against the light colour. His gaze took in her face, her light blue eyes that could drown him if he let them, her perfect plump lips, her rosy cheeks, and the light dusting of freckles that decorated her nose.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, slightly out of breath, and she rolled her eyes.

Taking a small step forward, she leaned towards him, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear before she said; “I am the beautiful woman you found in the mountain.” She blinked her bluebell eyes slowly, as if willing him to understand. “Ring any bells?” Adrien took her in once more, feeling slightly dazed, until her words registered in his brain and he jerked away from her, almost breaking a bone or two.

His eyes shot down to her legs, or what was hiding behind her legs. Gently flowing with the folds of her dress, he caught a glimpse of a dark black tail.

Adrien shot to his feet. He stumbled backwards over the rock he had been sitting on, trying to get as much distance between him and a creature of the underworld as he possibly could. She laughed.

“What do you want from me, Hulder?”

The wight giggled, and Adrien couldn’t for the life of him understand how such a lovely creature could be the doom of so many men.

“It was you who asked me to a dance, was it not?” she dragged her fingers through her hair, and it reflected the sunlight in a way suddenly foreign and unknown to his eyes, “I like dancing.”

“I just want my cattle,” Adrien said, trying to keep the wavering fear from his voice, “we can part ways as friends.”

“Why should we do that?” She danced a few steps closer to him, and Adrien leaned back where he sat. “I get nothing out of the agreement, and you get your freedom.” The sneer in her voice was unmistakable. She thought he was trying to trick her.

Adrien let out a silent breath, trying another approach to make her more compliable.

“Why do you bring men into your mountain?” He asked, his hands scratching against the rough stone surface as he tried to keep his distance from her flowing form.

She stopped short, staring at him for a second like she had never thought of such a question before she answered, “It is my nature”, and continued closing in on him.

Adrien held up a hand, stopping her mere centimetres from his skin. “Let me leave, and I’ll make it up to you.”

She stopped reaching for his wrist, her body language faltering just slightly. “How?” She asked, and Adrien’s mind raced for an answer to the same question.

“You are curious, are you not?” he said, a little too quickly to be considered a thought-out sentence. “Of the world on the outside.”

“Not that curious.” She reached for him again, this time catching his wrist with her left hand while she used the other to brush away his bangs from his eyes. “You’re a gorgeous example of your species, I’m not sure I want to let you go.”

“Wait!” he gasped, even though he wasn’t entirely sure why he was fighting the most beautiful woman he had ever seen on living his entire life with her. “I have many things to offer, see,” he emptied his pockets, incredibly happy that he had forgotten to clear them of coins and rubbish before he started his day.

“I already own coins,” she gestured to a few wooden nails, “people lose these all the time, and those-“ -she pointed to his collection of small colorful rocks- “are worthless, I own thousands that are far more beautiful.”

Frantically Adrien continued emptying his pockets, looking inside every nook and cranny for something that would matter to her. The hulder simply snorted at his effort, before she finally crossed her arms, and leveled him with a cold stare.  

“Just admit it. You have nothing of- oh”, she stopped short when she spotted it. Adrien froze in the middle of his actions, watching her. When she reached for it, the item was something simple. A thin needle, one of simple steel, rested in her palm like it was something precious. “Where did you…” She didn’t seem to need an answer as she admired the tiny tool. Only when Adrien tried to inch away from her did she look up.

Their eyes met, and he knew her answer. In that moment she seemed calm, almost at ease before him. “Close your eyes, or I might still be tempted to steal them with me.”

Adrien wasn’t entirely sure if it was a joke.

She blinked, much like an animal coming out of a daze, and the moment was gone. The look in her eyes once again became wild, and he watched as the nature inside her battled for dominance. She stared at him, then behind him, to his village, and took off.

Adrien didn’t comprehend it when she left, and later he couldn’t explain the disappearance. For though he was certain he watched her leave, he could not for the life of him remember in which direction or where to.

He knew, however, that she was no longer in his presence when the sweet aura around him was blown away with the wind. Like a spell had been lifted, he opened his eyes and the entire exchange seemed like a dream.

But he knew it wasn’t, for a needle had gone missing from his right breast pocket.

The second Adrien got home; he placed his cattle where they were supposed to be, and made his way through his too large house. He stopped before his late mother’s chambers.

It was a small room, one that had once upon a time been decorated with blossoms, branches, and rocks. None were left now. It had been converted into a guest room, the door unlocked only for the occasional missionary or priest that arrived in town. A few had stayed over since the death of his Mother, but ever since her funeral, Adrien had tried his best to stay out.

But privacy, he thought to himself as he opened the creaking door, was overrated.

He made a beeline for the chest in the far-right corner. In it, his mother’s belongings were placed. There were a few items which many could benefit from, yet Adrien couldn’t force himself to sell them. Luckily, there was only one thing he was after this evening.

When he later made his way through the thick forest in broad daylight, Adrien sent a quick prayer to God, asking him to pass on his apologies to Emelie Agreste. Her sowing kit would be given away for a good cause.

He put the flower crown by the small wooden box. A debt repaid, a bond severed and a moment of fear nowhere near forgotten.

A month had passed, when Adrien drunkenly stumbled through his door, rubbing his sore palms. The day had been long, and while the dancing didn't last for the same amount of time, it had been just as tiring. 

More than once Adrien convinced himself that Nino had somehow made a deal with the devil for his musical abilities. But if his friend made a deal with the devil, Adrien had been cursed by him, to never be able to have a second to himself. 

Rachel, his great aunt, had decided it was time for him to get married. That was the only explanation Adrien had for the girls that kept falling at his feet. That, and the weird 'knowing' looks she kept giving him.

His exhausted mind didn’t notice the glint of gold on his nightstand that evening. But the next morning, he would wake to see a needle of pure gold and a beautiful rock. Beside the two gifts rested a single note, folded and worn, the paper clearly outdated. The message was written in rough handwriting, and yet the words were indistinguishable.

"Power is overrated,

-Marinette"

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

End notes:

A <hulder> is a female creature from old Norwegian folktales. 

The hulder looks like a young woman but she is what someone might call a wight. In the stories she usually has long blonde hair and is incredibly beautiful, but she has a cow tail and likes to trick unwed men into coming inside the mountain with her where she will marry them.

In some fairy tales the hulder is a dark and evil creature, who makes the life of men difficult. Sometimes she also steals children or switches them with her own. If a young child had a sickness or a disability, the people often believed them to be a child of the hulder.

However, in other stories, the hulder is a creature who lives in peace with the nature around her. She is good with cattle and animals and is known to help young women, and those who treat her with respect.

This story is based on a tale my great grandmother told grandpa who told me. Once she left her sowing needle outside for a night, and she forgot to bring it in. A few weeks later, she found it, but the tip had been turned into gold. She believed until she died that this was the hulder who had borrowed her needle and made it into gold as a thanks.

*Bjørgvin is the old name for Bergen, one of the biggest cities in Norway

[hogwarts-is-frozen]

Fanfic Update - I Wanna Know What Love Is

Summary: Elsa had long ago made peace with the fact she would never find love. The idea of allowing someone to be that intimate with her had been so frightening for so long that she written off the whole thing completely. That is, until a stranger from a distance land throws her entire world upside down. M for swearing and smut in later chapters. F/F and Kristanna

Word Count: 8,221

Rating: M

Chapter 2 - ‘Formalities’ is up and I hope you enjoy :)

"That. Was. Awesome!" Anna exclaimed punching a fist into the air. "Do you think I could get her to teach me how to do that? Whenever I ask Kristoff to teach me to fight he just laughs at me, and the guards are all too afraid you'd freeze them or sack them if they help me."

Elsa, wasn't listening to her sister, she could only look on in stunned silence as she watched the foreign woman snap at the guards before stomping past without even a backwards glace. For some reason the Queen couldn't tear her gaze away as the woman approached a very expensive looking carriage. This proved the woman came from some form of wealth, a little surprising considering what Elsa had just witnessed.

The woman wrenched open the door with such ferocity, Elsa feared she might pull it off the hinges. The driver didn't even have time to get down off his seat before the strange woman and her companion had jumped inside, slamming the door, and barking something at the driver Elsa couldn't distinguish.

And just like that, she was gone. It had all happened so fast Elsa didn't know what to think. She had never seen someone move with such confidence before, let alone a female. This woman had taken down two fully-grown men, and with surprising ease. Elsa had needed the help of her exceptionally powerful magic and (although she loathed to admit it) Prince Hans, to do the same.

Just who was this mystery woman?

xxx

Nia hissed in pain and swore as she did her best to tighten the laces of her corset, but the swelling in her hand was making it very difficult to curl her fingers properly. Conan whined anxiously from his place at in front of the hearth at the sound of her discomfort.

It had been a full day since her encounter with those two brutes back at the public house and the stinging in her right hand had only gotten worse. Despite this however, Nia was in fairly good spirits. She had found a reasonably nice inn just on the outskirts of Arendelle. A family owned establishment, run by a mountain of a man with his wife and three children. Nia could have afforded to stay at one of the finer inns, but this was closest one to the trails that lead into the wilds and the only one that allowed Conan to sleep in her room.

By the time she had finally gotten dressed and arranged her wild curls, Nia was practically jumping out of her skin to get to the mountains and begin her research. However, there were a few formalities she would have to deal with first.

Grabbing her peacoat for the early morning chill and her notebook, Nia made her way to the main hall of the inn.

"Yoo hoo!" called a man standing behind the counter, giving Nia a little wave of his giant hand. "You need some breakfast, ja?"

Nia smiled at the owner, who still wore a brightly coloured sweater and knitted hat despite it being rather warm inside, and waved back.

"Thank you, Oaken, but I really should get going. I have a lot to do today and –"

His wife suddenly appeared with a plate of honey rolls and bacon. "Nonsense, dear. Eat. You're much too thin as it is," she said, tossing a large strip of bacon down to Conan, who snapped it eagerly out of the air.

Nia laughed. "Helga, you sound like my mother," she said picking up one of the mouth-watering rolls, taking a generous bite out of one and stuffing two more into the hidden pockets of her jacket.

"Then an intelligent woman she must be," Helga replied with a wink. "So what is it that has you hurrying about like the Devil himself is clawing at your heels?" she asked, picking up a nearby glass and cleaning it with the apron she wore around her slim waist.

"I'm planning on traveling into the northern foothills tomorrow to see if the rumors I've heard regarding your herds of reindeer are true and I need to find myself a sure-footed horse to get me there," Nia said around a mouthful of bacon. "But before I do any of that, I need to get permission from your Queen."

Xxx

Elsa had to physically restrain from rolling her eyes at the two men bickering in front of her. She had been holding one of her bi-weekly Court sessions, and had been trapped attending to petitioners vying for her attention on one thing or another all morning. Currently, Elsa was listening to a simple dispute over wages between a farmer and his farmhand and they had been going on for almost an hour now. The farmhand claimed that he was not being sufficiently paid for the amount of work he was doing while the farmer argued they had long ago come to an agreement regarding payment. The farmer pointed out that the only reason the younger man wanted to be paid more was because he'd learned that one of his brothers had been earning more than he had, but the farmer could not afford an increase in wages.

Though the young Queen did her best to keep her attention focused on the petitioners, she couldn't help but let her mind wander the longer they went around and around in their argument. This day, she found her thoughts drifting back to the strange woman from the day before. Elsa couldn't say why, but the odd woman had been never been far from the Queen's mind since her return to the castle. Everything about her had been… curious. From the way she'd handled the two men who had assaulted her, to her accent, to the clothing she wore.

Who was she? Where had she come from? And most curious of all, what was her business in Arendelle?

So many questions and no answers, it was enough to make her head spin. Elsa had asked Kai if he knew of any visiting nobility, but he had assured her that none he knew of had docked in Arendelle recently. Only a few merchant vessels and one or two smaller ships.

The young Queen snapped to attention when she realized the two men had finally stopped talking and were now looking expectantly up at her. She hoped they had not noticed her brief mental lapse.

"I have heard enough," Elsa said, schooling her features into a mask of smooth neutrality, as her late father had taught her. She turned her attention to the farmer, "Do you have a written copy of your agreement regarding wages?"

The older man shook his head slowly. "No, Majesty. T'was a simple spoken agreement."

Elsa nodded. "Then there is no proof of what wages were agreed upon."

The young man grinned in triumph… but she was not finished.

"However, there are many young men looking for work and would be only too happy to accept the amount you are able to afford should this man decide he need the increase." She now turned to the farmhand who was no longer looking so victorious. "You must both come to an agreement over what is fair and have a written contract signed by the both of you as well as one other witness." When the younger man looked as though he were about to argue she held up her hand to silence him. "If you feel that you will not be able to come to a suitable agreement then come back and see me. We are always looking for more able-bodied men to help with the ice exports. Keep in mind that it is not easy work, but you would be well compensated."

In the end, the two men left looking appeased for now, if not overly thrilled about her decision.

She sighed and leaned back heavily on her throne, rubbing at her tired eyes while trying not to smudge her carefully applied eye makeup. After regaining her composure, she signaled Kai to retrieve the next (and hopefully last) petitioner. She had not at all expected what happened next.

"Ma'am! Ma'am, I am sorry, but I cannot allow that animal inside the castle! It will have to stay outside. Ma'am!" Came the sound of Kai's voice, followed by a set of purposeful footsteps.

"I have been waiting all bloody morning! And Conan stays with me. Always," another voice said firmly. "Oh, quit your fretting, man, he is better trained than most of the noble brats I've met."

"I beg your pardon! But –"

Kai wasn't able to finish his protest when the two – or rather three, including the canine – of them rounded the corner into the throne room.

Elsa stood, immediately recognizing the owner of the second voice as the woman from the market, although she looked a great deal different than she had the day previous. Today it seemed she had opted to wear something considered more appropriate to her gender. It was a very finely made violet dress hemmed in the same elaborate celtic knots that had been stitched into her earlier outfit. Around her hips sat a thin, silver chain that ran down the middle of her skirt that swayed slightly as she walked. And in the hollow of her slender throat sat a gold pendant that displayed two hands cradling a heart topped with a crown. It was then Elsa realized why this woman looked so familiar to her.

"Your, Majesty I -" Kai started but Elsa just shook her head before he could continue.

"It is alright, Kai," Elsa said, doing her best to reassure the manservant. "I'm sure her companion will be on his best behaviour. "Also, could you fetch Anna for me? I'm more than sure she has forgotten our appointment with the physician today. I'd check the stables first."

Kai hesitated for a few moments, eyeing Conan apprehensively. "Yes, Your Majesty," he said before nodding and striding towards the exit.

Nia took a moment to assess this mysterious Queen of Arendelle. She seemed so very different than the timid, anxious young woman Nia had met those many years ago. This woman carried herself in a way that displayed both her maturity and authority and yet there was still a fragility about her that piqued Nia's curiosity.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Nia said offering a small curtsey and tilt of her head, to which Elsa returned with a nod. "I do assure you that he does exactly as I tell him. Conan, down," she said to demonstrate, for as she gave the command the canine dropped down next to his mistress, looking up at her as if waiting for further instruction.

"Very impressive," Elsa said smiling her approval. "And I must say he really is quite remarkable. Do you mind me asking what kind he is, I've never seen any breed like him in Arendelle? I admit I don't know much about dogs. I was never very good with animals in any capacity really. I think they sensed my magic and so kept their distance."

"Animals are sensitive creatures, Majesty, they do not communicate through verbal speech like you and I, so they use body language and can easily read emotion. It is much more likely that they would sense fears or anxiety rather than magical abilities," Nia said with a reassuring smile. "I would be hard pressed to believe a wonderful gift such as yours would frighten an animal. And, to answer your question, Conan is an Irish wolfhound. A very common breed where I'm from, often used for hunting and to protect livestock. I raised him since he was a pup, runt of the litter if you can believe it."

The Queen blushed at Nia's compliment about her powers. "I must say I do find it rather difficult to imagine that there are bigger ones than him," Elsa chuckled.

Nia smiled. She decided she liked this Queen Elsa. She was easy to talk to and didn't seem prone to speaking down on those below her station, as so many royals often did. And Heavens, Nia had forgotten how lovely she was. She wore a magnificent soft blue gown that glittered in a way that Nia couldn't distinguish what fabric it was made from. No jewels hung about her neck or ears, she didn't need them, for her natural beauty far outshone any gems. The only decoration she sported was a delicate tiara, nestled neatly among her platinum blonde strands, which looked to be cut from glass and shaped like the top half of a snowflake.

But Nia was not there to gawk; she was there for a purpose.

"Forgive me, Majesty. I don't think I properly introduced myself. Or at least you probably don't remember when my father introduced us at your coronation."

Elsa grinned. "Countess Niamh of Castle Dunmore, if I recall correctly."

Nia blinked at the Queen in surprise. "You have quite the memory, Your Majesty."

The Queen shrugged. "I admit I didn't recognize you at first, but then I saw your necklace," she said gesturing to the chain handing around Nia's throat, "and I remembered asking you about it during our first meeting. The claddage, yes?"

"I'm impressed, Queen Elsa. You are correct on both accounts, or at least mostly correct. I simply go by 'LadyNiamh of Dunmore', now," she said. "I relinquished my claim to my father's lands some years ago."

Now it was Elsa's turn to be surprised. "Did you two have a falling out?"

Nia shook her head with a smile. "Hardly, Your Majesty, quite the opposite in fact. It was all done at my request when I became certain my brother was more than equal to the task. I knew the people would be more content with a male heir anyways. The Irish are much more… shall we say, 'traditional' compared to those here in Arendelle, plus it freed me to do what I truly loved."

Elsa felt herself hanging on to every word that fell from this stranger's lips. Drawn to her like an insect to a candle's flame. Nia was like something out of one of her stories – enigmatic and brash. She was so different from Elsa herself, who was so focused on duty and maintaining control at all times, which only served to make her all the more captivating.

"And what is it that you truly love?" Elsa asked, somewhat shyly, almost as if she hadn't meant to ask the question at all.

A contented smile painted Nia's expression and her gaze became unfocused. "To travel," she said, "and to learn all I can about the things that fascinate me most. Which, I suppose, brings me to the reason for my visit to your lovely kingdom."

But before Nia could explain herself further a loud gasp interrupted her.

"Ohmygosh! You! From the market!"

Thoroughly confused, Nia watched as a young woman with the reddest hair she had ever seen and so many freckles Nia could have sworn she was straight out of one of the storybooks her mother used to read her, skipped over to fidget excitedly beside the queen. Her appearance caused Conan to stand up and sniff her curiously - Nia couldn't help but notice the queen had gone very still at his sudden movement - and to Nia's amazement he stepped forward to push his head under the new girl's hand for a scratch.

"Well I'll be," Nia breathed.

"What?" The redheaded asked – who Nia now recognized as the Princess - happily falling to her knees and letting the canine give her sloppy kisses on the chin.

"He only behaves that way with me. And one other time…" Nia said, trailing off.

"When was the other time?" the Princess asked curiously.

"When my sister was… Forgive me, Your Grace, but you- you wouldn't happen to be… expecting, would you?"

Nia watched the surprise arc simultaneously through both women, confirming her suspicions. "I went to visit my sister and her husband when she became pregnant with her first child and it was like he turned into an entirely different dog. He followed her everywhere and was very protective. He even growled at my brother-in-law once," she said, chuckling at the memory.

The princess laughed, where as the queen still hadn't moved. "Such a clever boy, aren't you! Aren't you!" she cooed. "Oh Elsa would you relax, I can practically feel you worrying from here. He isn't going to eat me… although considering how big you are, you probably could. Right big guy?" the younger girl said winking in Nia's direction, forcing the woman to hold back a snort.

"That's not funny, Anna!" The queen scolded.

"It's a little funny. You just have no sense of humor," Anna teased, resulting in a small flush working its way up the Queen's neck.

Elsa tilted her chin up haughtily and folded her arms in a very undignified pout.

"You would never hurt me, would you, big guy? See, Elsa he's a big'ol softie," Anna said as Conan lay down in front of her and rolled on his back so that she could rub the soft underside of his belly. "You only attack big jerks in pubs who try and hurt your mama, don't you?"

Now it was Nia's turn to be surprised. "How - how do know about that?" she asked.

"Anna and I were in the market yesterday and happened to witness your… altercation," Elsa said, a little sheepishly. She still felt a little guilty for not allowing herself to intervene – despite the fact that Nia had been more than capable on her own.

Her shyness then turned into a small smirk. "I believe both my guards' prides are still smarting a little from your interaction."

Nia simply stood blinking at the two royals as the Queen's admission sunk in and she couldn't help the small flush of embarrassment that coloured her cheeks. Brawling with two men after an afternoon of drinking and cards was definitely not the kind of first impression she'd wanted to make. How was she going to gain the Queen's approval now?

She cleared her throat and bowed her head, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "I apologize, Your Majesty, Your Highness," Nia said. "That was… was unbecoming of me. I – I was…"

"It's alright, Lady Niamh." The Queen interrupted gently. "You were simply defending yourself. I only wish you had never been put in that situation in the first place, and I hope it had not tarnished your view of Arendelle's people."

The Irishwoman felt some of the tension in her shoulders ease. "Hardly, Your Majesty. It will take a little more than a couple of common thugs who can't handle losing to a woman at a simple game of cards to soil my opinion of your lovely kingdom." She smiled. "And please, call me Nia."

Elsa returned her smile while the Princess stood up and held out her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Nia!" Anna said brightly, before leaning in and lowering her voice. "But seriously, what you did to those guys was awesome! Could you teach me how to do that?"

Nia's laughter quickly turned into a hiss of pain as she took the Princess' hand. Conan jumped to his feet at the sound, eyeing her with concern.

"Oh my gosh! What is it? Are you okay? I'm so sorry!" Anna said.

"No, No," Nia said. "It's not your fault. It's just my hand, that's all."

The Princess made a pained expression before taking Nia's wrist before she could resist, and examined the appendage. It had turned a lovely assortment of colours and the knuckles had become so swollen that Nia could no longer make a fist. "Yikes. It's from punching that guy in the face, isn't it?"

"It's fine, really," Nia assured.

Elsa stepped forward a little hesitantly. "May I?" she asked.

Nia starred at the Queen's outstretched hand in confusion for a few moments before nodding in understanding.

As gently as she possibly could, Elsa took Irishwoman's hand and held it between her own.

The Queen's hands were soft and smooth – which made sense as everyone knew the monarch had worn gloves almost all her life – and it elicited a response in Nia that she had not been expecting. Gooseflesh raised all along her arms and her stomach did an impressive somersault at the contact.

For a few brief moments the two locked eyes and something passed between the two women that had Nia's mouth suddenly very dry.

She was pulled from her reverie however, when the young Queen suddenly looked away and a soft glow began to emit her palms. Nia watched in rapt fascination as a soothing cold wrapped around her hand and she couldn't stop the sigh of relief that slipped past her lips as the throbbing pain in her joints was reduced to a dull ache.

When the light died away and the warmth returned Nia examined her limb, holding it up to her face and curling each finger experimentally. The swelling had gone down considerably and the flesh felt cool to the touch, as if it had been bound in a healing balm.

"Wow," she breathed. "That's – you're incredible."

The Queen smiled bashfully and simply shrugged. "It's nothing."

"Nothing? It's amazing!"

Elsa merely tucked a loose strand of platinum blonde hair behind her ear, clearly becoming increasingly self-conscious under Nia's awed gaze.

The foreign girl didn't even realize she was staring until the Princess cleared her throat loudly, causing both women to look away from each other and shift awkwardly as Anna watched with a sly grin.

Elsa was the first to regain her composure as she stood more upright and folded her hands in front of her lap. "I apologize, Lady Nia. I'm sure you had actual reason for your visit today?"

"Yes, Queen Elsa. I would like to request your permission to travel the nearby foothills," Nia said.

"Oh?" Elsa asked lifting an eyebrow. "And what is it you will be doing?"

"I am hoping to observe one of your unique reindeer herds in their natural habitat," Nia explained. "Also, if you know of anyone who might be able to help me locate… whyyy are you looking at each other like that?" Nia asked as the Queen and the Princess turned to each other with knowing smiles.

"You are more than welcome to explore the surrounding Arendellian wilds to further your research. And in regards to whom I could offer as a guide, I think I know just the man for the job."

[latristereina]

Tag meme

tagged by: @eyes-painted-with-kohl

jasmine; what mythical creature do you wish actually existed?

Unicorn.

lavender; soundcloud or vinyls?

Soundcloud.

primrose; what book does everyone right now need to read?

I have no idea.

lunar mist; do you like wearing other people’s shirts/jackets?

Not really.

bird of paradise; what was the best thing that happened to you this month?

Does buying some trinkets count? Because in general this month isn't the luckiest for me.

gardenia; what’s a promise you’ve recently made to yourself?

That I will take some Turkish language lessons.

lion’s fairytale; would you rather be the sky, the ocean or the forests?

The forests.

whirling butterflies; would you kiss the last person you kissed again?

Yes.

marmalade skies; do you plan your outfits?

Sometimes.

apricot drift; how do you feel right now?

Unwell.

everlasting daisy; what’s the last dream you remember having?

My grandmother's funeral during which she begged not to be buried.

queen’s cup; what are you craving right now?

Nothing.

lavender dream; turn ons/offs?

Intelligence/lack of manners.

water lilly; when was the last time you cried?

On Friday/Saturday night.

lily of the valley; did the one person who hurt you most in your life apologize?

No.

winterberry; do you bite or lick your ice cream?

Both.

honey perfume; favorite movie ever?

The Godfather.

desert rose; do you like yourself?

There are things about myself that I like, but I don't like myself as a whole.

snapdragon; have you ever met or seen in person a celebrity?

Yeh, twice, those were a Polish swimmer and then a Polish musician.

night owl; how many countries have you visited?

Only two: Canada and Germany.

heliotrope; have you ever been in a castle?

Yes, I've been in the Castle of the Teutonic Order in Malbork.

creams and sky; what’s the craziest/bravest thing you’ve done?

I persuaded my childhood boyfriend to undress himself in public, I didn't conceive it as something inappropriate back then.

lantana; what’s on your mind right now?

Pretty much nothing, there's void.

pumpkin patch; what’s your zodiac sign?

Cancer.

tulip; name 5 facts about yourself.

I was the youngest grandchild for my paternal grandparents.

I absolutely love Tricity.

I'm sensitive.

I have synesthesia.

I'm a loner.

daphne; do you believe in karma?

Yes and no.

queen of the meadow; ever been in love?

No, but I've been smitten with several boys and then men.

wisteria; whom do you admire and why?

I admire brave, self-dependent people.

angel’s face; what was your favorite bedtime story as a child?

I didn't have a favorite.

remember me; did you make someone laugh today?

No.

iris; do you believe in ghosts?

No.

lilac; if you could go back in time which time period would you visit?

Late 15th and early 16th century, as well as the 80s of the 20th century.

caramel kisses; would you want to live forever? why/why not?

Only if my family and I could be always young.

primula; what makes you sad?

Suffering of people and animals, death of people I love.

rain lily; was today typical? why/why not?

Yes, it was. I do pretty much nothing on Sundays.

queen anne’s lace; who do you trust the most?

My mother.

Lady’s slipper; what did you have for breakfast today?

I don’t remember.

forget me not; do you have any regrets looking back in your life?

Yes, I do, I would certainly act different in some situations.

lunaria; what’s your favorite fictional universe?

I don’t have any.

violet; favorite tv show?

Isabel?

sunflower; share a favorite quote.

Can’t think of any right now.

snowdrop; what does your ideal day look like?

Waking up early and having a lot of energy would be my ideal day, nothing fancy.

tiger lily; do you have any hobbies?

Collecting books, learning languages, making gifs and graphics, history, writing stories.

peony; share a small random book passage that means something to you.

Can’t really think of any.

tea rose; what’s something you always wanted to do but were too scared?

Parachute jump.

honeysuckle; do you usually date people your age or older/younger?

I don’t do dates, but I usually prefer older men or my age.

sweet pea; who means the world to you?

My family, including my dog, and my friends.

love in the mist; best books you’ve ever read?

One Hundred Years of Solitude, The Godfather (the Godfather’s maniac here), Cartas autógrafas de los Reyes Católicos de España Don Fernando y Doña Isabel: 1474-1502, etc.

foxglove; who is your favorite cartoon character?

I like Disney villains. Maybe Ursula or Maleficent.

magnolia; coffee or tea?

Tea.

crown imperial; would you rather be extremely rich or extremely loved?

Loved.

snowflake; are you a dog or a cat person?

A dog person, although I like cats as well.

bell flower; what is your biggest addiction?

Photoshop?

cosmos; do you ever think about the galaxy?

Sometimes.

moonflower; what’s your favorite color?

I have many, but maybe red.

freesia; do you have a good relationship with your parents and siblings? why/why not?

Yes.

sundrop; are you a morning or a night person?

A night person.

poppy; have you ever dealt with a mental illness?

Yes, I have been dealing with different forms of it for the last 16 years.

clover; how would your friends describe you?

I would have to ask them.

dandelion; do you consider yourself and extrovert or an introvert?

An introvert.

lilly; what’s something you love watching/reading but you are too embarrassed to admit you do?

I like watching stupid Latin American and Turkish soap operas, but I’m not really embarrassed to admit it.

anemone; describe yourself in 3 words.

Sensitive, short-tempered, loving.

lotus; best memory as a child?

My childhood in general is one good memory, I consider it happy.

angelonia; what is your eye and hair color?

Blue/brown.

dahlia; do you like crystals?

I don’t care.

buttercup; if you could change one thing in the world, what would it be?

There wouldn’t be poverty and wars.

baby’s breath; what’s your hogwarts house?

None.

calendula; biggest pet peeve?

Lack of manners.

blanker flower; would you rather go to a cocktail party with your best friends or stay home and read a book/watch a movie with your pet?

I would stay home.

blazing star; share a secret.

I have no secrets.

carnation; would you rather live longer or happier?

Happier.

petunia; who’s story is your biggest inspiration in life? why?

I take inspiration from different people and characters, no one in particular.

bluebell; do you wear glasses?

Yes.

nymphea; forest or river?

Forest.

orchid; do you like exercise?

No, but I like some sports, like swimming or bicycling.

pansy; do you like poetry?

Some, but I’m not a poetry person.

morning glory; any special talent that you have?

Synesthesia?

Tagging: @mayaofatlantis, @katherynparr, @tiffany-of-wales.

Don’t feel obliged to do it.

[celtics534]

She’s Gonna Flip Some Tables

Here we go! As promised, Doom Days chapter 7!

Read on: FF.net or AO3

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Harry tried to stop himself from taking heaving breaths, but his lungs required oxygen and refused to take it in quietly. He leaned his head against the passenger door of the aged red pick-up truck he'd chosen for his hiding spot. Fucking bandits! Their heavy footsteps seemed to reverberate in Harry's head as they meandered around the town square.

 Everything had been going fine until he and Ginny had arrived in this damn village. They hadn't encountered another human since the cabin and Harry had hoped their luck would hold until they found Bill and Fleur. But of course, that wasn’t what happened.

 While scrounging around some of the old shops, Harry and Ginny had heard their loud voices. Harry acted instinctively, pulling Ginny out of the open shop door and to the parked truck across the street. Their new acquaintances had turned the corner just as Harry peered around the hood.

 In the quick glance Harry took before leaning back, he saw it was a group of dirty men. Maybe in their late thirties. Their hair was matted with knots and Harry's stomach turned at the unmistakable dark red of blood mixed in their beards. Harry wanted to believe it was just from an animal they'd killed and eaten, but he highly doubted it.

 "What are the odds of finding something good around this place?" The man's voice seemed to be more growl than anything. If Harry's skin crawled just hearing the man's voice... he never wanted to meet him face to face. 

 The rest of the men weren't nearly as creepy, their tones normal and (after the first voice) feeble as they cast their votes.

 "Maybe we can find some spices in there." Harry figured the bloke was pointing at the Tesco he and Ginny had just vacated.

"Good idea." The sinister voice spoke again. "David, Jonah, and Kole. You guys try to find supplies in the Tesco. Sam and I will go look in that apothecary for some medicine."

 Harry's heart sank into his gut as he stared at the Heath Dispensary sign straight in front of him. He turned and met Ginny's panicked expression. She'd noticed their dilemma, too.

 Ginny slid closer to him, her lips moving right next to his ear. She kept her voice so quiet Harry could barely hear her. "Under the truck."

 Then without warning, she scooted back and army crawled under the vehicle. Harry followed, trying not to think about what might already be under the truck.

 He huddled close to Ginny, looking over his shoulder to make sure his feet weren't sticking out. It was a tight fit, being a smaller vehicle. Ginny's breath tickled his neck as she leaned close to him.

 Harry watched the men’s beat-up boots walk in front of the truck. Every step made him inch for his knife... well, for the knife he'd stolen from one of the blokes in the cabin. But he was afraid that movement might alert them.

 Ginny, however, was much smoother. She had already reached into the pocket of her cargo trousers where she had hidden her blade. Her knuckles whitened with her tight grip as the feet breached the other side of the truck.

 "Do you think there is anything left?" The voice was deep and smooth, reminding Harry of old radio programs his aunt would listen to. The ones that discussed how to deal with troubled youth and maintaining the "perfect garden." He had always hated those programs.

 There was a snort before the animalistic voice spoke. "Most people are too stupid to know what they truly need. They walk right by useful items such as --"

 The man's disturbing tone faded as did their footsteps. Harry counted to ten in his head before scooting on his stomach to the edge of the truck. He looked over the curb at the shop. He could see the men digging around the shelves, not minding anything around them.

 He slid his body back against Ginny's and moved his lips close to her ear. "Now's our chance. I saw an open door to the flat complex across the street."

 Ginny turned her head and met his gaze with a determined look. "We'll check for a back exit from there?"

 Harry gave one quick nod before Ginny moved her small form to view the other side of the street She took a quick peek, her index finger raised in a "just a second" gesture. When she lowered the digit, she slid out from under the vehicle and took off towards the aforementioned building. Harry peered the truck and watched Ginny reach the wide-open door as she climbed the steps . 

 He took his turn observing the small town square. Three men were trashing the Tesco with gusto, but other than that, the area was as quiet as a cemetery. He rolled out from under the truck and rose to his feet, keeping his head ducked as he ran across what should have been a busy street.

 It took Harry only a few seconds to reach the old flat complex, but his heart raced as if he'd run a four-kilometer race. He took the stairs three at a time and found Ginny waiting for him on the first-floor landing.

 She hugged him to her, making his already struggling lungs suffer more. After a second Ginny seemed to realize what she was doing because her arms fell to her sides. "Sorry."

 "It's fine." Harry kissed her cheek quickly before moving to the door to his right. He tried the handle. Locked. He went to his left, also locked. "Okay..." He gave his mind a moment to run through their options.

 There was no door to the back alleyway on the ground floor. However, there was a window on the first landing, and there was a pile of trash positioned beneath. It would be safer to jump from only one story up than keep climbing. There wouldn't be any roof access, which would be so much simpler than trying to escape on the same level as the bandits...

 "Who the fuck!" 

 Harry spun to see cold grey eyes staring him down. The intruder’s look of surprise shifted to a cold smile. "You know, it doesn't matter who you are." He pulled out a hand pistol.

 Why couldn't gun control still be a thing? It’s only the bloody apocalypse.  

 Harry slowly raised his hands. "Look, we were just --"

 The man cut him off. "As I said, it doesn't matter. We're here looking for dinner and"-- he showed off yellow teeth in a wicked grin that chilled Harry to his core-- "you two are the perfect entrees."

 Ginny shuddered beside Harry. He looked at her from the corner of his eye. She was holding her hands up in surrender too, her focus on the monster before them. 

 Harry looked back at the Glock 19 pointed right at his chest. If he could distract the guy...

 As Harry's mind tried to come up with an acceptable diversion, one came up the stairs. Only this distraction did absolutely nothing to help him. It was the grim man he’d seen earlier, the one with blood coating his beard.

 "Well, well, well, some fresh meat. Such a rare commodity these days."

 "Found them snooping around, Greyback." The first intruder used his weapon to gesture between Harry and Ginny. "What do you want me to do with them?"

 Greyback ran a hand through his matted, disgusting beard as he considered. Then in appreciation of a horror movie villain, he smiled, showing unnaturally sharp teeth. "How about we invite them to dinner?"

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 Ginny wasn't quite sure what to think as she watched the five men set up camp. Greyback and his crew had bound and gagged her and Harry, dragging them out into some abandoned and isolated farmhouse. They had been forced at gunpoint to follow behind Greyback, whose odor wafted backward, making Ginny gag every time the wind blew.

 Now they were tied to chairs, back to back, as the group of bandits lit a fire in the fireplace. She stared at the bright flames, feeling what she could only describe as a phantom warmth.

 Greyback's footsteps echoed around the room as he paced, barking orders at his troop. "Jonah, go find some extra fuel. David, you and Sam go check that house a few kilometers back for any supplies. Kole, you stay and watch our dinner."

 "Which one is first?" Jonah asked as he stared at Ginny, his beady eyes sparkling with excitement as he licked his lower lip.

 Greyback’s pacing turned more deliberate as he moved in close to them. He leaned down, his face only a few inches from Ginny's. If she'd thought his scent was revolting when she was a few meters behind him...

 He stood up straight and walked around her, repeating his examination technique on Harry.  Greyback let out a snort as he turned his back on their makeshift penitentiary. "The lad. We haven't had a grand feast in a while... and I've been craving some juicy thighs."

 Ginny couldn't suppress the shiver up her spine as the rest of the men laughed. The crew followed Greyback's orders, leaving only Kole in the sitting room. Kole wasn't the largest of the men. He was scrawny and scrappy. In all honesty, he reminded Ginny of a feral stray dog. Dangerous and bloodthirsty. He walked over to the now roaring hearth, warming his hands. Ginny seized the opportunity and loosened her muscles.

 When Ginny was a kid, Fred and George had gone through a magician phase. They had spent hours attempting to learn the trade secrets, and one of those tricks was escaping from binds.. Being young and bored, Ginny had observed their attempts. She'd picked up a thing or two that summer. 

 While Sam had been tying her torso to the chair, she’d kept her body tense. So the moment she relaxed, so did her binds. She started to wriggle her wrists, keeping her eyes on Kole. 

 It didn't take long for her to get one hand out from her shackles. The other hand followed suit. She then lifted the body binds over her head and bent over to roll the rope off her ankles. 

 She stood slowly, praying the old house didn't creak too much. Kole had started going through their rucksacks,which had been thrown by the fireplace. Ginny looked to her left and found a brick that had once been part of the wall of a sitting room. She grabbed it and crept towards Kole. The moment she was close enough, she raised the brink above her and brought it down hard onto the crown of his head. 

 Kole instantly fell, his face smacking loudly onto the hardwood floor. Ginny turned back towards Harry, leaving her makeshift weapon next to her victim. She reached him quickly, crouching in front of him and undoing the knots around his wrists. 

 Harry stared at her in awe. "Where the fuck did you learn to do that?" 

 "Would you believe I'm a witch?" Ginny smiled up at him as he rubbed his unbound wrists. 

 "Right now, I'd believe you if you told me I was a Kardashian." Harry helped her remove the rest of the ropes.

 Once he was free, Harry cupped the back of her neck and brought her mouth to his. He pressed their foreheads together. "Have I ever told you how amazing you are?"

 Ginny's lips quirked as she pulled away, moving towards their sacks. "You could stand to say it more."

 "New Year’s resolution." Harry followed her, collecting the knife from Kole's belt.

 "Starting a little late this year, aren't you?"

 "Better late than never, right?"

 Ginny laughed as she threw the rucksack's strap over her shoulder. "Come on, let's get out of here." She turned, ready to walk straight out the front door, only to be blocked by a bared teeth Greyback.

 There was only a second for Ginny to understand the situation before Greyback lunged at her. He pummeled like a professional rugby player, hitting her low and knocking the wind out from her lungs. She landed right on her back, Greyback hovering over her, his sickening breath incapacitating all her other senses.

 But just as quickly as Greyback's weight covered her, it was removed. Harry had tackled the beast, sending them both flying into the drywall. Greyback's head hit with a sickening thud, but it didn't seem to faze the man.  He grabbed Harry by the hair and thrust his head into the wall. Harry slumped in Greyback's grip.

 Ginny rose to her feet, trying to figure out how the fuck she was gonna fight this beast... and that’s when she noticed the knife Harry had been collecting. She picked it up, turning quickly to face her target.

 Another thing she used to do as a child was playing darts with her father. Pub nights could be quite lucrative for the Weasley family with Arthur's impeccable aim. Ginny and Bill had been the only ones to inherit Arthur's incredible skill.

 Greyback was on top of Harry, his pointed teeth directly at Harry's neck. Ginny took the wooden handle between her fingers, letting her arm adjust to the weight, before taking aim. She pulled back her shoulder and released the blade with as much force as she could.

 Thump.

 The knife hit its mark perfectly. Instead of aiming for a lethal shot, Ginny aimed for Greyback's left shoulder; the blade went straight through the flesh.

 Greyback pulled away from Harry, reaching for the handle. He pulled the metal out of his shoulder, not even flinching at the pain. But it was all Ginny needed. She had already grabbed her trusty brick from the floor. The sound of Ginny's weapon of choice colliding with Greyback's head echoed around the room.

 After two hits in the head and one knife wound, Greyback finally succumbed to his injuries. He fell sideways off of Harry, his body limp like a rag doll. For good measure, Ginny dropped the brick atop of Greyback's head before moving to help Harry to his feet.

 Harry rubbed the top of his head, his eyes slightly glassy. "Bloody fucking hell that bloke is mad."

 "He looked ready to take a chunk right out of your neck." Ginny put her hand on the back of Harry's head so it tilted downwards. She looked at the spot where he’d crashed into the wall. "No blood, but you could very well have a concussion."

 "I'm f --" Harry tilted his head back up, cutting himself off at her glare. "I'll be fine. We need to get out of here before the rest of those blokes come back."

 Ginny didn't like it. He needed a moment to sit and make sure he didn't have vertigo or something like that; she wasn't a doctor, so she didn't fucking know the name of shit. But Harry was right. They couldn't risk those three coming back for a fight.

 "Right." She picked up her rucksack for the second time. "Let's get the fuck out of here." 

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 "And that's why I thought it was a good idea to punch Romilda Vane in the nose." Ginny gave Harry a coy grin.

 Harry snorted as he walked around a discarded shopping buggy. "And here I thought you were trying to show your dominance."

 "Well, that too... but mainly it was because she stole my last Lion bar."

 Grinning like a fool, Harry bumped Ginny’s shoulder as he walked. "I'd expect nothing less from a Weasley. You lot have the biggest sweet tooth I know."

 "That's because we're so sweet ourselves we need to absorb equal sweetness."

 Harry put an arm around her waist,. "I can vouch for that."

 Ginny let her head fall to his shoulder. It wasn't the most efficient way to walk, but Harry couldn’t care less. They had been walking for what felt like days,but was really probably only eight hours, if his estimates were correct.

 Between the hot sun, long walk, and the events of the past few days (had it really only been a few days?) Harry was more than exhausted. He was so tired his brain couldn't come up with a better word to describe it. It wasn't just his mind that was fighting a losing battle. His body was more scarred and abused than ever before. The gunshot wound to his shoulder still throbbed off and on, and his skin was littered with cuts and bruises.

 Ginny suddenly straightened and veered course, heading off towards a house to the left.

 "Gin?" Harry yelled after her, picking up his pace to catch up.

 "Look!" Ginny's voice swerved like her course, going from knackered to an excited child entering a sweet shop. She pointed to a large side garden with football goals positioned on either side. "There's a ball sitting beside the house."

 "Really?" Harry didn't want to shut down her hopes, but what were the odds on the ball not being flat?

 Ginny tapped the ball with her foot. She then made quick work, rolling the ball up so it sat up on her toes. With a quick flick, Ginny lifted the ball up into the air, catching it. "Seems pretty good to me." She smirked at him. "You up for a little competition?"

 "You serious?"

 "I'm also serious about kicking your lazy arse."

 Harry couldn't help but laugh. He reached out, intending to grab the ball out of her hand, but Ginny stole it from his grasp. "Not a chance, Potter. You get to be keeper first." She ran towards the center of the field, slapping Harry's bum on her way past.

 "Fuck," Harry murmured under his breath as he watched Ginny's hair bounce off her shoulder. He knew they should focus on traveling as much as they could during the daylight. They only had another twelve hours until they reached Bill's. At least that's what Harry's estimate was based off the village sign they passed only twenty minutes ago. They could get another two hours down if they just kept moving. But that look in Ginny's eyes...

 "Fine, but keep everything above board. I'd hate to have to go find a ref!" Harry yelled as he made his way into the goal.

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 "And it's Weasley's last chance to take the cup." Harry rocked his body back and forth. He was standing in the center of the goal, his knees bent, ready to move wherever Ginny kicked the ball. "She has been on fire since the game began. Only missing one shot the entire night."

 Ginny sent him her best glare, though she doubted he could see it in the setting sun. Harry had agreed to ten penalty shots each, which Ginny had persuaded him to increase to twenty. Then thirty. And now… they were on fifty. 

 Harry had made all forty-eight of his shots, and if she made this last one, Ginny would be crowned the victor. She looked to the top left corner. It was her favorite spot, but it was also where Harry was blocking. 

 She let out a slow, calming breath before trotting up to the ball. Ginny kicked with all her might at the top right-hand corner. Harry jumped to the left, clearly expecting her to aim for her preferred spot.

 Ginny yelled in success, her fist pumping into the air. "Fuck yeah!"

 Harry emerged from the goal, a graceful smile on his lips. "Well done."

 "Call me Liz, because I am now the queen."

 Snorting, Harry handed her the football. "Your trophy, your majesty."

 "That's right, my faithful concubine!" Ginny held the ball high above her head. "Are not impressed?"

 "Concubine." Harry laughed so hard his shoulders shook. "Is that all I am to you?"

 Ginny lowered her trophy, tucking it under her arm. She moved in close, running her hand down Harry's neck before tracing it back up towards his jaw. "Are you not satisfied? It truly is an honor to hold such a position."

 The low growl in Harry's throat made Ginny smirk. "Oh trust me, I'm very satisfied." He lowered his head so his lips slid along her jaw.  "And I know you are too, based on your… proclamations the other night.” 

 “You think so?” Ginny closed her eyes as she unconsciously tilted her neck to give Harry better access.

 “I truly do.” Harry’s words warmed her neck.  His hands started roaming across her body, turning her limbs into old hospital jelly. “I think we should call it a night for travel.” 

 “Huh?” Ginny’s mind couldn’t multitask when Harry’s hands moved like that. Harry pulled his mouth away from her neck, making Ginny bemoan the loss of contact. The smug grin on his lips cleared her head, though. She wouldn’t want him getting a big head or something so she replayed his words in her head. “Call it a night?”

 “Yeah.” His self-satisfied smirk stayed in place as he tilted his head over to the old farmhouse. "I bet we can find you a royal suite. Besides, if we get an early start, we should reach Bill's before dark tomorrow."

 Ginny didn't need to be told twice. The idea of getting an early... well earlier night sleep was too tantalizing to pass.

 When she nodded, Harry pressed a promising kiss to her lips. "Allow me to lead the way, your highness."   

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 All Harry wanted to do was collapse on the front lawn of Bill's home. The grass really did look lovely for being in the middle of an apocalypse. It wasn’t overgrown, and it had that healthy green shine suburban homes used to strive for. 

 Focus, Harry!

 "You sure this is it?" Harry asked Ginny.

 She nodded. "Yeah, I'd recognized that stupid statue Fleur bought anywhere."

 Harry hadn't noticed the marble french poodle at first, but once Ginny pointed it out, he couldn't take his eyes away. "I think it's watching me."

 Ginny gave him a very serious and intense look before nodding. "I know exactly what you mean."

 It took a few moments for Harry to tear his attention away from the dog statue. He cleared his throat. "You ready to go in?"

 Ginny took in a deep breath, releasing it deliberately. Her eyes  panned from the poodle to the front door. "I -- I don't know what to tell him about Mum and Dad."

 Harry took her hand and squeezed it tightly. "The truth is always the best, in my opinion."

 "But what is the truth?" Ginny turned towards him, her eyes overly bright. "I don't truly know what happened to Mum. And Dad --" she choked on her own words.

 "Gin." Harry tugged her to his chest, cupping the back of her head as she cried.

 This was not what he’d expected when they got to Bill's; Harry had imagined the siblings running into an embrace and catching up over some lackluster tea. Ginny crying against him as they stood just a few meters from the front door had never even crossed his mind.

 "Sorry," Ginny's muffled tones came through the fabric. She lifted her head off his chest, wiping at her nose. "Sorry."

 "You never have to apologize for talking to me." Harry kept her hand in his. "This is stressful and I want to help. Just tell me what you need."

 Harry knew he’d said the right thing when Ginny rewarded him with a brilliant smile. "You're already doing it." She stood up onto her toes and stole a soft kiss. "Thank you."

 "Anytime."

 Harry was just about to suggest knocking when the dirt near his feet crumbled. It was only after the bullet broke apart the ground that Harry heard the shot.

 "Next time I won't be aiming for the dirt!" A gruff male voice yelled from the front porch. Harry and Ginny turned in unison to see a red-haired, scarred face man.

 Fuck that was an intense scar. Harry didn't remember Bill's face having claw marks running from his left eye to his chin.

 "Bill, it's me!" Ginny held up her hands in surrender. "Ginny."

 "Ginny?" The pistol lowered a fraction of an inch before rising back to point at Harry's head. "Prove it."

 "Uh..." Ginny's mouth opened and closed as her brain tried to come up with words. "Uh -- remember that time I walked in on you and Susan Davis in Auntie Muriel's bedroom when I was five?"

 The gun dropped to Bill's side. "Ginny!" Bill put the pistol into a side holster before coming down the front walkway.  He pulled Ginny into the firm hug Harry had pictured. Ginny held on tightly, her breath coming out in shaky waves.

 After a few moments, Bill pulled away, holding Ginny out at arm's length. "What are you doing here? How did you get out of London?" That's when he turned his attention to Harry. "Is that--?"

 "Bill." Ginny removed herself from her brother's grip. She grabbed Harry's hand. "You remember Harry, right?"

 Nodding slowly, Bill said, "Ron's best mate."

 Ginny squeezed Harry's hand, encouraging him to speak. "Yeah." 

 Harry held out his free hand. Bill took the offering, his eyes dropping down to Harry and Ginny’s linked palms. "And I'm guessing more than just that now?"

 Tilting her chin up, Ginny nodded. "You'd be presuming right."

 There was a pregnant pause as Bill sized Harry up. Harry refused to drop the older man's gaze. He wanted Bill to know just how important Ginny was to him, and if this hardcore staredown was the best way to communicate, so be it.

 Finally, Bill nodded. "All right, then."

 Ginny let out a little snort and a muttered claim of, "Not like you had a choice" before saying in her normal tone, "Can we come in? There is -- a lot to talk about."

 "Of course!" Bill beckoned at them as he made his way back up the drive.

 "So, how's Fleur?" Ginny asked as she walked hand and hand with Harry.

 Harry noticed a slight stutter in Bill's step at the mention of his wife. His voice dropped an octave. "She’s -- fine. A lot going on..." Bill's voice trailed off before coming back in a much lighter and what Harry would call falsely excited tone. "What about you lot, though? Why are you here?"

 Ginny was spared answering as Bill opened the front door. Instantly Ginny was pulled into the foyer, dragging Harry along by the hand.

 "Ginny!" Fleur's French accent filled the room as she pulled Ginny into a tight squeeze. It wasn't just her voice that occupied the space. Fleur's overly rounded stomach made the once-slender woman appear larger than life. "How are you?"

 "I'm -- I'm fine." Ginny pulled back from Fleur's chest, taking in the baby bump. She was so astounded by Fleur's condition that her voice took on a falsetto. "How are you? Your English has improved quite a bit."

 Bill snorted from his post beside his wife. "I'm glad you noticed the most obvious change."

 Ginny turned to her brother. It was like a loading screen was playing behind Ginny's eyes, preparing for a cheeky comment. After a moment, Harry wasn't disappointed.

 "There is one thing you never do, and that is saying a woman looks pregnant without knowing if they are. I'd rather not die by the hands of your wife, I'd prefer going out in a blaze of glory."

 Before Bill could retaliate, Fleur spoke. "She is right. There are three things a woman never mentions to a friend. Weight gain, a bad haircut, and an ugly dress."

 Ginny nodded solemnly as if she'd been thinking the same thing. "Yeah, Bill."

 Harry coughed to hide his laughter. Fleur turned towards him.

 "So, Fleur, your husband hinted that you're pregnant. Congrats."

 Fleur let out a laugh that reminded Harry of a small bell. "Oui! We are very happy."

 Harry was reminded of Cedric's excited face as he’d spoken about his possible future child. A shiver ran along Harry's spine. He didn't want to compare Bill and Fleur to Cho and Cedric. Not that one couple was more capable than the other, but he didn't want another family to fall apart in front of him.

 Fleur was still speaking rapidly to Ginny as she led the way into the kitchen. "We were able to find some prenatal vitamins and everything seems to be going stupéfiant!"

 "You all right, Harry?" Bill put a hand on Harry's shoulder, stopping them in the middle of the corridor as Ginny and Fleur continued to make their way. 

 "Yeah --" Harry nodded emphatically, hoping he could convince himself. "Yeah -- er -- how far along is Fleur?"

 "She's due in a month or so." Bill ran a hand through his loosely tied hair. "Actually, you guys arrived at the perfect time. I was planning on heading out tomorrow to find some more supplies for the birth. Would you be willing to help?"

 Harry nodded. "Of course!"

 "I always liked you." Bill laughed. "And now you and Ginny are --" He made a face. "Well, now I don't want to kill you much as I should."

 "Thanks -- I think." Harry rubbed the back of his neck.

 Bill opened his mouth, probably to tell Harry what would happen if Harry ever fucked up with Ginny. Before a threat could be made, Fleur called from the kitchen. "Bill! Can you get some carrots from the garden?"

 "Of course, darling!" Bill moved towards the sitting room. "Care to help, Harry? We can grab some carrots and potatoes for the stew."

 "All right." Harry followed Bill as they exited the cottage from a little side door.

 "Great, and while we work you can tell me what happened in London with my parents."

 Harry froze mid-step down from the small porch. Bill walked a few paces before turning to see Harry stuck in place as if they were playing a game of Red-Light, Green-Light.

 "I know something happened." Bill nodded his chin the direction of the house. "Ginny wouldn't be here unless shite really hit the fan. So I'd like a little run down before getting the whole story from Ginny later."

 "I -- I." Harry didn't have a clue what to say. First, he’d thought it would be better coming from Ginny. Second, he didn't truly know what happened.

 Bill closed the gap between them, clapping Harry's shoulder. "Don't worry, mate. How about we start with your trip here? Did you run into any trouble?"

 Harry took the last step off the porch walking alongside Bill. "Well, just so you know, I don't go looking for trouble. It finds me."

 "I'm sure it does." Bill laughed. "But I'm also sure that you dealt with it, right?"

 "More like Ginny saved my arse quite a few times. She's amazing." In Harry's mind's eye he could still see her taking down that prick with an almost professional rugby tackle.

 Bill stopped at a fenced-off area. "Tell me something I don't know!" Opening the gate, he gestured for Harry to enter. "Let's gather up some veggies, and you can regale me with Ginny's most badass moments."

 "It will be my pleasure."

[iamcinema]

IAC Reviews #012: Traces of Death (1993)

Warning: Traces of Death is NSFW/NSFL and this review will go into topics about graphic violence, death media, and other issues that might be upsetting to some readers/viewers. However, this review won’t contain any such imagrey and is marked as safe. If you do want to check it out, then proceed with caution and take the opening [EXTREME WARNING] as your notice if you should leave or not. ________________________________________

In a recent post I made, I mentioned being stumped on what to do next since, as of writing this, I have close to 330 titles on my list to explore and cross off from a wide range of styles and categories; from relatively obscure found footage movies to the most utterly disappointing and abysmal trash that SOV has to offer. Given the explicit or just completely rare nature of some of these, I don’t expect all of these to stay around long. So, it’s probably wise to start from there and branch out to titles that are more accessible to come across in the wild. This means we’re taking another trip back to the world of mondo death media, which I don’t think we’ll be seeing for a while after this one - or at least I can only hope so.

Today, we’re taking a look into one of the most notorious shockumentary films out there, that being the first Traces of Death film; a brutal start in a five part series that marked a turning point within the already niche and controversial subgenre with the birth of the Internet and the dawning of the new millenium.

With the opening, we’re met with a text crawl notice stating that the makers planned on having a series of beeps before the start of the most explicit clips to act as a warning for viewers to look away in the event they see something they’d rather not have. However, this changed and the tones were omitted altogether because this would have meant having tones and beeps before every sequence. That’s a weird flex, but okay. The cold opening also tells us that because of the shocking nature of the film (and soon to be series) containing 100% authentic footage, this would make it the first “true” shockumentary.

I mean...

Yeah, I guess, you aren’t exactly wrong. It’s more authentic than Faces of Death by a landslide for sure and other questionable films around the same time like True Gore. That's something I won’t argue Damon Fox or Darrin Ramage on. However, to call it the first “true” shockumentary is a stretch because Death Scenes came out four years prior to this in 1989, and those photos were authentic. However, if we’re talking about just non-stop death media and imagrey one after the other, then that’s still a really questionable hot take.

It’s been a damn long time since I’ve seen this 13 some odd years ago, so let’s see where this takes us yet again. And yes, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop when the mods decide that me talking about this is not safe for work and it inevitably gets shadowbanned. ________________________________________

Traces of Death in One Gif:

I probably should have saved this gif for when I reviewed Extreme Life & Death, but even now I don���t know if I’m impressed by it or not. But, even here I’m not too sure how I completely feel.

As I said in before, there’s a saying that once you’ve seen one shockumentary, then you’ve seen all of them with their rinse, lather, repeat method of punching you back-to-back with random acts of violence caught on film. Just like its decrepit brothers and sisters before it, this is no different, even if it likes to beat it’s chest about being the new alpha of the pack to lead us into the next generation of shocking content. So, what is it about Traces of Death that has made it have the lasting impact or brutish reputation that it has if everything is at the end of the day “all the same”.

Well, let’s go into that. ________________________________________

The disclaimer and marketing for it helped for sure, solidifying everything that made some people feel cheated by Faces of Death with - that being the authenticity factor.

At this moment in time, Faces of Death IV had come out barely three years ago and the series was taking a bit of a nosedive with what was being pushed out. While there was still a fair amount of authentic footage, there was still a pitiful amount of staged and recreated material that looked very amaturish compared to the series’ hayday back in the late 1970s. It was clear what the gorehounds wanted and it was not only more death, but truly real death that could only be matched by the more obscure shockumentaries that either had yet to come out; like Death File, Death Press, Banned! in America, and MDPOPE, or had been spoken of in whispers and have faded into obscurity to the point of becoming rare and non-existent to the sands of time.

With the Internet being in its young infancy, you now had the power to be connected to others across the world in an instant and the need to seek out the taboo and forbidden was much closer to your fingertips than ever before. This new, booming demand to see and experience death wouldn’t truly be met until the birth of Rotten.com in 1996, oddly enough with the departure of Faces of Death the same year - a sort of sad way of the old days dying with a whimper, rather than the bang it had such high expectations for. If you weren’t able to find the raw carnage you anticipated with the Internet, then you had Traces of Death to curb your appetite until you could - no matter what the topic was.

For me, shockumentaries have at least two schools of thought with their presentation; a narrative style where everything is presented in an organized manner to designate different chapters, such as plane crashes, autopsies, animal death, and so on, or it’s more chaotic and disorganized in nature and you get hit left to right with whatever they can find. Traces of Death follows the more chaotic line of thinking. While it does make an attempt at some kind to figure out what it wants to do, a lot of it jumps around from one subject matter to the next, so you never really know what’s going to happen next. It’s pretty easy to go from a trucking accident one moment to a graphic surgery the next, if that makes sense.

This, in question, is where I sort of have a conflicting problem with whether or not this is the first “true” shockumentary or not. _______________________________________

As I stated previously, there have been other shockumentaries before this one that hone in on death in all its various forms, and is just as authentic as Traces of Death with the media presented. Once again, Death Scenes comes to mind. If the qualifications for it to be a true shockumentary is having an emphasis on death and dying, this helps Death Scenes and it’s case of being the one of, if not the first, genuinely true shockumentary with 100% unaltered media. So, what lead to Traces of Death taking the crown instead is purely anyone’s guess. I’d assume it was because of the in-name connection to Faces of Death and sheer bizarre access they had to so much footage with little to no money tied to the budget, which IMDb says was estimated to be $18 (at least $32.13USD as of March 2020 with an inflation rate of 2.5%).

That’s still absolute chump change compared to the unused news footage the Faces of Death team had access to back in the day, particularly with smuggled footage from overseas that wouldn’t really be seen anywhere else until other shockumentaries like Executions and the Banned! films would be unleashed. Speaking of which, what can we expect with this one in particular? Just like with the films before it, you can expect to see much of the same; graphic animal cruelty, animal attacks, road and sporting accidents, plane crashes, crime scene photos, autopsies, and surgery footage. The Wikipedia page for the series goes into greater detail about other sequences that been traced to other mondo films like True Gore and Ultime grida dalla savana, which makes one of the final sequences showing the death of tourist Pit Dernitz all the more interesting, as there’s been conflicting information about whether or not it was staged. While there’s sources out there that say it was authentic, if it turned out that this was in fake, then it completely damages the film’s reputation of being 100% real.

One thing the series does deviate from, at least as far as this one goes, is the narration as a storytelling tool. While we do get quips here and there from our edgy narrator, Damon Fox, it doesn’t completely guide us in the same manner as Faces of Death, Death Scenes, Executions, and many others would. The scenes mostly speak for themselves, something which Extreme Life & Death couldn’t make up it’s mind on given how it used a copy-and-paste method with stringing stuff along. This may have been to the series’ advantage though, as Damon said later on in an interview that he was told viewers hated the narration and accompanying instrumental soundtrack, and would just watch the movie(s) on mute while blasting their brutal death metal albums. This, in turn, lead to the series taking a big change with Traces of Death II (1994), as the soundtrack switched to showcase and promote metal and grindcore artists - and bands could have wrote in to have their own music featured if they wanted. This lead to artists like Gorefest, Macabre, End of Green, Grave, Dreadful Shadows, Hypocrasy, Meshuggah, and Sinister to be added to the impressive disography list for something with next to no budget, forever helping to change the voice of the series to help it stand out among the big dogs of its ilk. ________________________________________ 

If I had to name something that seriously hurts this, it’s that some scenes drag out for way too long and the shock and horror behind what’s in front of you begins to lose it’s luster after a while. In one way, it’s definetly tied into the saying where once you’ve seen say, one cranial examination, you’ve seen them all. In another, it’s also becoming somewhat unfazed after lingering on a certain image a bit too long - even if it’s bleak beyond words.  One scene in particular goes on for over ten minutes, and while it’s heavy for sure, it does subside a bit after some time...unless that’s just more telling about what kind of person I am. If you’re particuarly sensitive to gruesome content and it makes you uncomfortable, then this will have an entirely different affect on you. However, if you’re like me and you’ve seen, for example, a lot of medical and crime related violence, this won’t exactly be uncharted waters for you. It’s interesting to note though that Japan had a different edit of the film, removing some sequence and adding their own - but the more finer details on what kind of adjustments they made with photo or video evidence is alien to me.

There’s also the issue of the narration, which I feel detracts from the material and can feel annoying and cringy in the same ways that Faces of Gore does with the tasteless jokes and edgelord humor. When I re-examined this, I absolutely get why some viewers tuned out whenever any form of narration came up, since it didn’t do much of anything to push things along from a storytelling standpoint like Faces of Death did. I would have done the same thing as well, and it almost felt unnessary with how sparse it was in general because in the scenes where some form of backstory could have helped make sense of what was going on, nothing happened. It’s nothing particularly special, so whether or not you choose to press mute is up to you since you won’t be missing much if you don’t really care for such pressing matters. ________________________________________ So, what’s there left to say about Traces of Death, at least as far as the first one goes?

Well, I feel like I need to give credit where it’s due in that it was one of the earliest entries in the shockumentary/mondo/exploitation genre to do what it set out to accomplish fairly well. It’s bite was as strong as it’s bark when it came to wanting to stand out in a sea of death and destruction in an era full of pretenders and cash-ins, which this technically is, no doubt. I’m also thoroughly impressed by what it was able to do for an actual shoestring budget that likely helped to pave the way for Banned! from Television and mixtapes like Fist Pig and MDPOPE for being a bizarre collection of violence, sadism, and hardcore NSFW material that could only be found in the grimiest corners of the web or someone’s crawlspace. It’s an impressive collection, I’ll give it that much.

But, when you strip all that away and you take it all at face value, does it hold up? Ehh...sort of, at least to me.

The quality isn’t too great in some areas, but given that this had next to no budget, I shouldn’t expect miracles with scans and film stock transfers. When it comes to being held to the ranks of it’s elder siblings, I feel that it showed what it can do and that it has the staying power that it has. If it didn’t, I don’t think it would have had earned the same amount of controversy it did over the years, going as far as to get banned from Australian Customs and being rejected by the BBFC in 2005 where it still sits today in March 2020 alongside other films like Mikey, Silent Night, Deadly Night 2, Hate Crime, Murder-Set-Pieces, and Bumfights to name a few.

If you’re new to death related media, this one might be a tough pill to swallow, and all the more jarring and annoying with the narration. If you choose to embark on this one, you won’t really be missing much at all if you choose to mute it and add your own music and go off the Wikipedia descriptions to keep up with what’s going on. However, if death related media is your cup of tea and you think this is a total waste of time, then you also won’t be missing much of anything either. I’m pretty sure the vast majority of these sequences can be found online if you look hard enough, even if it means cycling through other shockumentaries and mondo films that this sampled from or sample from this.

At the end of the day, it’s almost all the same, right?

RATING: 4.9/10

[everly-kindred]

Eve’s Diary - Entry #47

Synopsis: With Rose Grams released at school as the Hearty Party approaches, Eve’s week gets much busier! 

Words: 1,075

Date: 31st of January, 2027

Dear Diary, 

It has been a busy week, and now, thankfully, it’s the weekend! But I fear it may not get any less busy for me. For good reasons, though! 

I met some new friends! One of them is a girl named Hailey, who is actually one of the other first years I share a dorm with. I’d seen her about in the common rooms, but we hadn’t actually spoken until recently. She seems nice! I also met an older boy named Shaun briefly, and his white cat, Snowy. 

I finally had a success of sorts, also! In herbology, I managed to successfully plant mint, wolfsbane, wormwood /and/ nettle! I’ve gotten a bit better with plants, which makes me really happy, since it’s my best subject on paper at least! 

And then we had Defense Against the Dark Arts, which… I definitely had nightmares after that one. The professor brought a hag in, and we all talked about how hags like eating the flesh of children and stuff, and he let her walk around the class and she kind of stood over me and messed with my hat? I was petrified! Marigold tried to offer her hat up to the hag, but the hag sort of ignored her, I guess. Anyways, I ran out of that class as fast as I could, once Vikander unlocked the door, and went straight to my dorm! I figured, if I’m safe anywhere, it’s there… Maybe hags melt when they get sprayed by vinegar, like the wicked witch of the west? Was she the one that melted? Anyways, it’s nice to know at least that a lot of hags choose to have a more… uh… people friendly diet so they can sort of be a part of society. 

We had astrology, which I always have a hard time waking up for. Nora had to help me with the telescope because I kept getting distracted, and I swear I had that one song that goes, ‘catch a falling star and put it in your pocket, save it for a rainy day,’ stuck in my head the entire night. I would certainly love to catch stars like I dream about, of course, but yeah. 

We had a test in transfigurations and I… couldn’t answer even one question. I completely blanked. And now that I think about it, I think that was my first test at Hogwarts? So… I’ll need to figure out why I panicked and how to… not do that next time. And I heard in the older kids Transfigurations that Gallo borrowed Waldgrave’s wand and transfigured himself into a chicken!

This weeks Care of Magical Creatures was about pygmy puffs, so I got to bring Cornelius to class with me, which was really sweet. He’s been rolling around in fireplaces lately, I guess ‘cause it’s warm and maybe he likes the smell, but it’s made him look like a ball of soot! I’ve thought about giving him a bath and asking Bonnie to make his fur pink for Valentines, but… He seems so happy covered in soot, and it feels wrong to take that away from him. 

In Ghoul Studies, we talked about animal ghosts, how animals are companions and protect us in real life, and how our spirit guardians are manifested as our patronuses in their own animal forms. I wonder what my patronus will be… I wonder what it is /now/, because I know they can change as you change. 

We also had Dueling today, and played this game where we have to sneak up on someone and then they turn around and hex whoever they can spot, and the person we’re sneaking up on is called, ‘Grandma.’ Octavia Dechants was grandma, and she ended up getting into a duel with Bonnie, who made her scarf attack her and then turned her into a turtle. We had Magical Theory right after that, so I had to let Professor Reuter know she’d be late due to being transfigured, and he said she would’ve made a better peacock or something like that…

The most exciting news, though, is that the Owl Post finally opened up Rose Grams and Cupid’s Corner! I put in requests to send them to all of my friends, and then I started delivering them! I also delivered a bouquet of them and a plate of biscuits to the professor’s lounge with a note I had written, because I wanted to send grams to a lot of professors and thought that would be easier. Gallo helped me and let me into the lounge so I could do it! It looked really interesting in there. I did something similar for Cupid’s Corner for my friends - wrote a message for no one in specific, just from me to my friends, because there’s… So many of them! Which is so nice to say! 

Also, mum sent me a little enchanted stuffed rabbit with wings and a cupid’s bow and arrows, and he floats over my shoulder while I make deliveries. I’ve put on my most festive outfit for the occasion! 

I talked to Aures a bit, when I went to deliver her rose gram, and we talked about romance. I told her my mom had said I was a ‘hopeless romantic’ and that means I’m in love with love (I guess?) and Aures said she’d have to tell me about her parents, and then she… Well she mentioned that it’ll make things exciting when you can go to the Hearty Party with someone special, which… I suppose I /have/ daydreamed plenty of times about such things, but living at home with my parents for so long, I never thought it would actually be possible! And now it is I guess? Which is both exciting and scary.

I told Aures that I’d probably just wait and see if someone asks me, but not stress it either way, and that we could dance together when the Hearty Party comes. She said that if she asks someone, she’ll have gone to the dance all three ways - alone, having been asked by someone, and then having asked someone. And I told her if someone asked me, I could say the same! 

I’m not sure if anyone will ask me, though. Who knows. I don’t, for now, anyways. My dreams haven’t hinted at anything. Only time will tell! 

It is very late, so I suppose I shall go to bed now. 

Much love, Everly

About the Character: Everlina Rosemary Kindred is an imaginative Hufflepuff attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She keeps up with her magical journey through a series of diary entries, dream journals, and tarot readings, all documented for future reflection. Her diary is a small glimpse into her enchanted life, and her adventure into the wizarding world and all its splendors. If you’d like more information about Eve, visit her wiki page. 

About the Author: My name is Katherine! I am a 22-year-old Hufflepuff & Pukwudgie from Louisville, Kentucky. This page is my creative journey into the magical world, through the lenses of Second Life. Here I post diary entries, dream journals, and tarot readings all from my character’s perspective. If you’d like more information about me, visit my Flickr! 

Outfit Credits:

Hair - [monso] My Hair - Gabriella

Glasses - .random.Matter. - Rose Glasses - Gold

Bandaid - m i z u ru -  nose bandage

Headband (flowers) - Mossu - Fleur.Wreath 

Headband (hearts) - Bowtique - Cupid Heart Headband (Pink)

Flower-crown - +Half-Deer+ Blossom Baby - Wildflower Crown - Mix

Scarf - FATEplay Scarf - Evans - Badger

Top - Stories&Co. Reverse Vneck - Heart 

Skirt - `M.BIRDIE / Merry look-skirtA1

Bouquet - Ariskea[amour]. Roses Bouquet Pink

Bunny - MishMish - Cupid Bunny / Chocolate Chip

[quitethepirategal]

Alphabet Headcanons!

List a headcanon that correlates with each letter of the English Alphabet. Can you list that many? It’s harder than it looks! Any tidbit of information counts, from the simplest fun fact to the lengthiest lore!

A - Red Jessica is an Aries. Her moon sign is Taurus and her rising is Leo. She’s also a cusp baby, giving her Pisces leanings.

B - She has quite a few books in her massive library, but her favorites are The Art of War, Anthony and Cleopatra, On the Origin of Species, The Prince, An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, Frankenstein, and Treasure Island. She reads more textbooks than anything else tho. She really wants to like Jane Austin but she just... can’t.  ( unrelated, I was trying to figure which Shakespeare play would be Jess’s fav and found this. Y’all I screamed. )

C - Cats are her favorite animal. Any kind of cat. The grace, the lore, the silliness, the toe beans; they’re majestic little idiots and she loves them. She has two of her own. Sasha and Rosie. Jessica’s loved cats since she first made friends with one as a very little girl and she remembers every cat she’s ever had or been friends with.  Her first cat was an alley cat that followed her around that she uncreatively named Katjie

D - Dutch Afrikaans and English are her native languages, she grew up speaking both. However, she hasn’t really needed to speak Afrikaans since her mother died, and is no longer fluent as a result. Her first word was “Ahoy” but her second word was “geld.”

E - Red Jessica has some ridiculous eating antics, as a result of living in starvation from birth to late childhood and living as a pirate from then on.  She can bite directly into onions and garlic cloves as if they were apples, will eat ( or save ) the bones and fat of any meaty meal, can eat an entire apple- core included, loves to eat or chew on citrus peels and raw herb leaves, has a somewhat high tolerance for both spicy things and alcohol, and, like all pirates, has learned to tolerate most rotten/stale/moldy/expired food.  On top of that, her pursuit in studying biology and botany crowns her as probably the ONLY person in all of the Neversea who knows what nutrition is and how it works. Also eating avocados make her ears itch.

F - One of Jessica’s signature mannerisms is putting her fists up by her face. When excited or overjoyed she’ll shake them and when shes shy she’ll kind of hide her smile with them. She rests her chin on her fists, holds them still by her jaw when waiting in suspense, and its immediately where her fists fly to when startled or snuck up on ( with the exception of when shes armed, to which her hands fly to her hilt or holster ).  This mannerism makes complete and total sense considering shes a trained kick boxer.

G - Gardening is her absolute favorite stress reliever and you can pry it from her cold dead hands. Just bury your problems in the dirt my dude.

H - Her curly ginger hair is certainly one of the first things you notice about her and she takes very good care of it; a wash every two days, plenty of oils, vinegar once a week for dandruff. Her curl type is 3a.

I - Red Jessica is a closeted artist and frequently engages in illustration, and while this mostly comes in handy for taking illustrative botanical notes, her other favorite subject is the human figure. Specifically, the human figure of people she finds attractive or has a crush on.  And if you ask she’d be happy to try and draw you! Though she isn’t what you would call amazing she is somewhat talented- with her drawings having very technical, anatomical, and minimalist influences. She also like to sketch pastoral scenes when out in her fields.

J - Jessica was a name her father picked out, naming her after his first love.

K - She remembers her first kill. At 13 she was involved in a skirmish and lunged at a man out from under a table with a rapier. She remembers the exact look on his face, and recalls it with pride. First kill is a right of passage to pirates.

L - Jessica’s love language is all over the place, but can be narrowed down to gifts, words, and quality time. Arrogant suitors, take note because Jess will literally never shut up about you; she will brag about you, remind you of your achievements, praise you for your talents, be proud of you, will show you off, insist to EVERYBODY that you’re the best, and in some cases, spoil you.  This goes for friends too, of course but this all goes especially for whoever she has a crush on or is courting her. She JUST!! LOVES STROKING PEOPLE’S EGOS!! Speaking of spoiling, she’s a total gift giver.  No reason or occasion needed whatsoever; she is the QUEEN of  “ I was thinking of you so I got you a little something.”

M - Jessica is really really weird when it comes to materialism.  At a first glance, shes as avaricious as they come. She hoards beauty in the form of an art collection that graces her fine chateau’s halls and eminence gardens of gorgeous flowers.  She is a little crazy about treasure too, never missing an opportunity to treasure hunt, and has been known to loan-shark a time or two.  But in actuality, as made apparent through getting to know her, she isn’t really greedy or possessive at all.  Yes she loves pretty things and yes she is great at making money but believe me when I say that she is in the treasure hunt for the hunt more so than for the treasure.  Were she somehow to loose it all, money, island, treasure, everything, she’d be more concerned that whoever took her priceless art won’t take care of it.  In the best laid plans of mice and men, Jess is totally a mouse.  She’s lived the majority of her life owning nothing but the clothes she had on so, she’d just cut her losses and start over… come to think of it being wealthy is a bit boring…

N - Jessica has never been to Neverland. In my canon, only one pirate ( Hook ) was brave enough to ever set foot on that cursed island. Red Jessica, like the rest of the neverpirates, are too afraid. Most heard tales of an unbeatable foe and that the island itself is watching you, and that’s enough to keep Jessica away.

O - Oranges are her all time favorite food. She’ll eat anything with orange in it. Second favorite is crab or lobster. Third is pineapple chili sauce.

P - Her Myers-Briggs personality type is ESTP- a, the Entrepreneur.

Q - Jessica was Dread Pirate Grace O’Malley’s quartermaster. There are 9 Dread Pirates in the Neversea, each one being a legendary pirate of old, and they have the power to grant only the most talented pirates among them recognized captainship.

R - Red Jessica is is short for Red Handed Jessica for no reason other than I am Peter Pan ( 2003 ) trash.

S - Red Jessica’s crew is a sisterhood of sorts. While she is authoritarian and a captain to be feared, Jessica is friends with everybody in her crew and trusts them with her life. Her ship, The Rose, is practically a floating sorority; complete with weird traditions, gossip, gag rivalries, inside jokes, hazing, and the occasional prank. She even aids in getting them dates ( pro wingman right here ) and babysits some of their kids. Granted, they haven’t done much sailing or piracy in some time. But they all live comfortable lives on Crimson Isle, and they’ll be ready to sail should the need arise.

T - Jessica tends to trust people a tad too quickly and “give too much away” so to speak. It’s gotten her into trouble and even gotten her heart broken a time or two; but for some reason she never learns. She’d like to think she’s great at keeping secrets and to a degree, she is… but I wouldn’t trust her with any of mine- that I will say.

U - Oppenheimer, a pirate in the crew of the Flying Frigate ( in the movie the Pirate Fairy ) is her uncle.

V - Jess finds that she spends most of her days in her vineyard. She’s perfected the growing of grapes and timely shipments of wine, but now shes tinkering with how different aspects of growth effect flavor.

W - Jessica, whether she’s aware or not, is capable of being attracted to women. But she’s never really had any female partners. She’s not homophobic and wasn’t raised in an environment that was homophobic ( pirates pretty much love and sleep with whoever they want to ) it’s just ...never occurred to her to date women. Most of the reasons as to why are subconscious maternal issues but in short, Jess already has difficulty separating different kinds of love. Friendship and romantic love kinda... feel the same. She really only knows how to love one way and she can never tell if a woman is being friendly or flirty, much less if SHE’S being friendly or flirty. For this reason I’ve always labeled her as a questioning bisexual or a heteroflexible...

X - Her most recent botanical experiments revolve around xenogamy, also known as cross pollination. And just to flex, she’s also a huge xenophile for both Spanish and Chinese culture.

Y - Yellow is her second favorite color after red. Pink is her third and emerald green is her forth.

Z - In Jake and the Neverland Pirates, we see a type of rose called a Zebra Rose. While no such flower exists in actuality, I’d like to believe this is a result of some of Jess’s experiments - the medicinal purpose being to combat itching and irritation. 

Tagged By  -  nobody

Tagging  - @emcads @shiningsilverarmor @ofrcvenge @hunterhuntcd @youthflight @rcinbowconnection @jesterabandoned @inhxrmony @captainxhaddock @forvistxkonge @mcnsieur and you!!!

[noonetosmilefor]

Flower asks.

Thank you once more, @uneven-odds. <3

Alisons: Sexuality? - Straight.

Amaranth: Pronouns/Gender? - Her.

Amaryllis: Birthday? - 11th of July.

Anemone: Favorite flower? - Tulip.

Angelonia: Favorite t.v. show? - Stranger Things.

Arum-Lily: What’s the farthest you’d go for a stranger? - As far as saving their life without risking mine.

Aster: What’s one of your favorite quotes? - “Nothing in the world can trouble you as much as your own thoughts.”

Aubrieta: Favorite drink? - Tea.

Baby’s Breath: Would you kiss the last person you kissed again? - No.

Balsam Fir: Have you ever been in love? - Yes.

Baneberries: Favorite song? - Currently Lost by Dermot Kennedy. (Or literally the whole album.)

Basket of Gold: Describe your family. - Close, open-minded, strong, supporting. (I love them!)

Beebalm: Do you have a best friend? Who is it? - Yes. Her name is Iris and we’ve know each other for 9 years already and I love her so so much! 

Begonia: Favorite color? - Blue.

Bellflower: Favorite animal? - Horses.

Bergenia: Are you a morning or night person? - Night person.

Black-Eyed Susan: If you could be any animal for a day, what would it be? - Eagle.

Bloodroots: When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up? - Veterinarian. 

Bluemink: What are your thoughts on children? - I’m not a big fan of children but if a child smiles at me, you sure as hell can bet that I’d smile right back at them.

Blazing Stars: What are you afraid of? Is there a reason why? - Losing loved ones, well it’s self-explaining.

Borage: Give a random fact about your childhood. - It really was a safe and carefree childhood and I had everything and everyone I needed.

Bugleherb: How would you spend your last day on Earth? - Hiking to my favorite place and reading my favorite book.

Buttercup: Relationship Status? - Single.

Camelia: If you could visit anywhere, where would you want to go? - New Zealand.

Candytufts: When do you feel most loved? - Whenever I’m with people who love and accept me the way I am.

Canna: Do you have any tattoos? - Nope.

Canterbury Bells: Do you have any piercings? - No.  

California Poppy: Height? - 5′9″.

Cardinal Flower: Do you believe in ghosts? - Yes.

Carnation: What are you currently wearing? - Just a t-shirt.

Catnip: Have you ever slept with a nightlight? - Yes, as a child.

Chives: Who was the last person you hugged? - My sister.

Chrysanthemum: Who’s the last person you kissed? - Someone I don’t want to kiss again.

Cock’s Comb: Favorite font? - Don’t really have one.

Columbine: Are you tired? - Kinda.

Common Boneset: What are you looking forward to? - Winter.

Coneflower: Dream job? - My job right now.

Crane’s-Bill: Introvert or extrovert? - Inbetweenie.

Crocus: Have you ever been in love? - Yes.

Crown Imperial: What’s the farthest you would go for someone you care about? - Far FAR and beyond.

Cyclamen: Did you have a favorite stuffed animal as a child? What was it? - Yes, a white tiger.

Daffodil: What’s your zodiac sign? - Cancer.

Dahlia: Have you done anything worth remembering? - I don’t think so..

Daisy: What do you feel is your greatest accomplishment? - Being myself and self-confident.

Daylily: What would you do if your parents didn’t like your partner(s)? - Well I never thought about that haha.

Dendrobium: Who is the last person that you said “I love you” to? - To someone I don’t want to be reminded about.

False Goat’s Beard: What is something you are good at? - Listening.

Foxgloves: What’s something you’re bad at? - Opening up.

Freesia: What are three good things that have happened in the past month? - I found out what I want, I had some time for myself and I’ve been with one of my best friends for a few days.

Garden Cosmos: How was your day today? - Okay, I’d say.

Gardenia: Are you happy with where you’re at in your life? - Kind of, not fully.

Gladiolus: What is something you hope to do in the next year or two? - Traveling more.

Glory-of-the-Snow: What are ten things that make you happy/you’re grateful to have in your life? - My friends, my family, my pets, music, books, especially Sebastian Fitzek’s books haha, health, traveling, cinematography and my home.

Heliotropium: What helps you calm down when you feel stressed? - Watching HIMYM.

Hellebore: How do you show affection? - By listening to people.

Hoary Stock: What are you proudest of? - My family.

Hollyhock: Describe your ideal day. - Waking up late, getting some breakfast, drinking tea and reading a good book, probably napping haha, some more reading, going for a walk and back to bed again.

Hyacinth: What do you like to do in your free time? - Sleeping, going to the movies, reading and traveling.

Hydrangea: How long have you known your best friend? How did you meet them? - 9 years. I’ve met her in school.

Irises: Who can you talk to about (almost) everything? - @uneven-odds. <3

Laceleaf: How many friends do you have? - If I do count really close and good friends, around 10.

Lantanas: What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received? - That I’m the kindest and funniest person they’ve ever met. It shocked me tbh.

Larkspur: What do you think of yourself? - I’m too stubborn and that I can’t really show my emotions.

Lavender: What’s your favorite thing about yourself? - My patience. 

Leather Flower: What’s your least favorite thing about yourself? - The fact that I’m too much of a perfectionist sometimes.

Lilac: What’s something you liked to do as a child? - Race against my dad.

Lily: Who was your best friend when you were a kid? - A girl called Tamara.

Lily of the Incas: What is something you still feel guilty for? - Not being there for one of my friends when he needed me..

Lily of the Nile: What is something you feel guilty for that you shouldn’t feel guilty about? - Loving the person I loved.

Lupine: What does your name mean? Why is that your name? - So I googled it and it means “the anointed one”. My mum and dad named me after my mum’s brother, his name is Christian. My mum loves him so much, that I got this name, well the feminine form.

Marigold: Where did you grow up? Tell us about it. - In a suburbia. It’s very small but I love it here. I do love Vienna and it’s not that far away. But here in this small town is where I feel most comfortable.

Morning Glory: What was your bedroom like growing up? - Big, full of wood furniture and toys and a few posters of the Backstreet Boys.

Mugworts: What was it like for you as a teenager? Did you enjoy your teenage years? - I did not really enjoy my teenage years at first. But I’ve always been grumpy about everything. That has changed through the years and I had happier teenage years later on.

Norwegian Angelica: Tell us about your mom. - I love her and she is one of the toughest women I know. I’m sad that she feels left out that often and that I can’t really give and show her the credit she deserves. Because she deserves the world, really.

Onions: Tell about your dad. - My dad is the best dad. Even after he and my mom got divorced he’s always been there for us. And he did everything he could for us to be happy. I’m very thankful for that.

Orchid: Tell about your grandparents. - When I think about them I almost every time start crying. They’re in their 70s now and I’m constantly worried that I’d loose them. They’re 2 of the greatest people in the whole world - they deserve the whole world. And if I ever feel annoyed by them I do cry a few hours later. I love them so much. Sometimes I wish I could die before they do so I don’t have to feel the pain of losing them..

Pansy: What was your most memorable birthday? What made it be so memorable? - My most memorable birthday was on my 11th birthday with my best friends and cousins. It’s been so carefree and full of laughter.

Peony: What was your first job? - My first job was the job I’m doing right now.

Petunia: If you’re in a relationship, how did you meet your partner(s)? If you’re not in a relationship, how did you meet your crush/how do you hope to meet your future partner(s), if you want any? - I don’t have a special plan on how I want to meet my future partner. If it happens, it happens.

Pincushion: How do you deal with pain? - I don’t. It sounds hard but I just ignore it until it get’s too much and then it literally bursts out and I can’t stop crying for literally 5 hours or so.

Pink: Where is home? - Wherever the people I love are.

Plantain Lilies: If you could go back in time, what is one thing you would stop/change? - I’d stop the cancer that killed my half-sisters mother.. she’s been like a second mom to me.

Prairie Gentian: Who is someone you look up to? Describe them. - My dad. He literally had no one who supported him when he was younger but he somehow managed to build his life and stand on his own two feet. He managed to give the love he never received from anyone before, to my sisters and me and I really admire him for that.

Primrose: Describe your ideal life. - Carefree and happy.

Rhodendron: What is something you used to believe in as a child? - Elves.

Ricinus: Who’s the most important in your life? - My sisters.

Rose: What’s your favorite sound? - The sound of people’s genuine laughter.

Rosemallows: What’s your favorite memory? - One night in Berlin with @uneven-odds. (That sounds so wrong, but you know which one I mean haha. <3)

Sage: What’s your least favorite memory? - My “second” mom dying.

Snapdragon: At this moment, what do you want? - Inner peace.

St. John’s Wort: Is it easy or difficult for you to express how you feel about things? - It’s very difficult for me because I rarely open up, not even to my closest friends.

Sunflower: What is something you don’t want to imagine life without? - My family.

Sweet Pea: How much sleep did you get last night? - Around 7 hours.

Tickseed: What’s your main reason to get up every morning? - Work.

Touch-Me-Not: How do you feel about your current job? - I love it.

Transvaal Daisy: What’s your favorite item of clothing? - My yellow trench coat.

Tropical White Morning Glory: Describe your aesthetic. - My aesthetics are always plants and books.

Tulip: What would be the best present to get you? - Books.

Vervain: What’s stressing you out most right now? - My future.

Wisteria: How many books have you read in the past few months? What were they called? - None because I’ve been too busy to read.

Wolf’s Bane: Where do you want to be in life this time next year? - At the same place but a little happier.

Yarrow: Do you know what vore is? - If it’s from the Latin word “vorare”, it means “to swallow” as far as I can remember but idk really haha.

Zinnia: Give a random fact about yourself. - I love doing my nails. Ok, that was really random haha.