#Magic and Miracles chapter 2

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Blood Drops on Roses: Bargaining: The Third Stage of Grief (20/80)

“Let’s shake on it.” Twilight stuck his hand out, then drew back, saying, “Just… nothing too crazy, alright?”

‘You owe me, you owe me.’ Wild raised a perfunctory eyebrow as Twilight squirmed. ‘Anything else isn't a part of the deal.’

“No, I guess it isn’t.” Twilight said, defeated, as he stuck his hand out once more. He looked queasy as they clasped hands. He paused a step. “And Wild?”

‘Yeah?’

“Watch the spice. They ain’t from here.”

‘Spoil sport.’

Read the rest of this chapter here! Blood Drops on Roses Ch 20

Or check out the whole series, including the Prologues, here! Blood Drops On Roses: A Linked Universe Fanfic

[justhereforthemeta]

Romantic expectations and the story we didn't see: A magic trick hiding in plain sight

Here's a hopeful meta for all my fellow celestial brainrot sufferers out there. Cheers! :)

This idea started as a dead end, trying to track the movements of Crowley’s sideburns/tattoo because I thought time travel shenanigans were afoot. I had to abandon that theory when it was pointed out that David was simultaneously filming as the sideburns-having Fourteenth Doctor, and in-universe Crowley can do whatever he wants with his facial hair whenever he feels like it. But hey - null findings are still findings!

On the bright side, pausing the show to make notations in a spreadsheet forced me to slow down and notice other changes I'd overlooked the first time around: acting choices, costuming choices, references to book lore. And possibly a few surreptitious flicks of the wrist, in places where we’re meant to be focused on the magician’s other hand.

@amuseoffyre and @ineffablefood had a great exchange recently about romance and “the significance of misdirection and three-in-one (magic) tricks” throughout the show. I suspect Neil has done something brilliant with the audience’s long-standing expectations (since the 1990s, really) for the love story between Crowley and Aziraphale to develop. And while it is a wonderful story indeed, playing to this expectation lets Neil distract his audience from the blink-and-you'll-miss-them seeds he's planting for the final chapter.

Continued below the cut...

Let’s start at the beginning of Episode 2. First, context: In the previous installment, Crowley stormed out of the bookshop, was whisked away to Hell by Beelzebub where he learns about the Book of Life threat to Aziraphale’s existence, then returned to the bookshop to dance a little apology dance and hide Gabriel with an unintentionally massive joint miracle. In S2E2, we and Shax catch up with Crowley as he's snoozing in the Bentley.

Shax: “You’re in trouble”

A. J. Crowley, cool as a cucumber: “Obviously. Former demon, hated by Heaven, loathed by Hell. How will our hero cope?”

Interesting! Sarcastic? Yes, absolutely; but that’s also a good 4500 years and an averted apocalypse away from “I’m a demon. I lie,” wouldn’t you say? Someone is sounding a whole lot less depressed and aimless and navel-gazey (do snakes have navels?), and a whole lot more like he’s got a project to focus on, since his "what's the point?" ruminations on the park bench in E1.

And of course we all noticed the costume change right away. Hello, black turtleneck. Feeling cute today, thought I’d cover up my graceful long neck? That sounds unlikely. Let’s put a pin in this one.

There’s also an interesting acting choice going on here. Crowley speaks to Shax in a funny, drawling, too-cool-for-you voice that we haven’t heard in a while. Specifically, not since 1967. If you go back and give the S1E3 scene in the Dirty Donkey a listen, you’ll hear it (and if you know of another instance of it that I've missed, please let me know!). In S2E2, he keeps up this odd voice (if anybody knows what kind of affect this is supposed to be, please do tell!) throughout this dialogue with Shax, except for the brief moment when she first surprises him about the joint miracle having been detected.

1967 was a fun year. Crowley masterminded a heist! And seemed like he was having a ball doing it, right up until his little caper was called off after Aziraphale brought him the thermos of holy water. Crowley spoke to his co-conspirators in that same funny, very 60’s-caper-film voice. He wore a hip 60’s turtleneck. He bought petrol for the only time ever, so he could get those sweet James Bond bullet hole decals for his car (per the book, seen on the Bentley in the show).

Those James Bond bullet hole decals would of course have been part of a promotion for this 1967 release, which you just know our film-enjoying demon went to see in the theater:

Starring this suave, be-turtlenecked guy:

And now - begging your forgiveness - a brief rant.

There are a number of posts out there that refer to Crowley’s S2E2 turtleneck as a flirtatious sartorial choice - actually, ‘slutty’ seems to be the favored accusation. There are even a few posts floating around commenting on how sweet it is that Crowley swaps out his slutty, kinky, throw-me-over-your-desk-and-take-me turtleneck for a more dressy and appropriate collared shirt specifically to attend Aziraphale’s Jane Austen ball. 

Now this is all in good fun, and Crowley does indeed look fantastic here, and I do love a good fangirling sesh as much as the next person. However, fandom’s collective tendency to interpret what we are seeing on the screen through the lens of romantic expectation can, at times, give rise to a kind of blinkered enthusiasm that obscures the original text in a haze that is part Mandela Effect, part unrestrained horniness, and part in-group code talking and identity reinforcement.

Respectfully, Crowley’s black turtleneck does not appear at all in S2E5: The Ball. In fact, it never appears again after the end of S2E2.

For Someone’s sake, let’s collectively pull our heads out of the romantic fog/gutter for a moment and focus on what we are actually seeing in the book and on the screen. For Crowley, this is an uncharacteristic within-period costume change. There is a surreptitious flick of the wrist happening here, out in broad daylight, and we are all missing it.

So here’s a thing. Aziraphale appears to have settled comfortably into life on Earth, his neighborhood, his books, using Crowley as an outlet for sharing his good deeds that he would once have reported to Heaven. Meanwhile, at first glance, Crowley appears stuck in a rut. There he slouches on a park bench with Shax in S2E1: a guy who lives in his car, stagnantly clinging to old familiar habits, mulling over the pointlessness of it all.

Setting aside the bit about living in the Bentley (I’m going to attribute this to well-documented issues between him and Aziraphale, discussed in many other excellent metas, and move on), Crowley has at least two very good, proactive reasons for maintaining his contact with Hell through Shax. First and foremost, it’s a source of information he can use to keep ahead of potential threats to Aziraphale and himself.

But also, I would posit…he kinda likes it.

Recall that book GO was first conceived as a parody, with Aziraphale and Crowley as spy-against-spy (but not really) field operatives in an ages-old cold war between Heaven and Hell. Their entire book dynamic is rooted in the trope of two opposing agents who have been in the field for so long that they now have more in common with each other than with their respective head offices. Their St. James’s Park meetings among other spies and ministers trading secrets are a sendup of what was once a well-known Cold War-era cliché. 

Our contemporary Crowley still likes slick outfits and hellaciously expensive watches and high-performing vintage cars and pens that write underwater while looking like they could break the speed limit. He coaches Shax on how to blend in as a demon on Earth, and he helpfully redirects the wayward contact looking for the Azerbaijani sector chief. He loves improvising and getting away with shenanigans under the institutional radar. And boy golly was he impressed with Jane Austen: master spy, brandy smuggler, and mastermind of the 1810 Clerkenwell Diamond Robbery. 

And if you look at it a certain way, for as long as Crowley has considered himself to be on “[his] own side” - going at least as far back as Job - he could almost think of himself as a sort of double agent. It’s actually a very romantic sort of notion, befitting our hopeless romantic of a (professedly former) demon; but it’s romantic in a very different way than we, the audience, have been primed to watch for.

In other words, in a very “on my own side” kind of way, Crowley really gets a kick out of being a spy. Or at least, dressing up and accessorizing as one, and moonlighting as a good-doing double agent when he can get away with it. And also being a plotting criminal mastermind. Two sides of a coin, really. Just look at Jane Austen.

My point is: No, Crowley did not wait around for Shax to come find him in a turtleneck so that he could go flirt with Aziraphale later. He’ll flirt with Aziraphale no matter what. No, this:

is actually this:

Much like the one he wears to the Dirty Donkey in 1967: 

whilst holy water heist-plotting. Here's a clearer shot with gratuitous Bentley, because I love them:

…and which he'll wear again, with appropriate camouflage, while infiltrating Heaven in S2E6:

That is the 1967 planning a HEIST turtleneck for committing ESPIONAGE and STEALING THINGS in. Because turtlenecks are what modern human master spies wear to get their hands dirty - after all, he saw it in a movie once. 

Crowley dons his tactical turtleneck sometime during the first major break in the action (which doesn't happen until after the joint miracle to hide Gabriel) after he learns about the threat the Book of Life poses to Aziraphale. Loverboy started mentally preparing himself to go after that book immediately upon learning that it was in play as a genuine threat. 

Now let’s pick up at the S2E2 Dirty Donkey scene, reading the story from this angle. Of course, Crowley enables Aziraphale’s delusions about Heaven by hiding information from him, and does not disclose the Book of Life threat when they meet again. They go into the pub, Aziraphale shamelessly paws Crowley’s chest like the seductive Bond Girl he is, and Crowley gets to act all smooth and suave and intimidating as he chases off the interloping Mr. Brown (or Mr. Collins for the Pride & Prejudice fans, take your pick).

Ergo, theory: beginning in S2E2, Crowley is already thinking of himself as a Jane Austen/James Bond action hero (“How will our hero cope?”), psyching himself up to rescue Aziraphale by getting his spy game on and stealing the Book of Life.

Now, watch closely...This is where Aziraphale and Crowley brainstorm their plans to solve the problem they both know about: getting Maggie and Nina to fall in love and thereby get Heaven off their backs. Crowley’s vavoom plan is drawn from yet another movie (“Get humans wet and staring into each other’s eyes - vavoom, sorted. I saw it in a Richard Curtis film.”). But Crowley also implicitly shares his solution to the problem he hasn’t told Aziraphale about. And true to form, Crowley’s Jane Austen solution isn’t the same as Aziraphale’s Jane Austen solution. 

Two solutions that fail by the end of Season 2, and a secret third one that might still work...and there's our magic trick of three.

‘“I’m lost. Am I doing a rainstorm?” Yes, babe. And a heist, too - just not until season three. Can I get a wahoo!? 

I won’t spend time on A Companion to Owls during this meta, except to note that in all three minisodes, we get to watch stories that involve Crowley acting as a double agent on “his/their own side” - successfully making Hell and Heaven think he’s fulfilling their will while saving Job’s goats and children; failing to fool Hell when he does a good deed in Edinburgh; and of course, collaborating with Aziraphale whilst evading detection as an infernal turncoat during the Blitz.

(Because this is getting long, I'll also skip over Crowley's interrogation of Jim in this episode - I'll probably come back to that in another meta. But interrogating is a rather spy-ish thing to do.)

When we catch up with Crowley again later, he’s already slipped out of the bookshop, having left Aziraphale to his biblical reverie about Job. He saunters snakily down Whickber Street as usual, but with a very pointed and swift glance over his shoulder (see pic above). This demon is up to something - possibly something we didn’t get to see, something that may have happened offscreen while he stepped out. In any case, knowing there’ve been unfriendly angels in the neighborhood that morning, he’s rightly concerned about being spied on.

From this point until the beginning of episode six, there isn’t a whole lot of opportunity for Crowley to make any next moves. He babysits the bookshop, during which time he manages to wring some crucial information out of Jim; he follows his Crowley’s Angel around like a puppy, and downs a bottle of red like a good old fashioned lovesick boy once that’s been pointed out to him. If any plotting or scheming is underway, this occult being is keeping stumm for now.

This has been a long one, so I’ll wrap up with Crowley’s infiltration of Heaven with Muriel. The turtleneck disguise works (Archer fans, be vindicated!) long enough to gather some information that will be crucial not just to the denouement of S2, but also to Crowley’s journey in S3 (previous post on Crowley's Fall, Saraqael, and memory wiping). And Aziraphale gets to enjoy that view exactly zero times. The point isn’t oh, a turtleneck! How flirty! So cunty! So cute! Y’all. Everything matters. The costume change was a deliberate choice. In-universe, Crowley’s decision to wear his special spy turtleneck for spying in is a signal that he is out doing spy things, even as we watch.

In sum: Beginning in S2E2 and continuing through the end of the season, Aziraphale and Crowley are actively living out the scripts of two parallel, concurrent, and completely different Jane Austen stories. But you and I, dear fellow audience member, we came here for a comedy with a hefty jigger of romance, and that’s what Neil gave us to focus on. And right up until the Final 15, that was the only story we saw.

Meanwhile, Special Agent A. J. Crowley doesn’t have time to mope around at the end of S2E6. He’s kicked down, but he’s not out. He's got a Book of Life to steal, a very serious bone to pick with a certain memory-wiping angel, and his Angel and the world to save. 

“‘Heigh ho,’ said [romantic, optimist, former demon, hero, master spy] Anthony Crowley, and just drove anyway.”

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Link 1, Link 2 :)

Digital Good Omens 2 Sountrack is coming out in 4 days! 🥳 CD version in October! :) ❤ Coming soon on vinyl…

Out to Stream/Download from 25th August. Out on CD 13th October. Coming soon on vinyl…

David Arnold’s ‘end of the world’ complex and multi-genre soundtrack.

From the Award-winning composer of Sherlock and Casino Royale comes a follow up to the hugely successful, Emmy nominated Good Omens soundtrack.

Good Omens series 2 premiered on Prime Video on 28th July. The series follows the odd couple, angel Aziraphale (Michael Sheen) and demon Crowley (David Tennant) in their quest to sabotage the end of the World. The six-episode sequel to the popular adaptation of the novel by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, concerns the Archangel Gabriel (Jon Hamm) arriving without his memories to Aziraphale’s bookshop. Aziraphale and Crowley attempt to find out what happened to Gabriel, whilst hiding him from Heaven and Hell, both eager to find him.

The Soundtrack

David Arnold’s soundtrack to Good Omens was first released in 2019 to favourable reviews, with BBC Music Magazine calling it “a rollicking trip to hell and back”. Blueprint Magazine described it as “a great listen” and Sci Fi Bulletin commented on “plenty of memorable themes” to conclude that “This is another work of art from Arnold”. At times nostalgic and eerie but always varied, beautiful and full of excitement, the Good Omens 2 soundtrack showcases Arnold’s every skill from his composer arsenal. Featured here are orchestral arrangements with sprinkling of Sugar Plum Fairy pizzicato and percussion, jaunty strings and mighty choral sweeps from Crouch End Festival Chorus. Added to the mix are rock guitar riffs, and psychedelic 70s sounds and all together they create a haunting otherworldly feel, complementing the fantasy and the quirky humour of the show. The spirited Waltz of the opening theme is also present in the second series and it wonderfully sets the scene for fantastical mayhem. In series 2, this robust, evocative, and funny music entity, becomes yet again another character in the story. Award-winning composer David Arnold is well known for his blockbuster scores, including Stargate, The Chronicles of Narnia: the Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Hot Fuzz, Paul, Independence Day, 2 Fast 2 Furious and Casino Royale as well as for his TV work such as Sherlock and Dracula. Also available: The original soundtrack to the first series of Good Omens >

Tracklist

– Disc 1 – Chapter 1: The Arrival 1. Before the Beginning 2. Good Omens 2 Opening Title 3. Into Soho 4. Something Terrible 5. To The Bookshop 6. Maggie and Nina 7. He’s Smoking 8. Tiny Miracle 9. Heavenly Alarm Bells Chapter 2: The Clue 10. Avaunt! 11. The Song is the Clue 12. It’s What God Wants 13. A Mighty Wind 14. Whales 15. Gabriel Returns 16. His New Children 17. Am I Awful Now? 18. Fallen Angel Chapter 3: I Know Where I’m Going 19. Police Arrive 20. Scotland 21. We’re Going to Hell 22. People Get a Choice 23. My Car is Not Yellow 24. Beelzebub in Hell 25. The Book 26. The Fly 27. Mr. Dalrymple 28. We Need to Cut 29. I’m Going to Save Her 30. Crowley Goes Large 31. Not Kind 32. Beelzebub Isn’t Happy – Disc 2 – Chapter 4: The Hitchhiker 33. Hell-O 34. Nazi Zombies 35. March of the Nazi Zombies 36. Crowley Pep Talk 37. The Magic Shop 38. Catch The Bullet 39. Zombies in the Dressing Room Chapter 5: The Ball 40. I’ll Let You Have It 41. We’re Storming a Book Shop 42. Monsieur Azirophale 43. The Candelabra 44. Here Comes Hell 45. Gabriel Gives Himself Up 46. Shax 47. The Circle Chapter 6: Every Day 48. Bin Through the Window 49. Gabriel Leaving Heaven 50. The Halo 51. Gabriel Revealed 52. Gabriel’s Love Story 53. Leaving The Bookshop 54. Gabriel and Beelzebub 55. Crowley and Muriel 56. I Forgive You 57. Don’t Bother 58. The Biggest Decision 59. The End?

[carpetbug]

ML Feline Blue AU Chapter Three: Origins pt. 1/2

1 • 2 • 3

read below or on ao3

Each step back to the Pont des Arts was petrifying. All the muscles in her legs contracted in protest, begging her to stop or for the still fresh soreness to bring her to her knees. What had been an ache in her lungs was now a relentless screaming, and the sound of rushing water in the seine was making her head hurt.

But she had to know. 

It wasn’t like the streets of Paris would be crowded so early in the morning, but Marinette had expected more than the occasional elderly couple or jogger on a morning run. There were no sirens, no policemen barking orders at each other with megaphones like she had pictured in her mind. No one had noticed the bloodbath left behind. Which only made it feel all the more fictional, like some elaborate, fucked up fantasy she had concocted in her mind. 

She had to go back and know if it was real. Know if she had any right to feel as burdened as she did.

There was no reassuring kwami hidden in her pockets, no magical jewels that made her a superhero. No, those had all been tucked away in her closet, where no villain could find them. It was just Marinette, bundled securely under a thick gray hoodie, mind running wild with worst case scenarios. They didn’t stop when she arrived at the Pont des Arts, and only seemed to get louder when she took in the freshly cleaned condition.

She walked the length of the bridge, then did it twice more. It was pristine, easily wiped of the brash color it was stained the night prior. Marinette wasn’t even sure she could remember where exactly on the bridge it had been. The wooden walkway looked almost polished, the entire platform was the spitting image of perfection. It made her fucking skin crawl.

It was too easy, too tempting, to sit on one of the benches sprinkled across the bridge and let herself peel apart. The panic had long set in, leaving her feeling lost and unraveled. This sudden enemy was already plucking away at the careful seams she's used to stitch her confidence together, and he didn’t even know she existed. Sitting on the bench for a few hours, her mind wandered aimlessly on autopilot, yet always circled back to ‘Guardian. Miracle Box. Guardian. Guardian. Miracle Box. Guardian.’ It was still on loop in her head when she picked herself up off the seat and went home.

The idea of doing a mad dash through the bakery and to her room crossed her mind, she had to admit, but it was quickly dismissed. The bakery had already been open for almost an hour now, she didn't want to cause a racket amongst customers. Plus, it’s not like her parents would let it slide either. Then again, Marinette had entered her home in many weirder ways.

She pulled open the doors of the bakery, skirting the customer line and bee lining for the ‘employees only’ labeled door. If she was really lucky, her mom would be too busy to even notice her slipping in.

“Welcome back, why were you out so early?” Sabine commented nonchalantly as her daughter awkwardly tried to creep past, eyes not leaving the cash register as she tapped away at the buttons.

What a fantasy. The idea of Marinette Dupain-Cheng having a single moment of luck. “Sorry Mama, I woke up way too early and couldn’t fall back asleep so I wanted to go out for a quick walk. Then I may have fallen asleep on a bench at the seine…” She trailed off, hands flailing wildly around her as she explained to her mother. It honestly wasn’t too far from the truth, and it also wasn’t too far from something Marinette would do.

Sabine quirked an eyebrow, giving her daughter that questioning look only mothers can, before sighing and smiling to herself. She reached out and stroked her face gently, then pinched her cheek. “Go get changed and enjoy the last week of summer break. No more falling asleep on public benches.”

Marinette nodded in relief, turned to leave, then spun back around and planted a kiss on her moms cheek. “Love you too!” She hummed, bounding through the kitchen with a passing hello to her dad, then up the stairs.

Her mother had helped clear her head momentarily, but it all came crashing back down when she came into her bedroom. It all felt too bright now. The rosy tones and cluttered surfaces were bringing on a migraine, and the nauseating box of magic hidden she knew was in her closet was not helping. Still, she reached for the doorknobs after allowing her eyes a moment to adjust. She had built a nest of fabric around the miracle box, bundling it away in the corner of her closet. The box felt lighter than it had yesterday, maybe because the wood dried during the past day, or because Marinette had a night to sleep on the heavy new burden. Well, a few hours, really. The lid opened easily, and out flew all the kwamis. Tikki and Plagg settled calmly in front of her, both curiously inspecting the room with their eyes. The other kwamis didn’t have such etiquette, and instantly began to wreak havoc on her belongings.

Her lips parted, about to protest, when her voice failed her. Instead she let out a quiet sigh and rolled her eyes, allowing them temporary free reign, then made her way to her desk. The kwamis weaved through the air around her, almost ignoring her presence all together as they discovered the wonder that was her room. They screamed, shrieked, and squealed— Marinette had never been more relieved her parents were in the bakery, too far to hear— about each new unearthing, but she tuned them out into white noise.

There needed to be a record. A journal, a book, she’d even call it a diary. She needed to start writing these things down, making a physical trail of everything that’s happened so far. Documenting about the kwamis, the miraculous, this villain, Master Fu, her total number of panic attacks (three and counting), etc. The important things. It seemed as good a place to start as any.

“Marinette?” The ladybug kwami had followed her across the room and now sat atop her computer, intently watching her write with cautious eyes.

“Mm?” the girl hummed in response, enthralled in her furiously scribbled notes. Her tongue peeked out from her lips just slightly as she wrote.

“What... what are you doing?”

“Screw that, where the hell did you go?” The cat cut in, tail lashing from side to side. His lips were pulled back in a slight hiss, sharp teeth glinting from in his mouth.

“I-I went back to the Pont des Arts.” She mumbled, pen stilling in her hand. It was silent for a second before their voices erupted.

“You did what?!”

“I would have come with you!”

The kwamis were instantly rambling, Plagg listing off all the ways she could have died on his claws while Tikki pressed her for a play-by-play retelling. It was suffocating.

“I’m fine, okay?! I’m alright!” She huffed, slamming the pen down and pushing against the desk to send her chair rolling backwards. Marinette brought her hands to her face to gently rub her eyes before taking a breath. “Nothing happened.” She said flatly, arms falling to her lap. “I just wanted to see why no one was talking about the blood. But it was entirely clean. The whole bridge looked fucking polished.”

The kwamis exchanged a look between them before Tikki quietly repeated, “I would have come with you.” with a small frown and eyebrows knitted together in worry.

Marinettes building frustration melted. She hadn’t even thought the kwamis would worry about her, nevertheless be upset she had gone alone. A small part of her had honestly thought they would prefer she do the dirty work herself. She pinched her eyes closed and tried to shrug off the guilt blanketing her shoulders. “I wanted to go alone. Plus, it’s my job to keep you all safe and hidden now, I couldn’t risk taking you back there.” She explained softly, returning to the desk and plucking the pen from the surface to fidget with.

“It’s your job to stay safe with us!” Plagg hissed, unaffected by her gentle tone. “It’s our job to train you as guardian! You have to work with us, Marinette!” his voice wavered as he went on. “Let us teach you how to be a guardian before you try doing it on your own.

She listened carefully, gaze locked downward on her feet. After a few moments she spoke “I just want to be able to protect you guys.”

Tikki lowered through the air until she rested in Marinettes lap, looking up kindly at her eyes. “We know, Marinette.”

“But, c’mon Pigtails—“ the new nickname caught her by surprise, making her look up at the cat kwami. “We’re not the only ones who need to be protected right now.” he huffed.

“Let us keep you safe as well,” The ladybug kwami pleaded enthusiastically. “You’re not alone.”

Marinette nodded weakly as she reached a hand forward to rub the red kwamis cheek. “I’ll try to remember that. But if I'm going to do this safely, I need to be prepared.” She clicked her pen, pushing out the inky tip. “Tell me everything, from the beginning.”

An annunciatory cough caught her attention, and she turned to see the rest of the kwamis had settled in a small, patient audience around the three as they talked. It was easy to forget just how many of them there were. Seventeen miniature gods living in her room.

“I think I can help with that,” A light green kwami with a shell spoke up. His sclera was a saturated yellow, and a thick antenna sprouted from his head, ending in a round bulb. “The man you met was Wang Fu, the g— uhm.. The previous guardian of the miraculous.” he spoke, wincing slightly as he messed up his wording. “I am Wayzz, the kwami of protection.” a small tail flicked from the bottom of his shell.

Marinette took hasty notes as the kwami spoke. “Wang Fu.” She echoed the name, feeling the heavy way it rolled off her tongue. “I think I remember him saying that.” It felt wrong to say his full name only now, after everything he sacrificed for her.

“Wayzz was Master Fus personal kwami, so he knows the most about the guardian.” Tikki explained, zooming through the air to float by his side. Wayzz gave her a soft smile, but a heavy gloom lingered in his eyes. He tilted his head to lean against hers slightly, making Marinettes heart twist for the creatures.

“You must have been close.” She said gently, giving the kwami a sympathetic smile. “How long had he been guardian?”

That question gave the kwamis pause. Wayzz blinked before awkwardly clearing his throat. “Well, similar to you, Master Fu had to become sole guardian at fourteen because of… a-a tragic event, leaving him the only living member of the Order of the Guardians.” He stuttered. Marinette's throat went dry and she was immediately buzzing with questions, but he went on. “But that happened many, many, many years ago. Master Fu lived to one hundred and eighty six.”

Her mind went blank, all questions gone in a moment's notice. “One hundred and eighty six?” Marinette repeated. She frantically looked from kwami to kwami, eyes wild. “Am-am I going to live that long now?” her voice was tight with panic. Being fourteen felt burdensome enough, how was she supposed to do this for another century— and possibly longer?

Plagg was the first to respond, and he did so with pure amusement. “Fear not, Pigtails. Master Fu only lived that long cause he was a crazy old man who did crazy old man shit.”

Wayzz glared at Plaggs vulgarity, but began to explain further. “It was simple really, he ate a very specific and controlled diet, practiced rigorous healing and meditation practices, and he’d even-”

“Just keep doing what you’re doing and you’ll live a normal human amount of time.” An orange kwami barked, long fluffy tail flicking back and forth. He resembled a fox, but with purple eyes and long antennas on his ear tips. “Maybe take the anxiety down a level or two. We need you to stick around for a while.”

“Ha-ha.” Marinette said bluntly, rolling her eyes at the fox kwami. She turned her attention back to her journal, pen gaining motion in her hands once again. “What else can you guys tell me about him?”

“A lot, Master, but in due time. First, I think introductions are in order.” the turtle kwami responded, side-eyeing a few kwamis to his left. That’s what made Marinette finally notice some of the creatures literally shaking with excitement. A velvety purple feline and floppy eared dog most notably, both the creature's tails lashing at an intense speed. They looked like they were about to explode.

“You’re right, I don’t even know half of your guys' names.” She realized, and a dull feeling of guilt dawned on her at not having asked about them. She gestured a hand towards them, prompting them all to share.

They went around, one by one, introducing themselves. Tikki and Plagg, the ladybug and black cat, who Marinette was familiar with after last night. Wayzz, the turtle, Master Fus kwami. Trixx, the name of the fox kwami that had spoken earlier. Sass, a snake. Pollen, which is quite a fitting name for a bee kwami. Roaar and Barkk were the tiger and dog kwamis, the two exploding with excitement. Kaalki, Ziggy, Orikko, Mullo and Daizzi, being a horse, goat, rooster, mouse, and pig respectively. A blue ox named Stompp, which reminded Marinette of the story of Babe, the blue ox. A dragon by the name of Longg, and a ditzy bunny named Fluff. Last but not least, the loudest and most chaotic kwamis of them all, Xuppu, a small light brown monkey. According to them all, the butterfly and peacock kwamis, Nooroo and Duusu, were the only missing gods. One was held captive by the butterfly villain, but the other was lost alongside its miraculous.

She wasn’t sure she would ever remember all that.

“Your turn!” The tiger kwami roared in delight.

“Oh.” Since they had known her name and age, Marinette had assumed they had known everything else about her too. That what it had seemed like with Fu, why should tiny animal gods be any different? “I’m just Marinette.” They already knew that. “Uhm- My parents have a bakery, that’s downstairs, we live on top of it. Right now we’re in my room, obviously.”

“We want to know about you, Marinette!” Tikki chirped, returning to perch happily on her computer again. 

“What’s your favorite color!”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“-Or a girlfriend!”

“Why are you so small?”

“What’s your deepest darkest secret!”

The kwamis were a shrieking chorus of voices, all piling up questions without waiting for answers. Marinette watched, eyes wide, until they eventually quieted on their own. Her life was going to be a lot louder from here on out.

“Uh-uhm, my favorite color is pink.” Her face was burning as she waved a hand around her rosy room. Why is talking about yourself so embarrassing? “I don’t have… either of those things right now, the last boy I fell in love with was- uhm- w-we went swimming and-” Marinette wasn’t even sure where to begin explaining the horrific prank she’d been victim to last school year. “He just didn’t feel the same way.” She said quietly, clicking the pen in her hands a few times anxiously. What had the other questions been?

“WHY ARE YOU SO SMALL?!” That question was repeated, much louder and much closer to her face. Xuppu had sprung up in front of her, big ears nestled on the side of his face and a long monkey tail curled beneath him. 

“Cause I’m fourteen?” Marinette slid back in her chair to get some space from the kwami. “I’m not exactly done growing.” She explained in a high pitched voice, somewhat confused by his demeanor. The monkey kwami would take some getting used to. But, then again, they’d all take some getting used to.

“And your deepest darkest secret is?” Plagg purred, his tail lashing playfully.

“You guys. Obviously.”

The kwamis all went silent for a second— which seemed almost impossible to her— and exchanged looks before bursting into laughter.

“Good answer, Marinette.” Tikki giggled. ---

“What do you mean It’s not my box?!” Marinette looked up from her journal at the kwamis and groaned loudly before burying her face in her hands.

“He means technically.” Tikki corrected awkwardly.

“I mean it’s not yours!” Plagg jeered in response. “Look at the Miracle Box. What does that look like to you?”

“I don't know! A box!” Marinette whined, throwing her arms forward and herself back onto her comically large cat pillow, before sliding down into the nest of blankets she had gathered over the week. He gave her a sharp and unamused glare. She sighed and heaved herself back upright. Studying the box carefully, she traced the design with her eyeline; staring so intensely she felt like lasers would beam from her pupils and burn through the wood. The box sat, just barely a foot away, carelessly in the corner of her bed where she had left it the night before. It looked the exact same as the first time she saw it. Still just as unsettling. She was almost scared to touch it. Thankfully, the latter feeling was fading slowly with each passing day. “It looks the same.” She muttered, before tentatively leaning forward to grab the box.

“Bingo. That's not normal Pigtails.” his tail flicked impatiently as she held the box in her lap. “Each Miracle Box has a distinct guardian, and should change to reflect their personal desires and deepest truth. This piece of junk-” Plagg flexed a single claw towards the box between them, “doesn’t look like your miracle box in the slightest.”

Tikki sighed before chiming in “He’s not entirely correct, but his point makes sense.”

“Does it?” Marinette questioned unenthusiastically, palms pulling at her cheeks.

“How do I explain this…” the bug mumbled to herself while scrunching her face in thought. Funny, people always said Marinette did that. “It’s like the box is only considering you a temporary guardian, and so it isn’t entirely connected to you. If it were, the box would change shape, size, color, even its own rules and structure.”

“MY SITUATION DOESN'T FEEL VERY TEMPORARY?!” Marinette wailed in immediate response, arms thrashing wildly at her sides.

“You’re not Marinette, don't worry! It's most likely the box can somehow sense your unease and won't allow you full guardianship… or…” Tikkis gaze took a hard turn to bore into the cat kwami to her right, who shrugged it off easily.

“That's right, I stopped it.” He yawned dismissively. “Kid, you've barely even used a miraculous, you're like nine years old, and you’re going up against an actual murderer. You should be thanking me right now.”

“You don’t think I should be guardian Plagg?” 

“Not what I said.” Plagg huffed, but Marinette wasn’t following. “I understand Fus’ situation was… sudden, but you shouldn’t have to pay for that. I do believe you would make a good guardian, Marinette, but I don't think you should have to be one.” Plagg did a weird thing as he spoke. His voice softened, his gaze became glued to the floor, and his ears pressed gently back against his head.

Her lips broke into a warm smile, and she brought her hand up to the cat to run her fingers across his soft fur. He purred, very quietly, in response. “Thank you, Plagg. It's nice to know you've been looking out for me.”

His eyes widened suddenly before he jerked away and shook out his fur, repressing his growing purr. “Too cheesy, even for me.” He fake gagged, then settled comfortably on her knee. She gave him a breathy laugh before ruffling his head with a careful fingertip and turning her attention to Tikki.

“I think I understand. So, how do I prove myself?”

“It’s not about that, Marinette. The box doesn’t think you're not good enough, only not ready.” Tikki sighed.

“I thought Plagg was the one that stopped it?” Her head tilted in confusion.

“I stopped it from granting full guardianship to you once, but I don't control the damn thing. It's in your hands from here, so take it up with the box.” Plagg huffed, beginning to groom his paws.

“You just need patience and focus. Keep preparing yourself, and the miraculous will tell you when it's time.” Tikki reassured.

Marinette let the words sit for a few moments as the kwamis flew off in search of other activities. Patience and focus. Marinette wasn’t known for either. ---

School was supposed to start on Monday. Two days to finish her studies on the miraculous, which Marinette knew she wouldn’t be able to accomplish. How could she get the flu in the next couple hours? Also, how could she make it last for a month?

“Maybe I could be of some assistance, Master?” Trixx offered playfully as he drifted towards his guardian, her hair unkempt, eyes heavy with dark bags, and body curled over her notebook, taking intense notes. An array of dirty cups and plates littered the space around her, many reeking of old coffee. “Using the miraculous of the fox you could make an illusion of yourself being sick to trick your parents! Free extra long summer break.”

She paused writing to look up at the small fox with skepticism. “Really? And it would work?” Marinette questioned, like such an easy answer was too good to be true. “Also, just Marinette. Not Master.”

“So long as no one touches the illusion, it should. It’ll disappear when it comes into contact with anybody else.” The kwami gave a nonchalant shrug.

It was hard not to roll her eyes, but instead she opted for letting out an impatient huff and pouting her bottom lip. “Thanks for the offer, Trixx, but that won’t work. The second I mention being sick to my parents, they’ll want to take my temperature and feed me soup, it would be a literal nightmare if their daughter disappeared when they touched her.”

“Your loss.” He shrugged again, but his tail lashed in a way that said ‘Don’t come crawling back to me’.

“You’re welcome to my miraculoussss.” Another kwami hissed, bringing Marinette's attention to Sass, the snake kwami. “The power of intuition will allow you to rewind time at your command, letting you try any number of ssssolutionssss until one workssss.” A long, forked tongue flicked in and out of his mouth as he spoke.

This one she gave more thought to before declining. “I would only be able to do that if I transformed.” She frowned, “My parents would definitely have some questions if I was in some random snake get-up.” then began chewing on the already heavily dented cap to her pen.

“My offer sssstandssss should you change your mind.” He nodded politely. “Perhapssss the other kwami with a time related power can help. Fluff!”

The cotton white bunny bounced through the air towards them, big ears flopping with the movement. “Yes, yes, yes, what’s happening?” She was holding a baby carrot between her paws, indicating they had interrupted her lunch.

“Do you know of any way to convince the parents our Master is ill?”

“Just Marinette, please.”

“Of course, Marinette, my mistake.”

Fluff sat on a tomato shaped pincushion on the desk, abandoning her carrot and considering her options. “I can use my power to burrow back a few days ago and find some way to get you sick?”

Sounded weirdly horrific. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not, but please, please don’t do that. Please.”

To Marinette's surprise, the fluffy kwami bent over giggling in response. “I won’t, I won’t, besides it would cause some horrible catastrophic event.”

“What?”

“If a kwami uses their powers without a holder to channel them, the concept that kwami represents in this universe will ‘break’, causing some calamitous event, which can usually only be fixed with the ladybug cure.” Tikki chirped, joining Fluff on the pincushion.

“Good to know.” Marinette bit down on the pen again, pressing it between her molars as she took in, well, everything. For about the millionth time.

Crack.

Ink exploded into her mouth, coating every taste bud and slipping down her throat in seconds. She gagged instantly, choking on the putrid tasting liquid, as the kwamis around her gasped.

“SHE’S DYING!” Xuppu screamed, a little too loudly, because instantly Maman shouted back.

“What? Who’s dying?”

In a hurry, the kwamis flushed through the air like a flock of birds interrupted by a hunter, all diving for the safety of the concealed Miracle Box. Marinette forced her lips together to contain the ink, a plan forming in her mind as she moved towards her vanity and its sink, pushed against a wall in her room. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was a plan nevertheless.

As her parents flung open the trapdoor to her room, she made a big show of dramatically spitting out the ink and starting the faucet with exaggerated gags.

“Me! I’m dying! I was chewing on a pen and it exploded!” She whined, taking a mouthful of water from the faucet and swishing it aggressively through her mouth. It came out a murky dark gray, and Marinette had to grit her teeth as she swallowed the remaining half still in her mouth. It felt just as foul in her stomach as it had tasted in her mouth, but it was a necessary part of the plan. If she was going to fake a debilitating stomach ache, she needed a bit of honesty behind it. 

“Oh, Marinette, I’m constantly telling you to stop chewing on your pens! If you have to do it, at least use a pencil or something.” Sabine said, half joking, as she walked up and gently rubbed her daughters back. 

Marinette nodded in agreement as she continued sipping and spitting mouthfuls of water to clean out the remaining ink. Eventually she stopped the faucet and dried her mouth, then turned to her fearfully observing parents. Tom was fanning his eyes like he was on the verge of tears, for some reason.

“Papa! Don’t cry, oh my god—”

“I was worried you were choking to death!” Tom replied, dramatically stretching out his arms to gesture at his daughter. Sabine continued rubbing her back, then bit back a laugh at the sight of a dark blue ink stain on the corner of Marinette's lip. “How do you feel?”

“I’m alright,” She brought a hand to her stomach and clutched it before pulling her mouth down in an exaggerated frown. “But I think I swallowed a lot of the ink. I don’t feel very good.”

Her parents exchanged a look before sending her up to her lofted bed for some immediate rest and recuperation. The last thing Marinette heard before the door closed was her Mama starting a pot of tea, and her Papa frantically running downstairs to the bakery to make treats for his little girl. Never mind the fact she was supposed to be having a horrible stomach ache right now.

“You got a little something right there.” Plagg flew to his holder's side when the door was closed, his tail flicking at the ink stain on her face. 

She flicked her tongue across her thumb and pulled out her phone, quickly thumbing to the camera, and began to scrub at the mark. “That should get me a few days off at the very least.” She sighed, wiping at her skin more and more aggressively. “I don’t know what I’ll do after that though, it’s not like my parents would let me drop out of school. I doubt they’d even let me miss more than a week.”

Tikki joined the guardian and black cat kwami with a tissue in her hands, and she silently took over cleaning the girl's face. “Don’t worry about that now, Marinette. What’s important is you have time, and we’re all here to help teach you.” The small bug pulled back, taking in her guardian's freshly cleaned appearance. “There, all better.” ---

Marinette's week with the kwamis was busy, extensive, and overall exhausting. When she wasn’t feigning stomach pains to her parents, she was taking thorough notes on the complexities of each individual miraculous, wrestling with the Miracle Box, and not getting nearly enough sleep.

Instead, she spent her nights rotating through the different jewels, pinpointing all the different strengths and weaknesses they had. Some could see in the dark; the black cat, the tiger, the fox, and some others. Some were faster and stealthier, others were sturdy and solid. Each transformation gave her new abilities, but they all made her feel strong, refreshed and ready to fight.

They all allowed her to bounce between rooftops easily, to swing across the city, and balance like she weighed no more than a feather. Her energy was endless. Marinette wondered if it would feel that way when she was face to face with the butterfly’s latest villain. For now, she was focused on finding a good level of understanding of all the miraculous, as well as fostering a relationship between her and the kwamis.

Which she had been able to do, for the most part. She’d use part of her time with the miraculous to transform and use its powers, of course, but the rest of the time she'd spend bonding with the kwami, getting to know their favorite foods and past holders. They’d even play a twenty questions style game to get to know each other. Most enjoyed it, or at the very least tolerated it.

She had learned a lot.

Ziggy is the ‘youngest’ of all nineteen, with Tikki being the ‘oldest’. Mullo likes to spend their time pranking and teasing their fellow kwamis, while Longg prefers to stay observant and silent, surveying and keeping others in check. Trixx talks like he’s constantly trying to scam you into some sort of pyramid scheme, while Kaalki has a thick, prissy accent. Wayzz, Pollen, and Stompp are more on the quiet and calm side, unlike Roaar, Barkk, or Xuppu who can make a sold out Jagged Stone concert sound like a chill lofi playlist. Every kwami had a boisterous presence, regardless if they tried to keep calm or not. Marinette was slowly falling in love with each of them.

But most importantly, she learned the true powers of the earrings of creation and the ring of destruction.

“When combined together, the miraculous of the ladybug and black cat can grant their holder the ultimate power, any wish they ask for. This comes at a terrible price; however, the universe will be destroyed and rewritten in accordance with the request.” Tikki nodded solemnly as she explained, small eyebrows pressed together in sincerity.

“What—What does that even mean?” Marinette asked.

“If you use my ring and tikkis earrings, you get a single, all powerful wish. Could wish for anything you want. Let’s say you wish for a lifetime supply of camembert, as one does. To make that wish come true, someone else would be devoid of its cheesy creamy goodness for the rest of their life! And y'know, existence itself is destroyed and remade.” The cat kwami had an annoying habit of simplifying the most important things.

“That’s… not the example I would have used, but I guess it works.” Tikki shrugged. “That’s why the butterfly wants our miraculous, and why he killed Master Fu.”

“Well… what’s his wish?”

“Fuck if we know,” Plagg scoffed, settling on his guardians shoulder. “It happened too fast. Wayzz had a horrible feeling when the butterfly was activated, and—”

“Wait— only Wayzz? Why not all of you?” 

“It’s not allowed within the order, but should a guardian become a permanent wielder to a miraculous, their kwami will transform and have more intricate and sensitive powers.” The ladybug explained, “Wayzz was able to provide warning due to his connection with Master Fu.”

Marinette glanced at the Miracle Box resting on her chaise lounge chair, and at the kwamis resting around it. The turtle was asleep on top of the box, limbs all tucked inside his shell while his head poked out just slightly. Curled around him were Pollen and Barkk, comforting him with hushed words and soft fur. It made her heart sore.

“And that’s what’s going to happen when I pick one of you.” The realization dawned on her.

Tikki and Plagg looked at each other for a few seconds, a wordless exchange, then turned back to her. “Yes, it will. A guardian has never wielded the ladybug or black cat, since they are the most powerful miraculous, but you are in a… difficult position, so it’s inevitable.” Tikki mumbled in response.

“There’s no way of knowing what will happen when the kwami of creation or destruction is transformed, Marinette. Could be nothing, could be everything. It could hurt you.” Plagg said, pressing his front paws against her hand softly. His eyes were clouded with concern.

“I’m sure it can't do anything worse to me than what that…  butterfly did to Master Fu.” Marinette said softly, petting the cat's forehead with a gentle touch. “Don’t worry about me, Plagg.”

There was only so much Marinette could learn in the short time she'd had so far with the kwamis, and taking on too much was leading her to anxiety attacks and paranoia. Holding up so much all at once was crushing her, it was obvious, but she refused to sit and breathe. Everything needed to be put in the right place for when things went wrong. Everything needed to be prepared, everything needed to be written down. It was the closest thing she had to a guide. 

Because of this, she could tell the kwamis were holding back. There were some things they knew she wasn’t ready for, and Marinette didn’t think she was prepared to challenge them for it. But knowing there was potentially vital information right out of her reach made her heart race, it made her hands start to shake. How could she be ready for anything if she didn’t know everything? It was best to reassure them all that there was nothing to worry about.

There was a blur of motion, then she watched the black cat kwami zip through the air in front of her to the skylight overhead, then out to the balcony above. If she wasn’t mistaken, he was shaking as he flew.

Marinette looked at Tikki, who was also starring after Plagg with a sad frown. “Did I say something?” She asked softly.

Tikki shook her head, “Not in the way you think.” she tried to comfort, then lifted into the air and began towards her fellow kwamis. “I think you should check on him, Master.” The bug flew away before she could correct her.

She reached up and pushed open the passage.

The night air felt fresh, blowing through her unwashed hair and tingling the smaller hairs along her arms and legs. A slight chill flowed through the breeze, raising goosebumps across her skin.

Plagg was curled into a small, black ball in the center of her sun chair, his tail flicking every few seconds. She watched him in silence, until his bright green eyes peeked open from the void to stare back at her.

“What, I can’t take a catnap in peace?” He grumbled, ears laying flat against his head.

“What’s wrong?” She asked softly, sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the occupied chair.

“I’m feeling catty, so what.”

“You know I don’t want you guys outside on your own.” Marinette ignored his response, brushing her palm softly across his silky back. “Are you okay, Plagg?”

He shot up with a sudden and violent hiss, batting her hand away. “I don’t know, kid! Am I okay? Are you okay, Marinette?! Is this what we’re doing now?!” He spat, fangs bared.

She flinched back just slightly, unprepared for his outburst. Plagg had just yelled at her. “Wh-what? I don—”

“None of this is okay! And I’m sick of being told not to worry about you!” Plagg floated just above her, black fur bristled out in angry spikes as he snapped. “Why don’t you care, Marinette?!”

Plagg must have known how that stung. “Care about what?! I care about you! I care about all the kwamis, the miracle box, even that old man I knew for thirty seconds! I care about all of it!” Marinette bit back at him, unable to hold her tongue. All she had done was care, how could he say that?

He quieted, then dropped back to the chair without a word. Plagg looked up at her with sad eyes and droopy whiskers, “Why don’t you care about yourself?” he asked.

The words stopped her. Stunned her, really. “I-I… I don’t even— Plagg, I— I care.”

“You’ve been tearing yourself apart, Pigtails. Back-to-back all-nighters studying us, blaming yourself for what happened to Fu, putting our own emotions and wellbeing above your own. It’s too much.”

Water welled in her eyes as she choked on a response. “I didn’t mean… The— I thought I was doing the right thing.”

He watched her for a second, considering her words. “You did the right thing. I just sometimes wish you would do whatever the wrong thing is, too.” he said, then continued before she could question it. “Sit down and do nothing for a while. Go to sleep at nine. Let yourself be selfish, Kid, if that’s what it means to care about yourself. It’s a kwamis job to care for their guardian, too.”

Tears slowly rolled from her cheeks, quickly turning to a steady pour from her eyes. Marinette sniffled, wiping the heel of her palm against her face in a vain attempt to dry her skin. “Th-there’s so m-many of you… and s-so much to do, I-I just want to keep you all safe, and—”

“We’re safe, Marinette. No one else knows where the miracle box is, and you’re going to make sure it stays that way.” Plagg said, tail wrapping reassuringly around her wrist. “There’s a lot of us, sure, but we can manage on our own. And you have all the time in the world to do everything there is to do.” He gently rubbed his face against her hand as he purred, just like a real cat would. “You freak out too much, Pigtails.”

She had no response to that. It was true.

“So don’t tell me not to worry about you.” His voice was weaker now, wavering like he was also fighting against a wave of emotion.

“I’m sorry.” She sighed, still wiping tears from her face. “I just want to do this the right way, so I try to control it all, and I freak myself out. I want to be a guardian, and be there for you all, b-but, I—” Marinette trailed off momentarily, “I just want to be Marinette, too.”

Plagg gave her a small smile. “I’ve been telling you since you saved us, this isn’t your fight. You're not in charge of controlling it all. You don’t deserve to go through this, but I won’t stop you from going forward.” He took a deep breath then gave a resolute nod, before diving back inside the room below. He reappeared moments later with a smooth black ring in his paws, and a crowd of kwamis all poking their heads out of the balcony door. 

Plagg held out the ring to her and spoke, “I, Plagg, the kwami of destruction, ask you, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, to wield the ring of the black cat. Using it, you will protect the kwamis in your care, you will reclaim the stolen butterfly and lost peacock miraculous, you will enlist the help of a ladybug holder, and you will rest when you need to.” The words had the same effect as the ones Master Fu had spoken at the Pont des Arts, only both she and Plagg started to gently glow.

Marinette reached out slowly, still convinced the kwami would yank back the jewel at the final moment, explaining to her that she wasn’t worthy at all. Instead, he happily let her take the ring, even purring just slightly when her hand brushed his chin. 

She slid the cold, black ring onto her right pointer finger, intrigued that it had the same weightless feeling that the earrings had. A dim, green glow passed over the jewelry and Marinette watched as it changed to an iridescent silver, and a small flower replaced the paw centerpiece. She twisted it slowly with her thumb, eyeing over the camouflaged details. Unless someone knew to really look, it truly seemed like any other ordinary ring.

“It’s never too late, Pigtails. You can always back out.” Plagg spoke gently, his eyes darting between her and the ring. It was her decision, her choice.

“I accept.” She spoke, igniting a bright change in the steady glow encompassing them. The light burst in a flash, passing over the guardian and her kwamis, solidifying their connection. As it subsided, Marinette blinked open her eyes to find nothing had truly changed. Except for the feeling.

This felt final, like a decision set in stone. She was the holder of the black cat. She was the guardian.

She turned to the kwami audience, smiling softly at them. They returned her smile with cheers and congratulations, some of the more emotional kwamis genuinely brimming with tears.

“Oh, we’re so proud of you!” Ziggy bleated.

“You’re destined for great things, Marinette!” The mouse kwami squeaked.

“Never before have we had a guardian so young and with such potential. Under careful guidance she will go far.” Even Stompp seemed genuinely happy for the girl.

Marinette let herself bask in their praises, just for the moment. A happy laugh rose from her throat, one she didn’t try to deny. “Do you guys think I’m ready?” She smiled, hands passing from kwami to kwami as she pet them.

“As ready as you can be for now. You’ll learn on the job, chickie!” Orikko clucked warmly, pushing his feathered head into her palm. The other kwamis agreed, slowly gaining energy in the space around her. Soon they were bouncing in the air, some singing and dancing in excitement.

“Guys, guys! Shh, come on, let’s take the party inside.” Marinette hushed, waving the group inside. The kwamis giggled among themselves and drifted back into her room, followed quickly by their guardian. “Thank you, Plagg. It actually feels… kind of real, now.” She whispered to the black cat as she latched closed the trapdoor.

“It wasn’t me, Marinette. All I did was ask something of you. You’re the one who chose us, we should be thanking you.” He said, when another squeal rang out.

She huffed in annoyance, gave him a small peck on the forehead, then climbed to the ground floor of her bedroom and glared at the kwamis in warning. They quieted, and she pressed an ear to the floor to listen for her parents. The muffled sounds of a video game sounded from beneath them, signaling they hadn’t heard. Marinette turned back to the kwamis, ready to scold, when she finally focused on what her tiny gods were looking at. 

Where the Miracle Box used to sit, there was now a bonsai tree, nestled inside an intricately designed pot. On thick bands around the vase was the same pattern that used to be on the top of the box, but that was the only thing that looked similar between them.

“What… is that?” Marinette gasped as she crossed towards the plant.

“The Miracle Box! My liege, it has accepted you!” Pollen buzzed with joy, flying in fast circles around her head.

“The Miracle Tree, you mean.” Plagg meowed at the bee while nuzzling into his holder's shoulder. “It’s all yours kid.”

She reached out a hand, rustling the orange-pink leaves that sprouted in eager clusters across the branches. At the base of the tree, engraved into the trunk, was a yin-yang symbol with the marking of the cat and ladybug balanced between each other. Arched above it was the fox, turtle, and bee, with the butterfly and peacock on either end. The growth above was occupied by the zodiac kwamis, each one laying claim to their own bushel of leaves.

The plant was gorgeous. If she didn’t know better, she would have assumed it to be an expensive gift or invaluable family heirloom. In some weird ways, it kind of was.

There was only one blemish.

“It’s rotting.” Marinette muttered, mostly to herself, as she studied the tree. Surrounding the butterfly and peacock markings were deep gouges, threaded with dark veins. They seemed empty and lifeless when compared to the other miraculous along the tree. Corrupted, almost.

“It’s hurt.” Tikki chirped, popping into place beside Plagg. “Nooroo and Duusu are essentially dead– or dying, according to your Miracle Tree, which is what’s causing that damage.” The bug flew closer to the trunk, extending a small arm to test the bark. “We’ve never seen a Miracle Box like this before.”

She almost sounded impressed.

“How do I fix it?” Marinette asked, now fiddling with the scarred wood. The kwamis were all still celebrating, but she couldn’t help feeling like she broke the thing. It hadn't hurt before, afterall.

Tikki turned back to her with a blank stare. “You can’t.” She said, flying back to her cat counterpart. “Not right now, at least. Maybe once the butterfly and peacock are retrieved, but even that isn’t a guarantee.”

“The tree isss now connected to you, Marinette. It’sss deeply aware of your feelingsss, moralsss, and desssiresss. In a way, the only one who truly knowsss how to manage it isss you.” Sass chimed in, settling carefully onto the fork in the center of the trunk.

“Me?! I don’t even know the first thing about plant care! Do I need to go get fertilizer? Wait, first, I need to make a list of everything I’ll need so I can go to the store— Shoot, do we still have those gardening gloves Maman bought a few years ago? Where would she put— No, no, we gave those to Nonna for her birthday…” Marinette started to ramble, already beginning to pace around her room.

“Pigtails!” Plagg interrupted, pausing her spiral. “It’s magic. It’s a magic tree. You don’t need fertilizer, or gloves, or whatever else you’re already thinking of buying.”

“Oh.” That’s simple. Why couldn’t it all be that simple? She went back to the potted plant, then took a deep breath and heaved it up from the floor. Straining, she slowly carried it across the room, then hoisted it onto her desk. She’d find a more permanent place for it later.

A cheerful tune began from the computer behind her, bringing her attention to Fluff, Mullo, and Daizzi fiddling with the speaker and song settings. Xuppu and Roaar were spinning and bouncing in rhythm with the music, tails swaying with glee. Even Longg and Kaalki, always the serious and sometimes uptight, looked like they were enjoying themselves.

“Master Marinette?” Wayzz spoke up from behind Marinette, the seemingly only kwami not partaking in the festivities.

“Hm? Something wrong, Wayzz?” She reached for the chair sitting at the computer, pulling it over and taking a seat as she talked with the turtle. Even in her private time with him, he hadn’t said much.

“Well, Its… uhm… You’re aware I was Master Fu's personal kwami.” He began, settling on one of the miniature cushions. “He wasn’t a perfect guardian. But he tried very hard, and… and he would–,” Wayzz swallowed, fighting emotion. “He would be very proud of you.”

It meant more than she realized it would. When Wayzz looked up to meet his guardians eyes, she was crying again, eyes red and puffy with tears.

“Thank you, Wayzz. I really needed to hear that.” She gave a breathy laugh, happy tears trailing down her cheeks. The turtle kwami flew upwards, pressing himself in a loving hug against the side of her face. Marinette returned it with a cupped palm.

“Its not a real party until theres a group hug!” Barkk yipped from the pretend dance floor, inciting the kwamis to swarm Marinette. They coated her head, arms, and torso, all purring and giggling as they wrapped their tiny limbs around her.

Her first highschool party, and she got to spend it with gods. ---

The idea of going to school felt equivalent to some kind of death sentence. How is she supposed to be the Marinette they had known before? Everything is different now. She is different now.

‘You’re still Marinette Dupain-Cheng, a normal girl with a normal life.’ She reassured herself in thought, but the feeling remained. ‘Marinette Dupain-Cheng, guardian of the miraculous, soon to be protector of Paris. Normal girl with a normal life.’

Laying partially awake in bed, her thumb lazily toyed with the miraculous ring that now resided on her pointer. She was quickly falling into the habit of checking to make sure it was still on her hand when she woke up. She found it reassuring. The sun was slowly rising, and was currently settled perfectly to glare through the trapdoor above her bed and into her eyes. Blindingly so. She groaned at the brightness suddenly attacking her vision, but sealing her eyelids shut did little to filter the light.

It was time to get up and get ready anyway. Although, being late was definitely more of a ‘Marinette Dupain-Cheng’ move. She debated it internally for a few seconds before climbing the ladder from her bed to the floor below. Her parents had been nice enough to let her miss the first week, the least she could do was try to be on time her first day back.

Kwamis were already busy floating throughout the room, each fairly settled into their new routine. It was hard to keep track of them all at once, but they tried to stay near the Miracle Tree as much as possible, which helped. Sass and Wayzz were flying from kwami to kwami, scribbling down drink orders for the morning. Marinette had taught the two how to use the kettle and coffee maker in the kitchen, and had shown them any other beverage options they might want. She trusted the two (seemingly) most responsible kwamis, and had made them promise to only use it if her parents were working in the bakery. Longg and Tikki would be in charge of the remaining kwamis. 

“Finally awake, Pigtails?” The recognizable sour meow rang out through the room as the black cat kwami floated through the air to his holders’ side. His eyes were cloudy with sleep, so he clearly had also ‘finally’ woken up. Marinette was too drowsy to tease, luckily for him.

“Mmm… ‘morning Plagg.” She responded through a lengthy yawn, miraculous wielding hand coming up to cover her gaping mouth. She stood herself in front of her mirror, sleep-disheveled hair in messy knots down her shoulder, and eye bags reflecting back to her in all their glory. In all honesty, she hardly looked like Marinette these days. Even worse, she was starting to think that wasn’t a bad thing.

“Wow! You look like shit.” Plagg chirped, stilling in the air beside Marinette and watching her painstakingly comb through her bed head in the mirror.

“Yeah… I do, don’t I?”

He gave her a weary look before responding, “Don’t worry Kid, that’s why I’m here.”

“Oh yeah? You gonna brush my hair for me?” Marinette smirked, playfully batting at the kwami with her free hand as she untangled the last sections of dark hair.

“I was thinking more along the lines of supervi—sing… Marinette, what’s wrong?” The cats voice trailed off as he spoke, and he turned from watching her reflection to floating directly in front of her. 

Marinette watched her reflection closely, eyes wide in what looked like shock, maybe confusion. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, like she was grasping for what to say. She settled for, “Nothing, Plagg.” and gathered her loosely strewn hair in a hand.

“Are you sure?” Plagg normally didn’t sound so… concerned. There was nothing to be worried about.

“Yes, Plagg, I’m just getting ready.” She reassured, voice becoming curt with annoyance. The way she spoke had a sharp edge, as did her movements as she pulled and tied her hair behind her head before stepping away from the mirror.

It took barely a second for Plagg to interrupt again. “Hold up!” He was flying through the air again, a black swarm of magic as he blurred in motion. “No pigtails?”

A bun, just a simple, basic, plain ol’ boring bun had replaced her signature matching pigtails, and a light pink hair tie held it in place. Marinette usually tied her hair with ribbons.

“No ribbons, either?”

“Aren’t they a bit… I’dunno, childish?” Her outfit for the day was being pulled from her closet, shirts being thrown aside after being quickly compared to a pair of pink sweatpants. She was doing anything she could to avoid his almost pitiful stare. She didn’t need to be pitied. “I think it’s time I grow up.”

“I didn’t think they were childish.” Plagg mumbled under his breath before flicking his whiskers, like he could shake off the weird energy his holder was putting out. “Well, my nickname for you doesn’t really work anymore.” He sat by idly as she dressed, considering new combinations or phrases that fit the teen.

“Most people just call me Marinette or Mari. When I was little my parents would call me Nette and Nettie.” The latter brought back nostalgic memories of walking through Paris, both her parents' hands in her own smaller grasp. They used to lift her from the ground and swing her through the air with each other step. Now, she wasn’t sure she could even remember the last time one of her parents had picked her up. Not like that really mattered right now, anyway.

“You sure you don’t prefer Master? Maybe ‘Guardian of the Miraculous’ suits you better?”

She rolled her eyes at him before stepping in front of her full length mirror. Hair pulled back in a bun, but otherwise untouched. Her frame was hidden under a thick, heavy gray sweatshirt, which pooled just beneath her shoulders, exposing a black tank top underneath. She had abandoned the sweatpants in favor of an ankle length white skirt. The silver ring on her finger fit in perfectly.

“It could use more black.” Plagg commented, looking her up and down in the reflection. 

Marinette smiled, made her way to her desk beneath her bed, and slipped a black messenger bag off a hook and over her shoulders. Plagg flew through the air to investigate it. After giving a few investigatory sniffs, he smiled and looked up at his holder.

“I’ll allow it.” He slipped inside the bag and curled into a black ball.

“Ready for our first day of school?”

“Your first day. I plan to sleep the whole time.” the black ball huffed without moving.

“Lucky you.”

She waved goodbye to the rest of the kwamis, smiling and nodding at their niceties and wishes for her to have a good first day back. It dawned on her as she left her home and began down the stairs to the bakery that this would be the first real time the kwamis were home alone. Marinette at school, parents in the bakery, they would have free roam of the home.

No, they know better than that. Or at least, Tikki, Sass, Wayzz, and Longg know better than that, and they could be trusted to keep the others in check. Right?

“Kid, don’t worry about them. They’re centuries old gods, they’ll be alright without you for a few hours.”

Marinette pouted her lip. “I wasn’t worrying about them.”

“You’re stopped on the first step and haven’t looked away from that door once.” Plagg yawned and poked his head over the top of her bag, peeking out at their surroundings. “Really, Marinette, they’re gonna be alright. Sugarcube knows how to keep them in line.” He chuckled.

She took a deep breath and continued down the stairs. “Sugarcube, huh? I think I’ve heard you say that before.”

“Little nickname I came up with a few decades ago for my Tikki. Fits her well, huh?”

“Perfectly.”

Plagg popped his head back in the bag as Marinette swung open the stairway door.

The bakery was bustling, as it always was the first morning of the week. People coming and going, buying their pastries and baked goods, or placing orders and grabbing business cards. Monday mornings were always Maris least favorite shift to work. Though she’d be willing to sacrifice her school day for a few hours work in the bakery right now, if her parents would let her.

“Good morning, Marinette! Hurry up to the school, it’s already nine o’clock— Your alarms have been going off for the past fifteen minutes.” Heavy emphasis on the if.

“Right. Sorry, Maman.” She was heading for the bakery doors when her father shouted out from behind her,

“Wait! Look sweetheart, I made you macaroons! You know, to take to school and share with your classmates,” Tom shifted from foot to foot as he spoke, a chunky cardboard box filed with macaroons balanced in his hands. “Since you’ve been- uh— well, you missed that first week and uh…”

Sabine softly jabbed an elbow into his ribs. “She’s already late, Tom.”

“Yeah, uhm, thanks Papa, but I should go—“

“Please, Nette? At the very least it’s… it’s a good conversation starter. You could even show off 

the logo you designed.” He settled on, big bushy eyebrows pushing together in a conceded frown. “I also packed some of those gougeres you asked me to make, in case you wanted one for a snack.”

“Fine, fine, hand it over.” Marinette huffed, cheeks warming at her fathers show of affection. It wasn’t part of the plan, but macaroons can’t exactly hurt, and Plagg was sure to be elated by the pastries. As for designs, she hadn’t touched her sketchbooks since the night at the Pont des Arts, and she wasn’t sure when she’d find time to do so again. Designing wasn’t a priority right now. She took the box from her dad, was decently surprised by its moderate weight, and placed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Bye, love you guys.” 

She hovered by the door a second more before deciding to add, 

“Also, my room is a mess, cause of a– uh, new… science project… so, um, just please don’t go in there. I’ll clean it when I get home. Bye!” Then jumped out the door before they could question her.

Perusing through the treats her father had sent with her, Marinette started towards the neighboring school. She had always viewed her home's proximity to the school as a burden, like some kind of curse. It meant everyone knew where the weirdo-klutz-baker girl— a favored victim of the Bourgeois— lived, and with her own bad luck, it always meant she was late. Daily.

Popping a lemon macaroon in her mouth, Marinette ascended the school stairs and considered the thought that maybe being late every day wasn’t the worst possible thing.

“Well, well, well! If it isn’t the ridiculous, dusty, dirty baker girl, late as always.” Speak of the devil. Suddenly the tangy lemon flavor turned as bitter and foul as the blonde bully. “Y’know, I was really hoping you had dropped out Dupain-Cheng. Only you would miss the entire first week of high school, and have the balls to show your face right in front of me.”

Chloe stood, waiting for her prey, tucked behind the large entrance doors to the school yard. She wore an expensive, brand name dress that began with a warm yellow and slowly turned to a rosy orange as it flowed down her body. Her patent white and gold themed sunglasses hung from a hand at her hip while the other twirled a pale lock of hair. Hovering just behind her, as always, was Sabrina. Her very own henchman.

Marinette bit back the growing retort bubbling inside of her. Fighting with Chloe was almost entirely the opposite of the plan. “Yup, I’m back from the dead. Could I get to class now?”

Her attacker blinked, before scoffing and drawing her face into a scowl. She threw the sunglasses to the girl behind her, pushed a manicured nail against Marinettes chest, and used the other to smack the box of treats from her hands. “No, you can’t go to class, your pathetic ass shouldn’t have even come to school! I’m the boss of this whole loser school, and now that I finally got Adrien out of that despicable home, I won’t allow you to ruin it for me! For us!”

Marinette was about to ask who this ‘Adrien’ person was, when a new voice chimed in, smothered in ridicule. “Wow, Chloe, I knew you were a bitch but this takes the cake even for you. If you’re the ‘boss’ around here, why have I heard at least seven people refer to you as ‘Blondezilla’?” Now at Marinette's side, with an arm slung around her shoulder, the third girl stood nonchalantly with an award winning, shit-eating grin beaming at Chloe. “I’m gonna guess you’ll say they’re fired, utterly fired!”

Chloe’s face began turning a violent shade of red as she glared daggers at the two girls, mouth opening and closing as she fumbled with a response. “Mind your own business, four-eyes.” She spat out at the girl, reaching out a hand to flick the lens of her glasses.

“Ouch, you wound me,” The girl thumped a fist against her chest, as if she’d been hit by an invisible weapon. Then she wagged a finger at the bullies and said, “If anything that just makes me feel even more sorry for Sabrina back there.”

The sweater vested, red headed girl cowering behind Chloe ignored the comment, opting instead to fidget with her own glasses and have a strict staring contest with the floor. Sabrina said nothing as she studied her shoes.

“If you had any idea what’s good for you, you’d shut up, Césaire.” Chloe’s words came out as a hiss through gritted teeth.

“If only, Bourgeois.”

With a final sneer, Chloe turned and walked away, followed by her henchman and the tic-tac of her shoes against the concrete. Leaving behind Marinette, and her mysterious savior.

“Thanks.” She said as she bent down to gather the box and its contents Chloe had spilled across the floor. Thankfully, a few macaroons had been spared, and the gougeres had been placed in their own packaging within the box.

“No problem. You’re, uh— fuck what was it… Mariette? Right? I’ve heard a lot about you in the past week. Everyone here missed you, a lot.” She stuck out a welcoming hand, helping her stand up. “My name's Alya, I’m a new student in your class.” Alya had warm brown skin, and thick, brown, curly hair down to her shoulders. The ends of her hair were dyed a soft orange-red color, and resting on the bridge of her nose were thick black glasses frames.

‘You haven’t heard enough to get my name right, apparently.’ She thought in passing annoyance before clearing her head with a soft shake. “It’s Marinette, nice to meet you Alya.” She shook Alyas hand with a polite smile. “Thanks for standing up for me, but you don’t have to. Chloe just likes making my life miserable, so I’m used to her bullshit by now. It doesn’t bother me anymore.”

“That’s because you let her, duh! It’s stupid.”

“Excuse me?”

Alya flinched back. “Sorry, that was kind of a mean way to say it, but it’s true. Have you ever heard the quote, ‘All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good people do nothing.’?” She didn’t wait for a response as she continued, “Its from the greatest superhero ever, Majestia. It means a lot of things, but I like think the most important are; leaving or ignoring someone in need of help will only fuck everyone over in the end, the only way to take down a bad guy is doing it yourself, and if someone’s being a dick you’re allowed to make fun of them for it.”

Marinette blinked, stunned by what she’d just heard. She was not expecting some kind of lesson on the ‘triumphs of evil’ this early in the morning, or from someone taller than a soda can. ‘Alya and the kwamis would be sure to get along.’ She thought for a second before sighing, “I can understand that, but still. I don’t need a new student getting caught up in my drama.”

“Are you kidding?! Please let me get involved in your drama! I’m well aware I don’t need to, I want to.” Alya slung her arm across Marinette's shoulder again, slithered a hand into the box of treats, and returned victorious with a pomegranate macaroon between her fingers. She took a bite and smiled, “That’s what friends do. Friends, right?”

Marinette froze, the question bumbling around her brain. The light kick to her side from her bag told her Plagg thought she’d be stupid to decline, but the word ‘Yes’ wouldn’t quite come out. “Acquaintances, for now. Let’s see how the rest of today goes.”

Alyas eyes widened with surprise, then she looked at the half eaten sweet she was holding, and back to Marinette. The panic and mild guilt was evident in her expression, eliciting a genuine laugh and smile from Marinette.

“Have as many as you want, don’t worry about it. The baked goods don't cost any kind of friendship.” She said, opening the box lid as an offering. Alya helped herself, plucking another three macaroons from its confines. “I should probably get going to class.”

“You mean we.” Alya added quickly.

“Hm?”

“We should probably get going to class. I’m with Mme. Bustier too.”

“Oh, right.” Marinette yawned, still tired from her extensive learning and practice throughout the past week. She took a nibble of another macaroon, this one, strawberry. “I keep forgetting everyone else started last week. I know it’s not that long ago, but— I don’t know— I feel like an intruder. It’s weird.” She said as they began walking through the quickly clearing school yard.

“I’d feel the same way if blondie treated me like that the moment I stepped foot in the school. Don’t get me wrong, she hasn't been friendly, but she's been nowhere near as mean to me as she was to you today.”

“Yet.”

“Yeah, yet.” Alya waved a hand in the air, like she could shoo away the idea of Chloe. “Anyway, don’t let her get under your skin. This is your school too, same way it’s mine.”

Marinette's eyes stayed glued to her feet as they climbed the stairs and headed for the classroom door. “I’m not worried about Chloe anymore. I have bigger problems under my skin to deal with already. I just want school to be school.”

“You…do know this is the start of high school, right? A.K.A the period of time people make entire movies, shows, and books about?” Alya questioned in a teasing manner before swinging open the door and stepping into the busy atmosphere. “The dramas going to happen anyway, might as well try to enjoy it!”

No one stopped to acknowledge their entrance, no burning stares turned onto Marinette and no one was whispering about why she was only just now starting school. ‘Maybe it’s a bit egotistical, thinking everyone in class would spend all their time thinking about you.’ She thought, taking another bite of her macaroon and timidly following Alya to an open table, towards the front-right part of the room.

Alya took her seat and excitedly patted the space beside her for her new acquaintance. “I was told to save you a spot last week.”

Marinette paused, casting a glance around the room at the bustling students and landing on a table in the second row, on the left side of the room. Where she had sat through all of last year, with Soqueline. Now Chloe and her drone resided in those seats, while Nino and…some new blonde boy took up the table in front of them. Marinette gave Nino a sympathetic frown, though he wasn’t looking anywhere near her. He hated sitting in the front of the class.

“Earth to Marinette!” Alya snapped her fingers mere inches away from Marinette's nose, capturing her lost attention. “You do that a lot, don’t you?”

“Sorry. I try not to, just get lost in thought.” Marinette inspected her new spot, noticing the small addition her table mate had added. A bright pink sticky note that read ‘MLLE. DUPAIN-CHENG’ was stuck onto the back, like she had reserved it ahead of time.

“Fancy, huh?” Alya asked, eyebrows jumping up and down with amusement. It was easy to see she found herself hilarious.

“How much did the reservation cost?”

“You don't want to know.”

Marinette rolled her eyes playfully and took her seat with a smile. “I think it's very fancy, thank you Alya.” She removed the sticky note from the back of the chair, folding it carefully to tuck away for later. As she fiddled with the small paper, her attention wandered around the classroom. 

Juleka and Rose, sitting together like always, although now with a lot less space between one another. Mylene and Ivan were on opposite sides of the room, but it didn’t stop him from stealing quick glances at her. Kim and Alix were arguing about who’d win in an arm wrestle, while Max provided the possible outcomes of said wrestling match. At the back of the classroom, Nathaniel was bent protectively over his sketchbook as he drew. She watched him for a few moments before her gaze went back to the table she used to occupy, and its two newest occupants.

Alya stared at her with a weary look, before tapping her shoulder in quick repetition. “I get that he’s handsome, and a famous model, but you can’t be into him that fast, girl.”

Marinette looked back at her, one eyebrow arched in complete confusion and her mouth hanging open, awaiting an explanation.

“Weren’t you just gawking at Adrien?”

Adrien? Adrien. Adrien! “That’s Chloe's boytoy or whatever, yeah?” She questioned, swiveling her head back to the two boys across from them, trying to catch a glimpse of the blonde one— Adrien’s— face.

For a model, his outfit lacked any kind of style. An open, white button up overtop a cool gray shirt. A boring  teal pair of pants, though they were leaning more towards a turquoise. And to top it off, orange converse that burned into her memory like a red, hot branding iron. She could ignore all that though, because of his face. His resplendent expression. His laugh that made her tune out any other noise. His golden hair that looked like he’d been blessed by King Midas himself.

He was definitely handsome, and he was definitely a model. Adrien Agreste, famous model and teen heart-throb, son of the beloved late actress Emilie Agreste and the globally revered fashion designer Gabriel Agreste— one of Marinette's idols in the world of design—, was a new student in her class. She’d have recognized him faster if he’d been wearing one of the famous designs he’d so often advertise, but that wasn’t exactly conventional school attire.

“She’s dating him?”

“It definitely seems that way from her behavior, but the first day she made a big deal about how she and her ‘Adrikins’ are childhood best friends. They practically grew up together, so they’re family to each other. She said something about having to convince Adrien’s dad to let him attend public school for the first time, called him ‘Uncle Gabe’ or something.” Alya said with a nonchalant shrug. “But that did all come from Chloe, so take it with a grain of salt.”

“What the fuck.” Marinette stated with blunt disbelief, making Alya burst out laughing. “That’s literally Adrien Agreste. I had no clue they were so close— shit, I didn’t even know he was going to the same school as me, until now.” Marinette sat back in shock, mind running through all his fathers designs she’d looked up to over the years. “No wonder she took my seat.”

Alya gave her a quizzical stare, one that said ‘Do you not see the amazing chair you’re currently sitting in?’

“For all of eighth grade, me and my best friend sat where Chloe and Sabrina are right now. I thought they’d taken it just to bother me, but I guess even Chloe takes a break from her evil ways.” She explained “I know it’s kind of ridiculous, but I was honestly looking forward to having that seat again. That’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“Only when you compare that seat to your new fabulous one!” Alya joked, but quickly recoiled when Marinette didn’t laugh in return. “Sorry. That’s not ridiculous, if I’d known I would have reserved that spot instead.”

That one did make Marinette chuckle. “I’ll live, but I appreciate the thought.” She rubbed the iridescent ring with her thumb, eyeing the flower centerpiece. “Anyways, it’s like I said earlier. I have bigger problems than Chloe Bourgeois.”

The bell rang out, and class began, cutting off the conversation. The rest of the day passed along at a sluggish rate, each hour-and-a-half long class slowly boring Marinette to death. Mme. Mendeleiev had rambled on and on about the periodic table without even pausing for air, M. D’Argencourt made the class run laps all period long because Kim wouldn’t stop cracking jokes, and to top it all off, Plagg had eaten all the gougeres by the time lunch eventually came around. So, she sat with Alya, sharing a few pieces of her lunch.

“How do your parents run a bakery, and you don’t have lunch for school?” Alya teased as she ripped open a small bag of salted potato chips, then popped one in her mouth.

“Poor time management skills.” Marinette shrugged, reaching over and snatching a chip for herself. “When we were in second or third grade, Chloe used to steal my lunches.”

“That’s so fucked.”

Marinette let out a small laugh, “Right? Jokes on her though, my mom would make me traditional chinese meals. Imagine eight year old Chloe eating tofu for the first time.”

Alya snorted at the thought, then looked around the room with realization. “Speaking of, where is she? She almost always comes to bother me at lunch.” ---

Public school was almost nothing like he had expected. Even after everything Chloe had told him throughout all the years, nothing would have prepared him. It was… weird being recognized in public. The first day people had flocked around him in crowds, all pleading for pictures and autographs. When class began, he would mess up attendance out of pure confusion, or he’d get lost trying to find a book in the library. Adrien stuck out from the rest of the class like a sore thumb, even though he had joined at the beginning of the school year like everyone else.

Truth be told, he mostly had himself to blame for the latter problem. After a week of his childhood friend endlessly berating his father, Adrien had been allowed to attend school. He had stayed by Chloe’s side each day like she was his security blanket, and when he wasn’t stuck to her, she was undoubtedly stuck to him. Walking beside him in every hallway, sitting beside him in every class they had together, and practically hissing at anyone that approached them.

The other students had been nice enough, asked his name if they hadn’t already known it, and said good morning when they passed by, but they all seemed a bit weary of him. Like he was someone to avoid, to be scared of. Someone you didn’t want to be around. It wasn’t the impression Adrien had been wanting to give.

Despite that, he had made one new friend. In Mme. Bustiers class, a person besides Chloe finally took the seat beside him. Granted, it was because he was assigned to sit there, but he was next to Adrien nonetheless. Nino had been closed off for the first half of that beginning week, but he had slowly come around to the new boy. What started with frustrated grumbles about being moved to the front of the room and untrusting side eyes, slowly turned to sharing music recommendations and watching videos together in the mornings before class began. Adrien wasn’t sure what he’d done to get on Nino's good side, but he was happy to have him as a friend.

Chloe wasn’t as thrilled about sitting behind the two of them, but it wasn’t enough to stir her to action. She still got to be near Adrien, and she had Sabrina right at her side. Not to mention, it was a… refreshing break from her constant presence. Sometimes Adrien felt like her very own real life Mr. Cuddly, the stuffed bear Chloe has clung to since they were toddlers. He preferred when they felt more like cousins, siblings even.

That's what made him wander back to the classroom early, with a handful of minutes for lunch still to spare. Chloe was nowhere to be seen the entire meal, which in Adriens experience, meant only bad things were happening.

He came straight up to the door, then leaned his head carefully against it to listen inside. After a few silent seconds, he slowly opened the door– just an inch– taking the utmost care to remain silent.

Chloe was perched atop the table where Marinette and Alya sat, with Sabrina kneeling on the ground by her feet. “Ready?” she asked the girl accompanying her.

She nodded, to which Chloe fished the gum out of her mouth and into her friends' waiting hands. Sabrina carefully took the chewed wad of gum, obviously hesitant to even touch it, and practically threw it onto the seat. She pressed her thumb against it, then smeared the sticky substance across the surface. Her eyebrows were quivering with nerves as she did so.

“Perfect, Brina! God, this is going to be so funny.” Chloe clapped her hands in quick succession as she praised, voice thick with amusement.

“Chloe? What are you doing to Marinette's seat?” Adrien interrupted, stepping inside the classroom with a concerned expression. The two girls turned to look at him, first both in surprise, then one in guilt and the other is annoyance.

“I'm just commanding a little respect from certain brats. Go back outside, Adrikins, you’re not involved in this.” Chloe rolled her eyes as she disregarded him.

“What? How is this about respect?” Adrien asked, walking closer to the bench. He kneeled beside Sabrina, nudging aside Chloe to reach the tampered chair. “I thought you were above childish pranks, Chlo.” He frowned at her, inspecting the gummy seat with a cautious hand.

“I’m not above anything when it comes to Dupain-Cheng.” She grumbled in response, but made no effort to stop the boy.

“Nino told me about your weird vendetta against her. Is she that girl in all those stories you’ve told me? The one that you say hates you?” Adrien huffed, now prodding at the gum with a tissue covered finger.

Chloe shuffled her feet uneasily in response.

“I thought so. I love you Chloe, but the only brat I see here is you.”

The classroom door swung open behind them, followed by an exasperated gasp. Before Adrien could turn and open his mouth to explain, Alya had pulled him from the floor, first clenched into the neck of his shirt. The rest of their class stood behind her in the doorway, eagerly watching.

“What are you blonde bitches doing now?!” She demanded. Chloe stepped back, shielding behind Sabrina as Adrien was ambushed. Seeing Alyas' furious expression only made the two girls laugh.

“I wasn’t—!” He began, only to get interrupted.

“Oh, really mature you three. Gum in her seat! What’s next, gonna start pulling her hair and stealing her lunch too?” Alya shoved him backwards with a pointed look at Chloe, throwing the boy into Ninos arms, who jumped to his defense.

“Woah, woah! He didn’t do anything, Adrien’s a good dude, alright? Just hear him out.” The taller boy argued, helping to steady his friend with two hands on his shoulders. Adrien shot him a grateful smile.

“I saw it with my own eyes, he was literally sticking it to her chair when we walked—”

“I was trying to remove it!” Adrien stressed, hands raising to pinch and pull at the back of his neck. A nervous habit he’d developed since Maman passed.

“See, he was just trying to help.”

“We didn’t ask for his help.” Alya was inches away from Ninos face, with clenched fists at the ready by her sides.

Marinette stepped behind her, hand tugging gently at her arm in an attempt to alleviate the tension. “It’s fine, Alya. The damage is already done anyways, just leave it.” She whispered into her ear, eyes glued to the two boys. Adrien stared back at her, his eyes a mixture of cautious hope and guilt-racked pity. Even if he was telling the truth, and removing the gum, part of him still felt responsible for it.

Alya gave her a unsure side eye, but ultimately heaved a frustrated sigh. “Fine, fine. Just get out of our way.” She huffed, waving away the two boys with a scornful glare. Nino gave her a weary look before leading Adrien away to their respective bench.

The growing crowd of students dispersed, settling into their own seats with nosy whispers as the passing period transitioned to an end. Marinette reached down to inspect her side of the bench, now ruined with seemingly invulnerable gum, and frowned as she quickly gathered tissues to layer over top of it.

“I’ll clean it off, I swear.” Alya said, reading her expression. She reached out a hand to rest on Marinette's shoulder in a friendly gesture, something that said ‘I’m sorry, that sucked.’ or ‘Don’t worry, it’s okay.’, neither of which Marinette needed to hear.

“Don't worry about it.” She sighed, taking her seat with great care to avoid the gum. "Thanks for standing up for me again, Alya." Marinette turned to look at the girl as she took her seat beside her, "You're a good friend."

Alyas mouth formed a small 'o' in surprise, then spread into a big smile. She hooked an arm around her new friends hip, and pulled her into a tight bear-hug. "Of course, girl!" ---

Normally, rain wouldn’t deter her from the quick minute long jog across the street to her home. But this was a steady downpour, bringing fat drops that bounced off your head like marbles. Dirty water pooled at the curbside and threatened to flood the streets. A few seconds out under the clouds would waterlog her, undoubtedly.

Accompanying the constant drumming of the rain was the frequent crack and boom of thunder in the distance, paired with a bright flash of lightning. Each time another light struck, it would reflect from the sky onto the wet pavement, followed by the familiar thundering clap ringing out soon after.

It was the kind of storm Marinette would love, were she nestled away safely in her room, watching through a closed window. Now, all she could think of was that she hadn’t asked if any of the kwamis were scared of loud storms. Dogs will sometimes freak out from thunder, could Barkk be cowering under her bed? Was Daizzi rolling in mud puddles outside, forgetful of the rules Marinette had put in place?

Suffice to say, some separation anxiety had blossomed in her weeks with the kwamis.

“Marinette?”

She jumped in surprise, somehow managing to suppress an involuntary squeak. Adrien stood behind her, inquisitive expression burning holes through Marinette's skin.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Adrien.” He stuck out a hand in greeting, eyes never wavering from her face.

She squirmed under his direct gaze. “I know you're Adrien. Do you need something?” She asked quietly, avoiding meeting his eyes with her own. Briefly, she considered whether or not ruining her sweater in the rain was worth the escape after all.

“Oh, no, no, I— Well, I just— I just wanted to say sorry.” He stumbled over his words, clearly struggling with what to say. When it became clear she wasn't going to shake his hand, it anxiously found its way back to his neck. “For the gum, and not explaining properly, and… Chloe. I know she’s been horrible to you.”

Marinette watched in silent awe, not daring to speak. Bullies didn’t often apologize in her experience.

“For what it’s worth, I really was trying to remove it. Chloe isn’t perfect, believe me, I know that better than a lot of people— Well, probably not you— and…and she can be childish and petty, but I can't throw her under the bus. I know she can be good too,” Adrien rambled, free hand motioning in the space between them. “Before last week, I had never been to school before. Because I’ve known her since we were little kids, Chloe had been my only friend. She was the one that was able to convince my father to let me go to school.”

The rain continued in the background. What had been a persistent pounding of water against earth was turned into white noise around him.

“The only new friend I’ve made is Nino, and I don’t even know how I managed that.” He chuckled, pulling aside his bag and taking an umbrella from it. “It’s all sorta new to me, you know? I’m still trying to figure it out.” he opened the umbrella and peeked out to the street. “Is your ride getting here soon?”

“I-I’m walk... doing walk—The walking thing — Me t-that. No car.” The word vomit poured forth without control, leaving Marinette in a daze. What had she just said? Doing the walking thing?

Somehow, it didn’t affect Adrien. He looked up at the still darkening clouds with a frown, “You’re going to get drenched if you’re walking.” They stood in silence for a few moments, the only sound between them being the timely rumble of thunder. Then, a sleek, dark gray limo pulled to the school's curb, fitting neatly over the intimidating puddle. Adrien pursed his lips in thought, then stuck out his hand, with the umbrella in his grip. “I think you need this more than me.”

Marinette blinked in confusion, eyes bouncing between the outstretched hand and its owner's face. “No, I’m-I… it’s just a-a cute— quick walk, really, I—”

“Consider it an offering of friendship!” He pressed the handle to her palm before she could refuse anymore than she already had, then turned, raised his bag over his head, and ran out into the storm. It was like he passed through a waterfall, the way the rain soaked him through in a few seconds. Halfway to the fancy car, he looked back over his shoulder, rain water dripping from his hair despite the desperate cover he’d attempted. “It was nice to meet you, Marinette!” He shouted over the hissing of the rain.

Her eyes wide, still in shock, Marinette opened her mouth to yell back, maybe something like ‘Thanks, Adrien! I forgive you!’ or ‘Do I need to give this back?’, when the umbrella folded inward on her. A loud burst of laughter followed, and when she raised the plastic covering from her eyes, Adrien was standing at the open car door with a delighted smile, taking his time in the downpour. He raised a hand, waved goodbye, then climbed in the limo to the tune of his disgruntled chauffeurs complaints.

“Hello, Adrien, how was your day? Who is that girl there?” Nathalie asked politely from the front seat, eyes fixed on him through the rear view mirror. His bodyguard grumbled and frowned, grumpy about the soggy teenager sitting in his pristine backseat, but pulled the car back out into the road and back to the Agreste mansion.

“My day was incredible, Nathalie. That’s Marinette, a new friend of mine.” He said, eyes filled with joy.

“That’s wonderful, Adrien. I’m happy to hear you’re doing well in all aspects of school.” She praised, then turned her attention back to the tablet in her hands. ---

Marinette waved a shaky goodbye, which continued long after the limo pulled away and out of sight. With a long— and exaggeratedly loud— stretch, Plagg flew from her bag to float by her side. “First day back and you’ve already found yourself a boyfriend! Good job picking a rich one, it’s exactly what I woulda done.” He purred with an affectionate tease.

“No, no, no. No way. He’s—He’s just a friend, and that’s it, and that’s all he is! I do not have a crush on him. I don’t.” Marinette's brain instantly went into panic mode, alarms ringing off in her head at the idea. She had no time for romances, she barely had time for friendships.

Plagg flicked his tail from side to side, saying nothing, but staring her down with an eyebrow that said ‘Really?’

“I don’t!” She insisted, umbrella waving wildly as she motioned with her entire body. Marinette let out a long, frustrated groan, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she let it out, she turned back to Plagg, face serious and focused. “The miraculous has to come first. Above everything else, everything, I need to be the guardian and the black cat.”

She walked forward without waiting for an answer, umbrella partially shielding her and her kwami from the rain as she made for the bakery across the street. The stoic expression plastered on her face was a good try, but the way her eyes kept darting back to the street the gray limo had sped away on was betraying her thoughts.

“I ever tell you how brave you are, Kid?”

“You can tell me once I’ve beaten my first akuma.”

The bakery door swung open with the sing-songy ‘Ting!’ of its bell, announcing a visitor. With a storm like that, it was no wonder the bakery was empty of any costumers, and Marinette quickly made her way up to her home. Inside the living room, her parents were cuddled on the couch, both asleep in front of a long ended movie.

“Now I see where you get it from. What a bunch of lovebirds.” Plagg gagged quietly from beside his holder.

She shot him an exhausted glare, silencing anymore playful attempts on his behalf. Marinette gently laid a blanket across her parents, turned off the tv, and climbed the stairs to her room.

Inside was a mess. Craft supplies and decorations were scattered across the floor, the cat pillow she kept in her bed was propped at the computer like a person, and the kwamis were wreaking utter havoc. Some swinging from light fixtures and railings, others painting and drawing on the pale pink walls, and she thought she saw some quickly hide a game of cards.

Not as bad as she had imagined.

Tikki flew to her guardian with urgency, face fraught with worry. “Oh, Marinette, I’m so, so sorry! We tried to keep them all in line but—”

“Master Fu would contain us all within the miracle box for this very reason! Some kwamis are not to be trusted on their lonesome!” Longg interjected, his usually calm face pulled down into a disappointed frown.

“We will clean it all, don’t worry, young Marinette.” Sass reassured her with a solemn expression.

Marinette nodded, observing the state of her room. It would take a few hours, if not an entire day, to bring back to its original state. “Everyone’s inside, all safe, no worries?”

The kwamis she had left in charge looked between each other before the bug spoke up, “Well, yes, but—”

“Then it’s okay. Just—just clean it all up, and it’s okay. You guys did a good job being in charge.” Marinette complimented with a smile, then walked across the room to her desk, and to the bonsai set atop it, just beside her sewing machine. She pulled it forward, studying it as it sat in front of her. The Miracle Tree had sprouted a few new buds of growth. “Are you ready, Tikki?”

“Do you think it’s time?” Tikki chirped, flying into place above the plant. She must be so impatient, so antsy without her old guardian and no new holder, yet she hadn’t made a single complaint. Marinette thought of how she would manage being guardian without the little bugs support in her ear. It was going to be hard without her.

“Yeah, I do.” She decided, fingernails digging into her palms. It wasn’t an easy decision to make. Tikki flew effortlessly through the yin-yang symbol marked in the tree stump, phasing through the wood with a hazy pink light. She reappeared moments later, small jewelry case in hand. Marinette took it slowly, hesitant to remove the earrings from the safety of the tree, scared to let them out into the world where she couldn’t hide them away. 

Still, that was one job she couldn’t do herself. “I need a ladybug holder, and fast.”

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR TWO

in which eddie munson and you absolutely hate each other's guts. what happens when your friends make a bet that you can't spend more than twenty four hours consecutively together?

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni, eddie is especially mean in this one (be warned), mentions of blood (in metaphors, not literal)

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader

→ wc: 4k+

→ a/n: i just wanted to take a quick moment to say thank you for all the love on the first chapter of this!! i appreciate it beyond words <3

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

2:00 ─ㅇ───────────────── 24:00

HOUR TWO - 5:00 PM

It’s a miracle. Eddie is surprisingly quiet for the first hour after your small kitchen dispute. 

He resides reading a book on one end of his couch as you sit awkwardly on the other end, fiddling with your hands before finally caving and deciding to scroll mindlessly on your phone. You exhaust every social media app you have downloaded – Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr – before finally turning to Tik Tok. Adjusting your volume doesn’t even cross your mind. 

That’s all it takes to finally set Eddie off. 

It starts small; he shifts around after the first video, a prolonged sigh after the second video, a quick side-eye after the third video. Finally, after the fourth video and no sign of you turning down the volume, he huffs and snaps his book shut. 

“Do you have to watch that shit so loudly?” 

His tone is laden with utter annoyance. You’re caught off guard initially, having blatantly ignored his previous signs of being irritated by the noise, and your head whips up in his direction with wide eyes. The shocked look on your face quickly contorts when you catch his stare, full of hatred and vexation. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you scoff, “Let me just die of boredom I guess.” 

“I didn’t say you had to do that,” he narrows his gaze and matches your attitude with ease, “Just… solve the boredom quietly. Like I did.” 

“You were quiet because you had a book. I don’t have a book.” 

He waves an exasperated hand towards the coffee table where you catch sight of a few magazines, “Please, take your pick.”

You lock your phone reluctantly, tucking it beneath your thigh as you lean forward to glance over your options. There’s one about cars, obvious by the shiny vehicle that sits pretty on the cover, and a few hidden beneath it. You reach out and shift the laminated papers about and catch sight of a Rolling Stone cover. 

That one piques your interest, but stubborn as ever, you won’t admit it. 

“Those are the most boring fucking magazines I’ve ever seen. Who the hell likes to read about cars?” you deadpan, holding the car magazine up with a scowl. 

“Me.” 

“Predictable. What’s next, a Playboy?” 

“You’re hilarious,” he says without a hint of amusement, “Truly a comedian. Can’t you just see the tears streaming out of my eyes from how hard I’m laughing? Incredible.” 

You decide to not entertain him any further. Your hand grabs the Rolling Stone magazine, ignoring his burning gaze before you settle back into the couch. 

If he wanted to be a dick, that was fine. You were used to it by now; you’d spent the last year growing accustomed to his cold shoulders and his bitter moods around you. At this point, you expected nothing less from him. Spending a little extra time together didn’t magically change it – at both your cores, you harbored a disdain like no other. You fundamentally hated Eddie, and Eddie fundamentally hated you. The confined space, forced proximity, ticking doomsday clock, and promise of cash did nothing to put any notches in those feelings. 

“Interesting choice,” he murmurs under his breath, beginning to relax back into the cushions as well. 

“What? Is it a crime for me to like-” you pause, flipping the magazine shut to check the slick cover for what the specific issue was even about, “-The Ramones?” 

So maybe saying you liked The Ramones was an overstatement. But at this point, you’re only picking a fight for the sake of picking a fight. Because you don’t know how else to communicate with Eddie aside from with a sharp tongue and turbulent sense of sarcasm. Because when it came to the two of you, there was no such thing as small talk. 

Everything was always big. Loud. Screaming matches, bold assumptions, critical insults. 

“Pump the bitch breaks,” his eyebrows furrow, as they always do when he glances your way, “I was trying to be civil.” 

“I didn’t think civil was in your vocabulary when it came to me.” 

He exhales deeply, letting his head fall back in contempt for a moment before he lifts it and looks at you, “Is this really how you want it to be?” 

You don’t reply, and he takes it as his cue to continue. 

“Do you really want to keep up the miserable act the entire twenty four hours? Won’t it get exhausting acting like a spoiled brat for that long?”

“I’m not acting like a spoiled brat,” you snap, the magazine now discarded and draped across your knee, open to a random spread, “As far as I’m concerned, it’s not an act. Make no mistake, Munson, I am only doing this for the cash.” 

His book lays to gather dust on the coffee table as he leans his elbows onto his knees, twisting his body ever so slightly to face you more fully, “Really? There’s gotta be easier ways to make cash. I’m sure if you asked Stevie boy real nicely, he would have let you put that mouth to use for a quick buc-”

You cut him off, because you know how this sentence ends, and it’s too far. He’s crossed a line. You had expected it, should have seen it coming sooner, but it’s crossing a line all the same. 

“Stop,” you firmly instruct, holding up a finger, “Not that it’s any of your miserable business, but me and Steve are not like that. At all. So you can fuck right off with that comment,” you only pause briefly, and you’re glad when he doesn’t interrupt you, “And, may I remind you, you’re also getting payment out of this. I could say the same thing to you, dickwad.” 

It had been a curious itch beneath your skin – you knew why you needed the extra cash so badly, but you had no idea why Eddie did. Beneath all the hate, all the irritation, the question had come to mind briefly. But it had been pushed down by disinterest in all things regarding the man before you. At the end of the day, you didn’t care what motivated him. You didn’t care about what he did for work, you didn’t care about what magazines he read, and you definitely didn’t care to know if the five hundred was as necessary for him as it was for you. 

This was a means to an end – nothing more, nothing less. 

“Dickwad?” His nose crinkles as he parrots your words back to you, “Jesus, did you ever learn any new insults past middle school?” 

You’re ignoring him once more, picking the magazine up off of your knee and burying your nose in an article about the greatest punk albums of all time rather than letting yourself be dragged into further conversation with him, trying to send the message that this discussion was over. 

The message isn’t received. It flies right over his head. 

“Pardon me for the assumption,” you can see him hold his hands up in mock surrender in your peripherals, “You and Harrington just seem close.” 

You should just keep ignoring him. You should actually read the words inches from your face. You shouldn’t say another word; your gut is screaming at you to not say another word.

But you ignore your gut, just as he’d ignore your disinterest in talking to him. 

“What happened to being quiet? I think I liked it better when you weren’t speaking to me,” you try to say casually, keeping an air of indifference. You should have known better. As your mother always said, once you start feeding a stray, they continue to come back. 

“Sounds like it’s a sore spot. Are you and Harrington that close?” 

“Not in that way,” you grit out behind the pages, “We’re close, but not like that.” 

Your answer doesn’t satisfy him like you’d hoped, “Oh, it is so a sore spot.” 

When you finally drop the magazine to properly look at him again, it only fans the anger. He looks smug as he crosses his ankle atop his knee, leaning back and looking you over as if he can read you like cellophane. 

“It’s not,” you stress, “Seriously. Drop it.” 

In all truthfulness, it wasn’t a sore spot – not when it came to Steve. You’d always been strictly platonic, fitting fairly effortlessly into his and Robin’s friendship. 

“You definitely want to fuck Steve.” 

“You know what I actually want right now?”

“Please, enlighten me.”

“To knock your teeth in.” 

The magazine is tossed back onto the table, nearly sliding off the edge from the force behind your throw. He’s relishing the way you’re continuing to get more upset, the way he’s still inching beneath your skin in a grating motion. To him, this is all just a joke. 

“I’d love to see you try, sweetheart,” he mocks, smiling with his teeth as if to taunt you. 

“Why did you even agree to this?” you finally turn your body towards his and mirror his position, “Is it fun to you? Is that what it is?” 

The smile widens, “You know what? Yeah. It is fun to piss you off.” 

“Yeah?” you imitate him, putting on a forced smile in an attempt to look as ridiculous as he did right now. You fold your hands and prop your elbows onto your knees, continuing to mock mercilessly as you balance your chin atop them and bat your lashes dramatically, “Please, tell me more. Tell me all about how fun it is.” 

In an instant, you drop the smile and begin to return to your previous position. It was rhetorical – you don’t expect a response, and yet he offers one nonetheless. 

“Well,” he begins, “First of all, the way you go red in the face is fucking hilarious. Seriously, it’s just like the cartoons. Absolutely ridiculous. I think by the end of this, I’ll get to see steam come out of your ears,” you’re already reaching for your phone, tuning him out, as he continues on, “And then it’s the way you’re just so damn easy. I mean, come on. Sometimes, all I have to do is breathe, and it sends you on a tirade. You just make it too simple, sweetheart.” 

Sweetheart. The nickname is prickly and as uncomfortable as ever, lodging into your ears against your better judgment. It creeps across your brain, travels down your spine, numbs your fingertips. You hate the shockwaves it’s capable of sending down your nerves. 

He’s right, at the end of the day. These days, you hardly put up a fight in expressing all your negative emotions towards him. If necessary, you could pinpoint a time where he really did simply breathe and you had proceeded to curse him out for it. Sometimes, just the sight of him can sour your entire mood. He’s an ever-present, persistent, irritating rain-cloud that looms on the edges of your life by circumstance. You can’t get rid of him. You can’t get rid of your hatred for him; you’ve always had a preference for sunny weather. 

“Careful,” you hum, not looking his way as you glance down at the time that glows from your lock screen: 5:46 PM. “It almost sounds like you enjoy my presence, Munson.” 

Indifference. You needed to practice indifference to survive the next twenty three hours. 

“Oh, that couldn’t be farther from the truth,” he says, “You are the worst part of my days. You’re like bad leftovers – everytime I see you, the bile immediately rises in my throat. Whenever Steve mentions you’ll be somewhere, I cancel plans. Whenever you show up without warning, I start counting down the minutes till I can get away from you.” 

The indifference begins to break. You finally look at him, keeping a steady expression. 

“You could go missing, you could vanish off the face of this earth, and I wouldn't blink an eye. As a matter of fact, I’d probably celebrate. Why my friends are so enamored with you, I will never understand.” 

It hurts. It might be Eddie, and you might be used to his spiteful words he uses as weapons against you, but it still hurts. The sting resembles a slap as you process each of his words. Each deliberate syllable – the specific referencing to the group as his friends and not your friends, the unblinking glare of his dark eyes, the insinuation that your death could bring him joy – drives deeper into your chest. It’s a human reaction; it doesn’t matter if the boy before you is the enemy, it still bruises to hear anyone say such things about you. The human need to be accepted, to be liked, to at least be tolerated, still twists in your gut. 

And he only presses forth. He doesn’t catch the pain spreading in your limbs because you don’t let the hurt raging in your chest spread across your face. You don’t let him see you bleed. 

“I’d attend your funeral with a party hat and sparklers. Confetti, even. The whole nine yards along with my finest bottle of champagne,” he hammers the final nail into a coffin, one that you’re not sure of whom it belongs to. Maybe it’s yours, sealing you six feet under with your cursed emotions. Maybe it’s his, locking him into the tomb to dwell in his ability to always take things too far. 

You won’t let him see you bleed.

You stand abruptly, making him flinch in the slightest. You keep your face turned from him as you take your phone and storm off into the hallway wordlessly. 

“Hey! Where are you going?” he calls after you. 

But he’s not following you. No footsteps echo your own as you turn into the only other doorway aside from the bathroom. 

He has a clear line of sight of you from the couch, and he can see you disappear into his room. 

The door slams shut behind you with a riveting bang. Your nimble fingertips fumble with twisting the lock into place, chest heaving as you finally let your eyes burn. 

He can’t see you. You finally bleed. 

The tears are feverish as they roll down your cheeks one by one, taking slow steps backward as you squeeze them shut and will them away. There are no accompanying whimpers, or sobs, or hiccups. It’s just you, the salty streams, and the now overwhelming scent of him.

He’s only managed to make you cry, make you bleed this way, once before. The night of Steve’s party, the night you had attempted to make him bleed in retaliation. You’d harbored the need to cut him open desperately that night, to crack open his chest and assure yourself he could bleed the same scarlet as you, that there was still a weathered heart behind his calloused ribs that could beat the same as yours. 

But you never did. At the end of that night, you had been the only one left bloodied and bandaged, aside from Steve’s glass as collateral damage. He remained unscathed.

The door knob shakes suddenly, and your eyes flash back open. Another shake, and you hear him huffing. 

“Seriously? Did you just lock me out of my own room?” His voice comes from the other side of the door. 

The bleeding stops. The wound seals. Even if he can’t see you through the door, just to know that his presence resides on the other side of it is enough to put an end to your trembling breaths. 

“Fuck off,” you call out hoarsely. 

“Let me in. It’s my room.” 

“No.”

He sighs, and a thump sounds that you assume is his forehead falling against the wood in defeat, “Why do you insist on acting like a child?” 

“You’re the one with a collection of action figures!” you fight back with your weakest insult of the night. He twists the doorknob without fruition a few more times, a couple sharp knocks sound as you turn to get a better look at the room you’d run into without observation. 

It’s nothing extravagant, which makes sense. He has an entire apartment to spill his wretched personality across, which means there’s no need to condense it into the decor of his bedroom. He doesn’t have to express himself in a limited space as you do with your dorm. There’s a few posters of various bands hung crookedly on the wall, a dresser with a few of the drawers half open with assortments of clothes peeking out before they overflow onto the carpeted flooring, and a bed left unmade. His jersey sheets are plaid, worn and clearly well-loved. Despite the expected mess trailing about the rest of the floor, the space beside the bed is left cleared, and you decide to settle yourself down onto the patch. 

Your phone buzzes in your tight fist as your back settles up against the side of the bed. 

“Unlock the door,” his voice persists impatiently again. 

“Go to Hell.”

“I’m already there. Stuck with you.” 

Maybe the wound isn’t quite sealed, because the words fall like salt into your chest. 

“Why my friends are so enamored with you, I will never understand.” 

There’s more to say, but the chiming of a phone cuts off your thoughts. You glance down to your cell phone – not yours. 

The ringing is more muted, behind the door. With Eddie.

It’s Eddie’s phone. 

You’re about to call out a snarky remark about him getting that, but the ringing cuts off before you have the chance. It’s clear he’s walked away from the door as the echoes of his voice fades, the conversation inaudible to you through the walls. 

Your fingers dig into the carpet beside your thighs as you pull at individual strands that stick out, finally discarding your phone on the opposite side. Eventually, your touch trails closer to the edge of the bed, plucking, plucking, plucking until you collide with laminated paper sticking out from beneath the bed. 

What’s this? 

Just as you’re about to pull what you assume is a magazine from beneath the bed, your phone begins to buzz violently, this time the ringtone being your own. 

The screen lights up with Steve’s contact photo. It can’t be good.

“Hello?” you answer once you pick the phone up after a few moments of pause. 

“You can’t lock him out of his own room.”

“Oh, hey, Steve. I’m great, thanks for asking. Really living the drea-”

“You can’t lock him out of his own room,” Steve repeats with more emphasis, disregarding your sarcastic tone completely. 

You stare across the room at an acoustic guitar resting on a stand. This machine slays dragons, it reads in bold, white lettering. 

“So you were the one who called him,” you mumble. 

Steve sighs over the line, “No. Nance called him, because you haven’t sent the proof to the chat yet. We were trying to give you guys a grace period, but-”

“But you assumed we’d already murdered each other,” you finish his sentence. 

“Can you blame us? What did he even say to make you board yourself up in his room?” 

You scoff softly, “He didn’t tell Nancy?” 

The moment Steve mentioned Nancy was the one calling Eddie, you’d simply assumed he’d filled her in. 

Before you’d weaseled your way into the friend group, there had been clear, strong bonds already set in place: Robin & Steve, Jonathan & Argyle, and Nancy & Eddie. Three sets of best friends who all wove together to form their large friend group with ease.

You were the odd man out. They never treated you as such, except for Eddie, but it was an insecurity that could eat you alive if you ever gave it the time of day. And maybe that was why Eddie’s earlier words had cut so deeply. He was voicing a fear you always tried to bury deep down. 

“No,” Steve says as if it were obvious, “He just started going off about how you had locked him out of his room amongst…. Um, amongst other things.” 

Other things. You could guess what those other things had been; no doubt, he’d spent his time on the phone bitching about you. He’d probably called you every crude name in his rolodex of hatefulness. 

“Right,” you drawl, eyes flickering around the room to seek out another distraction to mindlessly stare at. Suddenly, you remember the magazine you had discovered just as Steve called, “Well, nothing surprising. The usual, really. Just how he hates my guts, he finds me annoying, he wouldn’t care if I died-” 

“-What?” 

You ignore Steve’s gasp of disbelief and carry on, “-All the classic insults you would say to your arch nemesis.” 

Steve says your name softly, still carrying an air of shock, “He didn’t mean that. I- Listen, he’s an asshole sometimes, but I guarantee he would care-”

“Who cares?” you interrupt, “I don’t blame him. It’s fine. He doesn’t have to care if I meet my untimely demise. I kind of figured he was going to murder me anyways, remember?”

“Yeah, but that was… that was joking around, he…” Steve trails off, because you both know he’s full of shit. 

There was no joking around between you and Eddie. A painful truth, considering when you first joined the friend group, you had such high hopes of getting along with him. 

“It’s whatever. Do you still need me to send proof?” you ask, fingers now playing with the crumpled edges of the magazine. Even half-hidden, you could see there were pages that had been dog-eared. 

You almost don’t hear Steve as he tells you that it’s fine, that now they know the two of you are definitely together. It’s already nearly time for the next check in anyways. 

“Alright, in that case…” your tongue peaks out as you begin to tug the magazine out of hiding. The moment the magazine's title comes into sight, you gasp, frozen as the phone nearly slips out of your hand.

Fucking jackpot.

“You good?” Steve asks. 

Playboy. A goddamn Playboy magazine. 

“Never better,” you rush out, eager to hang up so you can utilize this ammunition against Eddie, “Talk later, Steve-O.” 

You don’t give him a chance to echo a goodbye before you hang up, tossing your phone off to the side with a muted thump. Your focus is entirely on the magazine before you, crinkling as you hold it in your hands and bite back laughter. 

Against your better judgment, you open the cover, mouth falling open as you flip through page after page of nude women and cigarette ads. Some pages stick together, and you don’t dare to peel them apart, cringing at the thought of just why they’re sticky. You come to the first page that had been dog-earred, and your jaw clicks as your mouth falls agape. 

Fucking pervert. He’s a goddamn pervert. 

A well-timed knock sounds at the door once more, Eddie’s knuckles sharp in their three strikes, “Can you let me in now?” 

It’s the closest to a please you’re going to get. 

“Sorry, busy!” you call out in response, still staring at the spread.

The nude woman eerily resembles you. Same hair, same skin tone, similar noses. The Universe has dropped the most loving of gifts in your laps in the form of this magazine, something you know you can use to get under Eddie’s skin as severely as he had done to you. 

“Busy?” he protests, knocking on the door again before you hear the shaking of the doorknob again, “What the fuck are you doing in there? I told you, don’t touch my shit.”

You bite your lip, smile curling the corners of your mouth as you finally stand from the floor, knees cracking as you keep the magazine open to the photo. Eddie has gone scarily quiet, and you can’t even make out his breathing. His shadow has stilled completely as it peaks in from under the doorway. 

He’s never living this down. 

You’re still grinning with ill-intent as you shout, “Wow. Who knew I was right about the Playboy?”

Those words are all it takes for the frantic pounding on the door to begin.

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @amira0303 @blushingquincy @imtryingahh @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @liv0679 @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @eddiemunxson @ohmeg @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @whosbettysstuff

(if your name is crossed out like so, it means i am unable to tag you)

taglist is now closed. &lt;3

[starlingflight]

Technically, it’s past midnight where I am so I’m indulging myself and posting chapters 1 & 2…

If you like cosy autumn vibes, oblivious idiots in love, and magic gone awry then you can find the first 2 chapters of Bewitched on AO3:

When Luna suggests, after Ginny suffers through the latest in a long line of comically bad dates, that the solution to all of her problems lies in brewing a love potion, she thinks it's all a big joke.

Obviously, magic isn't real. Luna's potion recipe is nothing more than a novelty, sold to tourists enamoured with the legends surrounding their historical hometown of Godric's Hollow.

Of course, Ginny really should've learned by now that her plans have a tendency to go awry. So it really shouldn't come as that much of a surprise to her when, the very next day, half the town seems to find her utterly...bewitching

The only person who appears to be immune to the enchantment she's accidentally cast, is the one person who she wishes saw her as something more than his best friend's little sister; typically, even the miracle of actual magic can't capture Harry Potter's interest, and now he's the only person who can help her fix this latest mess she's created...

[lexirosewrites]

Happy Slick Sunday!

Out of curiosity, what is your opinion on reading or writing Steddie omegaverse that include a chapter with childbirth?

I think I remember you have 2 fics that were written well that contains childbirth, but I’ve noticed it’s the only ones I’ve seen. Which has me a bit curious if whether or not they are your cup of tea?

Hope this did not come out super weird 😅

i actually have three fics with explicit childbirth scenes [“You And Me Makes Three,” “Crown On My Head (Knife in My Back),” and “Screaming Your Name In The Dark”] and i only know that because they’re incredibly taxing to write and every time i write one, i say i’m never gonna do it again!!😭

i think it’s an interesting thing to read, but as with all medical things written by non-medical people, i have a hard time reading them in other people’s stories because i have to suspend my disbelief. i don’t mean to discourage anyone, but it’s definitely something that should have some research done before writing.

as far as writing them goes, as i mentioned previously, they’re a lot of work! i’ve been highly involved in two childbirths as well as doing many clinical hours in labor/delivery/surgical to know what the hell to write. but there’s this magical balance of plot and disgust that you have to carefully curate there. i don’t want to horrify everyone with the miracle of life! i want it to be a sweet thing and a bonding moment between the parents! but it’s messy and painful and that’s hard to make convincing!

[rentenwins]

silly little excuses (newneighbour!leehan x reader)

ch 1 • ch 2 • ch 3 • ch 4

synopsis: the boys catch onto what's happening. with a ittle jab and detective skills, and nothing that the ever-so-helpful taesan would do anything about it...

content: banter banter and banter!!, the bnd members <3, mild cursing, a lot of dialogue tbh, descriptions of food eating, taesan is a schemer ong, taesan and sungho are a cheeky duo, a very clueless jaehyun, woonhak n riwoo mention!!

a/n: this one is goofy... calm before the storm trust me on this one pls. if you would like to be part of my taglist to get notifs on a new chapter, please send an ask in my inbox <3 my updates are not the most consistent apologies :( but thank you for sticking around nonetheless!

wc: 1448

taglist: @haechology @jenuinne @saintriots @badaspookie @yveol @yunextdoor @lailols @rawrbamgyu @amarecerasus @pandorahearts19 @luvvhaerin

chapter 3: i got a plan

“Bro, I’m being so serious.”

“Proof or it didn’t happen.”

“I LITERALLY CANNOT SO JUST TRUST ME ON THIS ONE.”

Jaehyun seethes at Sungho across from him. The boys were at their usual outdoor cafe table, just outside the university. It was a miracle that they would get the same table almost every week.

“Woah, woah slow down. What’s going on?” Taesan suddenly appears and nudges Sungho to make room for himself at the table.

“Sungho’s not believing a word I say—“

“Believe it or not, it’s quite easy to.” Taesan replies nonchalant before Jaehyun gets a chance to defend himself.

“Oh my god, Taesan I will kick your ass.” Jaehyun groans while Sungho almost chokes on his drink and Taesan smirks.

Jaehyun was observant, but he was amazingly dense too. He was intelligent, but a bit too much speculation causes an inability to recognise the obvious in front of him. This was one of those cases.

After you had left Leehan’s place that evening, Jaehyun went over to Leehan’s to drop off dinner from Sungho since he hadn't had the time (or the budget really) for his grocery shopping just yet. So Jaehyun, the loving friend he was, kept the boy company for the evening while he was at it.

Sungho turns to Taesan, “Jaehyun said he found one of y/n’s containers in Leehan’s kitchen. So now he’s a little curious as to how it magically made its way there.” Jaehyun had oftentimes teased you for your mismatching containers, and the one he saw in Leehan’s apartment was definitely yours. Who else would’ve owned a container with a Pororo lid?

Taesan scoffs, “Y/n probably made cookies like she did last time for us. Remember that?” Sungho squints at Taesan before he remembers, “OH! THOSE! That makes a lot more sense.”

Jaehyun waves his arms dramatically in front of Sungho and Taesan. “Hello? What am I missing? Am I suddenly chopped liver to you all?”

“You know? Y/n’s cookies? The ones they make every now and then?” Sungho says, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Jaehyun looks like he’s been smacked across the face. “Why do I not know of this? What cookies are you two on about?”

Taesan rolls his eyes. “It’s y/n’s thing. They probably made them for Leehan since he just moved in and whatnot. Nothing too out of the blue.” Taesan nonchalantly says as he eats a cracker from his bag.

Just as Jaehyun was about to protest about his apparent lack of knowledge, a silent ‘yo’ came from beside him as the figure makes himself comfy in the chair beside Jaehyun.

“Speak of the devil…” murmurs Jaehyun as he leans back in his chair, not loud enough for Leehan to hear but enough for Sungho to almost choke on his drink again. Leehan feels the stares on him as he opens his little blue container of… cookies? Dipped with chocolate?

You loved making cookies for your friends, and Taesan knew it was a way for you to blow off steam. One time last semester, during submission week, you were so stressed that you stress-baked three batches of chocolate cookies and gave a whole load of it to Taesan and Sungho. Taesan had so much he had to give some to his other neighbours, Woonhak and Riwoo, just so they'd still be enjoyed fresh.

And yet, with all the baking you've done, Taesan has never seen chocolate dipped cookies since the day Woonhak started senior high school. It wasn't long ago, but you had sworn that they were 'too messy' and you were 'never going to do it again unless it was as special' as that day.

“Aha!” Jaehyun leaps from his seat, other tables turn to look at Jaehyun’s unwarranted reaction as Leehan almost drops the cookie he had just bit into. Leehan’s bewilderment was understated: he stared at Jaehyun, then at Taesan and Sungho looking amused at his container of cookies. Sungho elbows Taesan and he slaps him back.

“Is there something on my face?” Leehan murmurs, and when no one gave him an answer he took a bite of the cookie. He looks at Jaehyun, who finally sat back in his seat after his mini freakout. Sungho swears he could see stars form in Leehan's eyes as he chewed the sweet treat.

“So y/n’s baking isn’t bad huh?” Sungho breaks the silence, Taesan barely suppresses a smirk next to him.

“Yeah!” Leehan replies enthusiastically, not quite looking up at Sungho. There was a smile that reached his eyes as he spoke, “these really remind me of these butter cookies I used to have back in Busa— wait, y/n?”

This time, Taesan actually laughs. Jaehyun looks on, confused. Leehan turns red, “Hold on... how'd you know it was from y/n?”

If he was an outsider, Sungho would think this mini interrogation was too much. But alas, what’s a little friendship without a little jabbing here and there?

Sungho shrugs and sits back in his chair, “Eh, just a little hunch.” Taesan lightly smacks Sungho's arm.

Frankly, Leehan was stunned and didn’t know what to say. So he did what any other person would do and continued to eat his little cookies and scrolled through his phone. Though the redness in his ears never really went away.

Why did he blush when Taesan and Sungho mentioned your name? I mean, the cookies were good.

“Jae, you good bro?” Taesan eyed the uncharacteristically quiet boy next to Leehan, who seemed to be staring at Leehan’s (read: your) cookies. Jaehyun looked at Taesan, then Sungho, then the cookies again before his eyes went comically wide.

“OH I GET IT NOW!” Jaehyun says a bit too enthusiastically again as he pretends to smack his head with a closed fist, eyes squinted as he finally realised why they were teasing Leehan in the first place.

Taesan couldn’t help but remain bemused as he looked at Leehan, almost apprehensive in giving Jaehyun one of his cookies.

“Hey, don’t give me that look,” Jaehyun playfully shoves Leehan, “just one cookie I promise! y/n’s your neighbour, she could probably make some for you anytime!”

“Then why haven’t they given you any, Jae?”

“Shut up, you nerd!”

———

It was a given that interior design was a pain. Yet here you are, studying interior design in university, where your budget was blown for art supplies, and throwing your pride away so you could walk down the street with unnecessarily large poster boards under your arm.

“So where are my cookies?” is the first thing you hear when you stop at the stoplight on your way back home.

“Your what now?” is your reply to Taesan, who was at the stoplight before you were. You were too checked out from a long day of classes to realise it was him standing there. You threw him an incredulous look.

“Cookies? Butter cookies? Seriously, I didn’t even know you made those. And the chocolate? You hate washing dishes and yet you decide to go the extra mile and dip the damn cookies in the chocolate.” Taesan drawls teasingly in a way that he knew pissed you off the most. You roll your eyes,

“If you’re talking about the cookies he made Leehan, then yes. I made him some damn housewarming cookies dipped in chocolate. You know, get him settled. What’s the deal?”

Taesan laughs a little as he reminisces the scene at the cafe earlier, “He brought some with him today and it was the happiest I’ve seen him. Probably ever, if I’m being real. Or maybe since he's moved here.”

You glance at Taesan before failing to suppress your laugh, “Nice try. Taesan, if you’re trying to do what I think you’re trying to do—“

“Woah, woah! Who said anything about me? I’m just relaying you… some… important information. You know, maybe... to your benefit" He stage whispers the last few words.

“What’s so important about my cookies then?” This is going nowhere. You have never wanted that damn stoplight to turn green so badly in your life.

“I got a hunch. A big one. I suggest you take my advice if you want this to go… somewhere.” And with perfect timing, the stoplight turns green and Taesan walks off.

A hunch? My cookies, neighbour, Leeha—

“Taesan!" The board under your arm almost slips when you take a step forward, " Get bac—my god, we live in the same building. Come back here!”

Taesan decided you suddenly didn’t exist when he walked off (in the most friendly way possible, of course). He pulls out his phone and texts Sungho,

‘I got a plan’

[countrymusiclover]

1 - Two Different Princes

Part 2

A Wolf Among Dragons

Tag list ( just ask to be added ) @tallrock35 @kmc1989 @starkleila @noirrose21-blog @lover-of-books-and-tea @immyowndefender

Author note - if I am getting anything wrong about Daemon or Aemond's characters please let me know how I can fix it for later chapters

At the age of ten and seven I was sent to King's Landing to get used to living my forever life with the King's brother who was to be my husband in the coming days. I wasn’t a fool who was going to believe that love would come from this arrangement. For he was much older than I was and had much more freedom. I thought wrong to my somewhat delight.

“Where are we going, Daemon?” I questioned once he had snuck down to my chambers and awoken me from my sleep.

He insisted that he must show me something that second. He was dressed in an all black cloak with the hood over his easily recognizable Targaryen white hair. “Just wait a minute and you’ll find out. Honestly I never thought you’d be this curious.”

“Simply because I was born a woman I’m told what things I am allowed to know and what I’m not.”

Daemon kept one hand around my forearm leading me out into a large pit like room with many torches lit to provide light in the room. “You’ll not be able to not do something when we’re wed. Just as long as you don't go against your new family. Does that sound like a good arrangement to you, little wolf?”

“Yes, my prince.” He squeezed my arm a little harshly, making me wince but I saw a smirk crossing his face once I had addressed him by his royal title meaning he liked it.

Daemon moved a few steps closer before I saw something coming to us in the light coming off the torch he was carrying in his other hand. “Drakari pykiros, tikummo jemiros, Yn lantyz bartossa , Saelot vaedis, hen nuha eleni, perzyssy vestretis, se gelyn irudaks, anogrose. Perzyo udryssi eztmptos laehossi, harossa letagon, aot vaedan, Hae merot gieruli se haros bartossi, prumysa sovili. ( Fire breather, winged leader, but two heads, to a third sing, from my voice, the fires have spoken and the price has been paid. With blood magic, with words of flame, with clear eyes, to bind the three, to you I sing as one we gather and with three heads we shall fly as we were destined ).”

“By all the gods and new.” I sharply gasped, hanging my mouth open in shock seeing a large dragon head appear above us.

Daemon gazed down at me then briefly at his dragon. “His name is Caraxes and he’s my dragon.”

Caraxes intensely stared down at me and Daemon but by some miracle I wasn’t afraid around the large creature. Especially when I had Daemon beside me, although if he didn’t want to marry me he could very well kill me right now and no one would know. “So what do you think of him-“

I cut him off mid sentence, crashing my lips up onto his letting whatever excitement I was feeling take complete control over me. He leans his body against my chest deepening the kiss and I couldn’t resist doing the same after I had wrapped my arms around his neck.

Daemon finally was the one to break the very heated kiss between two people who weren’t yet married so if anyone had seen it would be found indecent. “Daemon - forgive me , my prince. I shouldn’t have done that.” Looking into his purple eyes I knew I had messed up and done something I shouldn’t have.

“Oohhh Lehna you and I are going to have so much fun together.” He cupped my face in his hands, crashing his lips down onto mine with the same passion I had moments ago.

“Visenya, get back here!” I called out for my six year old daughter who was running so fast ahead of me I wasn't too sure I'd ever catch up with her.

She stuck her tongue out at me looking over her shoulder before rounding the corner and I heard her bump into someone and objects falling onto the stone floor. “Catch me, momma - ow!”

“Are you hurt - Prince Aemond!” I gasped finding her being helped off the ground by the youngest son of Alicent Hightower who had married King Viserys after the death of his former wife Aemma years after I had spent a majority of my life inside the Red Keep.

The current queen had produced two boys and one girl in that time while I had produced two at one time. Daemon’s son Caraxes, named after his loyal dragon, was always attached to his father’s side if he could help it. “You don’t need to be so startled, my lady. The young girl merely slipped on my sword is all. No harm to either of us.”

“Gods be good then. I must apologize again, my prince. We were simply playing tag and she got further away from me than I originally intended.” I gave him a curtsy knowing my place as the wife of Prince Daemon was no more. Meaning I needed to address the young man correctly before.

Aemond rose up from the floor scooping up my daughter with her white hair and my brown eyes into his arms walking up to me slowly. “She’s a little beauty just like her mother.”

“Thank you, my prince.” I smiled, taking her from his arms where he noticed a blade holder on the side of my hip that was hidden underneath one of the layers of my dress.

“Do you carry a sword, my lady?”

Nodding my head slowly, yes I simply answered his question. “I do. My husband saw no reason why I couldn’t be allowed to be taught most things most men think are beneath them or something they can’t comprehend like we’re dumb.”

“You are rather intriguing, lady Lehna.” Aemond smirked back at me.

I blushed uncontrollably. “Thank you, my prince.”

“Call me Aemond. It shall make the conversation much easier between us.”

Visenya laid her head on the crook of my neck, getting bored of our conversation. “Momma, I’m sleepy.” She rubbed her closed eyes with her tiny hands yawning.

“I should be getting her to bed, my pri - Aemond.”

Aemond tilted his head to the side suggesting an alternative option rather than letting our conversation end here and now. “Perhaps we could keep talking after you put her down for a nap. If your husband doesn’t need you, hmm.”

“I don’t have any other obligations at the moment. Walk with me and we can keep talking.” I gestured my head over my shoulder back in the direction of my shared chambers with Daemon.

Aemond raised up a hand forward before we began our walk back where I had previously come from. “After you, lady Lehna.” I wasn’t sure what was going to come of this yet I had no desire to see him leave while Daemon was down in the streets leading the Citywatch of Gold Cloaks.

[wardenparker]

Vampire Waltz - ch 10

Max Phillips x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

A mysterious inheritance, sprawling mansion, eccentric roommates, friendly bat, and coven of New England witches are the newest chapter of your life after being unceremoniously dumped and kicked out by your boyfriend. For Max, the biggest change in his life is you, and what exactly he's going to do about the fact that he is stuck living with you as long as his sire continues to punish him for that incident at his last office...

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 10k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: deceased parents, cursing, food, blood and blood drinking, depictions and references to abusive relationships. Anxiety and trauma responses. Self-worth issues.* Heavy flirting, mention of a safe word, technically public groping/making out, drunkenness, weapon, threats/arguing, accidental injury, character death, blood drinking Summary: An interrupted date and a magical mishap end up with very surprising results. Notes: This chapter has been marked explicit for violence! Please proceed knowing that tags are intentionally vague so as not to give away plot points!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9

The farm that Max found is two towns over, crawling with families and teenagers and other couples out on similar dates. The little food stand they have open is cranking out fresh doughnuts and corn dogs, and French fries from potatoes grown right there on their land — along with locally pressed apple cider and hot cocoa that is nice and rich but Max is certain just came from a powdered mix. Considering his prowess on the topic, you’re not inclined to disagree with him. Surprised to enjoy yourself so very much that hours fly by without your notice, it isn’t until you shiver in the October chill and Max very dutifully wraps you up in his leather jacket, that you start to think about home again.

Is it possible you’re only thinking that because you want to snuggle up beside him? Very possible. But that’s not such a bad thing to want to do.

“Warm now?” He asks, his arm around your waist and leans in close. He has the opportunity to snuggle close to you and he’s going to take it. The atmosphere is positively sweet and he’s hoping that you are relaxed.

“Much.” Even if he doesn’t radiate body heat, the proximity of him and his bearing makes him into a walking blanket — and his jacket is deceptively warm for being deliberately stylish. “I feel like we’ve done everything but I’m not ready to go home…which seems silly.”

“We can always go through the hayride again.” He offers, thrilled that you want to spend time out with him again.

“You wouldn’t mind that?” The last thing you want to do is bore him, but Max seems to be enjoying himself. Or at least he’s looking at you so softly and happily that you can’t imagine the expression is false — which is really its own sort of miracle.

“I’m out with you.” He hums softly. “I don’t mind at all.” It’s pretty astonishing how soft he has become for you. Managing to have you break through his crusty, self-important exterior to the soft and mushy inside.

“And you’ll really never understand how astonishing I find it that you feel that way.” You lean into his side and sigh, the heavy sound so opposed to the lightness and easiness in your heart. “One more hayride and then we’ll call it a night?”

“That sounds good, sweetheart.” He leans in and nuzzles your cheek. “We can always slip off into the woods to canoodle if you want.”

“Max!” The tone of scandal in your voice is obvious, but not in a way that disagrees by any means. In fact, your pulse jumps up and your cheeks burn hot immediately at the suggestion. “How very scandalous of you.”

With no one looking, Max flashes his fangs at you playfully. “That’s me. Scandalous.”

“Scandalous and sexy.” You huff a little laugh, letting your arm around his waist relax as the two of you walk back toward the start of the hayrides together. “And elegant, of course.”

“Always elegant.” He jokes. “You should see how elegantly I can pin you against a tree.”

Prior to Max, that probably wouldn’t have affected you too much in any particular way, but knowing that Max has never used his strength in any way but to care for you makes that image some even sexier. You know for certain that any way he had you in his arms, you would be protected and cared for — as well as absolutely wrecked. “M—maybe I’d like to see that.”

You manage to shock him. His step falters and the elegantly graceful vampire damn near stumbles. His eyes dart towards your face as he gauges how serious you are. “Give me a safe word.” He demands when he sees you’re serious. “One word that stops anything and everything happening.”

“I—” You’ve never had to have a safe word before, partially because you had a partner who didn’t prioritize your safety, but that is beside the point. Right now all that matters is the hungry way Max is staring at you. “I don’t…” The first word that pops into your head is what comes out of your mouth. “Napkin.”

He wants to laugh, but he doesn’t. Knowing that you would be embarrassed if he did. Probably interpret it as him laughing at you, rather than the word. Instead, he nods. “Napkin. Okay, sweetheart, if you ever want to stop anything – I mean even holding my hand – you just say ‘napkin’.”

"It was the only word I could think of," you defend, embarrassment hot in your cheeks even as you cuddle closer into Max's side. "But I understand what you mean. And...for the record?" Looking up at him from this close to his shoulder makes you crane your neck as though he was twelve feet tall and that's somehow even sexier. "I can't imagine that I would ever want you to stop holding my hand."

“That’s perfectly fine, sweetheart.” A cute little Hallmark perfect date wasn’t the setting he had in mind for discussions about boundaries and safe words, but here you are. “But the second that changes, I want you to tell me. Without being scared I will get mad or it will hurt my feelings. Invalidating your own comfort for mine isn’t something I want.”

"And you'll tell me too?" Somehow you know that he would, but you still feel the need to say it out loud. "Don't be afraid that it will hurt my feelings. I would rather that you always be honest with me."

“You’re my person.” He stresses, tossing you a grin. “My little ketchup packet, my favorite fantasy snack. I would never lie to you.” That part he’s serious about. He doesn’t want you to feel like you can’t trust him, you’re part of his soul. If you can’t trust the person the universe said was your perfect match, can you even trust yourself?

"I'm claiming that as my new pet name," you tell him, practically doubling over and cackling beside him as you wait in line for one more hayride through the farm. "I'm your little ketchup packet from now on. That's the weirdest and cutest thing I've ever heard."

“Then that’s what you’ll be.” He grins, enjoying your amusement and watching you with steadfast affection.

******

Eventually, after another five or ten minutes of waiting, snuggling together like every other couple in line, the tractor pulling the trailer with the bales of hay piled up to make seats arrives. Unloading the last giggling, excitable group before they motion towards you and Max to climb on. He sets a precedent by helping you up onto the trailer with a flourish that makes the other men of your group seemingly follow suit, making him grin as he settles down beside you against a surprisingly comfortable backrest of hay.

“Show off,” you tease under your breath as he puts his arm around you in the back of the truck bed and rest your head on his shoulder. “Forcing them all to up their game.”

He snorts and leans down against your head. “Poor them.” He mocks silently.

“All the girls are probably thanking you, though.” The way your hand creeps into his, fingers threading together and locking into place, is comfortable and practiced now.

“They should have been helping them up anyway.” He muses, smirking at you, “Helps get them laid.”

“Oh yeah?” Your eyes flash mischief and you grin. “Are you hoping it’ll help you, too?”

“Well, I’m always hoping.” He nuzzles your nose with his and chuckles. “But as long as I get to hold you while you sleep, I’m perfectly good.”

“I don’t think it will take too long.” It’s less a promise than a reassurance, because with the way you feel about him you’re just not going to be able to resist very long. And that’s okay.

“We’ll get there.” He’s not concerned about sex, which is amazing considering he was kicked out of the college he was supposed to meet you at because he was thinking with his dick. Maybe it’s because he knows you are his, his soulmate bond stronger than just mere physical attraction.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” The question is soft, and more plaintive than you meant it to be, but it’s honest. Just because he’s stayed beside you for the last two nights doesn’t mean that he is always going to want to. But you want him there. For every possible second that he’ll allow.

“I was hoping you would ask.” He admits, squeezing your hand gently. He wasn’t going to push you for another night beside you while you sleep, but if you want him there, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

“I always want you there,” you admit quietly. “But I don’t want to keep you if you have other things to do.”

"I can do any work I need to get done on my phone." He tells you. "Unless the light would bother you."

“It doesn’t.” That is an easy promise, considering you sleep more deeply in Max’s arms than anywhere else. “You could probably talk to me in my sleep and the most that would happen is I would hear your voice is my dreams.”

"Good." He curls a little closer to you and nudges your ear with his nose. "Maybe we can...sleep together regularly?"

“Honestly?” The closer he gets the more you warm up, the heat of attraction rolling off you in waves. “Stay with me every night. Just screw having different rooms, I don’t even care.”

"Ready to move me in, Queenie?" He grins, not bothered by it at all. "You must really like me." He has zero problem staying in your room from now on. Only going back to his room to dress if you couldn't, or wouldn't, give him closet space.

“You’re my soulmate.” As if it were some kind of all-powerful spell, a brisk breeze sweeps through the cart and nudges you to nuzzle closer to Max as the hayride takes off. “And technically I’m the one who moved in with you. You were already there.”

“Technically.” He hums happily, tightening his hold on you as the ride starts.

The first hayride you took had been full of local teens and one young family all looking to enjoy some seasonal entertainment, but this time it is very obviously all couples. There is no doubt about it when seven pairs of people are all sitting in their own little corners of the truck bed and cuddling without a single care in the world for anyone else present. You and Max are able to just watch the night go by from your perched spot on a bale of hay, and when you approach the tree line again towards the end of the ride you bite back a giggle. He makes you feel giddy, and you have to wonder privately how scandalous it really would be to sneak off into those woods.

“Hold on, sweetheart.” Max can move faster than you can. Wrapping his arm around your waist, he pulls you off the trailer with his inhuman vampiric strength and speed to move you to the trees, out of sight of the continuing hayride.

Clinging to him is sort of an understatement for how tight you hold on, but in just two seconds’ time or less you’re well-hidden with him in the tree line and gasping for air as you try to muffle exuberant giggles. “I can’t believe we just did that!” It feels like breaking the rules and you never break the rules.

He chuckles and leans against you gently, pinning you against the tree “Yeah?” He hums, nuzzling your pulse. “We are breaking the rules and being naughty.”

“Max…” Breathy and plaintive, his name on your lips is as certain as the way your fingers are digging into his sides to keep him close as your eyes flutter shut. He’s like a wall around you, surrounding you and blocking out the world, and somehow that is even sexier than you ever thought it would be.

“What do you want, my Dolly?” He asks, sliding his tongue out to trail lightly along your skin. “What do you need?” His voice dips down low and sensual, caressing you with his words.

It’s the most fantastic thing in your mind when he does this, lips and tongue and just the gentlest nip of his teeth on your skin making you forget everything in the world besides him. Far from any feeling you’ve had before, it is intoxicating and all-encompassing and you have to wonder how much it is the soulmate connection and how much is just your physical attraction to him. “Drive me crazy—” you gasp and it drops to a low moan when his hand spreads out over your hip and he presses in closer.

“Good.” He huffs against your skin and grins. He wants to drive you crazy, to make you forget about everything but him and the moment. He presses against you a little more and continues to kiss along your throat. “Wanna drive you crazy.”

Everything else around the two of you truly dissolves and the only thought in your head is how long you can possibly make your neck to give Max more and more skin to kiss. One of your hands finds its way under the hem of his sweater with such ease that you don’t even realize you’re touching him at first. It’s like an unconscious effort to crawl inside the strength of his embrace and just stay there forever.

“Do you know how good it feels to have you touch me?” Max growls against your skin, shivering slightly. Not from the chilly weather, but from the exquisite feeling of your touch. The feel of someone who was meant for him.

“Tell me.” Your hands seek out skin like a magnet, grazing Max’s sides and dipping delicately under the waistband of his jeans.

“It’s— it’s electric.” Even though he doesn’t need to breathe, his voice falters, nearly losing track of what he was saying. “Tingling. Like waking up Christmas morning.”

“Ooo, a fan of Christmas?” The giggle that bubbles out of you is throaty and you find yourself pressing back against the tree to give him maximum leverage while your hands retrace familiar routes. “I’ll remember that.”

“Only when there are presents under the tree.” He teases, his own hand sliding under your shirt at your back. Loving how hot you are as he caresses your skin.

“I’ll put a ribbon on my forehead,” you tease, rolling your hips forward in an effort to connect every possible part of your bodies.

“Yeah? You gonna be my present?” He groans at the thought and imagines unwrapping you from the most delicate lingerie you can buy.

“I’d like to be.” The idea that he could be bored of you by then flickers across your mind but you don’t let it stay. Max has never given a single indication that that could happen. He didn’t even spook when your abuela’s letter mentioned a husband, which would have sent any previous boyfriend running for the hills.

“You’re—” There’s a crack of a branch, one that doesn’t sound like it’s from an animal. A scent that is definitely human. Making Max groan as he pulls away from you, putting his finger to his lips to tell you to be quiet.

Being seen is mortifying enough, but the look on Max’s face is seriously displeased and you clam up instantly. A nod of your head is your promise to obey, and you’re instantly pulling your clothes back into place.

“Well, what do we have here?” The condescending tone isn’t one of a displeased hayride worker, it’s more of someone looking for trouble. Max can smell the booze from here he knows that you won’t like being accosted by a drunkard, especially this drunkard.

It should say something that you recognize his slur as easily as his voice, and you know that Max just heard the way your heartbeat jumped into your throat in fear rather than arousal. Still, you stay silent like Max ordered. “Whaddaya got there?” In the dark he can’t see details very well, but he wobbles forward another step with unearned certainty. “Little lady like her hayride?”

“Funny running into you here.” Max keeps his voice slightly jovial with a tinge of warning in it. No need to start hostile. He’s sure that will come later.  “Didn’t take you for the pumpkin patch type.”

Derek reels back slightly when he recognizes Max, his mocking smile dipping down to a frown. “You.” He huffs, craning his neck to look behind the younger man’s large frame. “I’m just out with some new friends,” Derek insists, waving his arm vaguely in back of him as though fifty people should have appeared out of the trees there. “Trying to get to know my girl’s new home a little.”

“Not your girl.” Max reminds him. “You are done. Best thing you can do is leave.”

“Not gonna happen.” Derek informs him with an amused shake of his head. The arrogance rolling off him in waves is different from Max’s breed of cockiness. It’s downright sinister. “And what do you even care, man? You’ve had her, what…a month?” He scoffs at that and takes a swig out of the brown bottle in his hand. “Just go find somebody else. No harm, no foul. No problem between us.”

“There is a problem between us.” Max turns, shielding you from your ex and acting as a barrier between you. “There’s no one else for me. She’s it. So I suggest you find another punching bag to break in. She’s done taking your abuse.”

“That little mouse?” The doubtful expression on Derek’s face is all for show. He hears the resolve in the other man’s voice and sees the set of his shoulders. The only reason he’s certain he could survive going toe-to-toe with this guy is because Derek knows his own speed. “C’mon man,” he takes another step forward, adopting a friendly posture. “I’m doing you a favor here. Trust me.”

“Trust me, pal.” Max snorts and grins evilly. “You don’t want to push me. She is the only reason you are still breathing.”

The habitual haze of alcohol has Derek interpreting that statement entirely backwards, and he moves toward you with all the confidence of a swaggering buffoon. “I knew my girl could never give me up that easily.” After ten fucking years of training you, you had better not.

“Queenie.” Max snarls your nickname, ready to pounce on this piece of shit and tear him apart if he so much as touches a hair on your body. “Leave.”

“Not without you.” As much as you want to get the hell out of here, there’s no way. If Max is still here then you’re staying, and you’re not sure how foolish that deep loyalty is in your decision making but the decision has been made.

“I’m gonna rip your fucking throat out and shit down your neck if you don’t get the fuck out of here.” Max warns. “Don’t fucking bother staying around.”

“Baby.” The way Derek turns his eyes to you in the dark is practiced. Measured. And more than a little demanding. “Are you gonna let him threaten me like that, little girl?”

Once upon a time it was baby girl. Crooned and sweet and sighed in your ear to make you feel completely complacent and like he was where you belonged. It was a trick. A nasty, dirty one, and you’re ashamed of yourself for ever falling for such an obvious act. “He can threaten you however he likes,” you tell Derek, though your voice isn’t as strong as the words are. “The second I give him permission, he’ll kill you.”

Derek scoffs and shakes his head. “No he won’t, because he isn’t gonna go to jail for you.”

Max chuckles. “Wanna bet, fuckface?” He growls. “Besides, they would never find you after I’m done with you.”

“They wouldn’t.” You know that. Hell, considering who Max’s sire — your own grandfather is — you doubt there would even be a body left to find. “You should go, Derek.” The kindest thing you can possibly do for this piece of shit is warn him off, but you know that he won’t listen to you. Not now. He never even did when he was pretending to love you.

“I’m not leaving without what is mine.” His face twists into one of pure rage and he reaches into the pocket of the thin jacket he is wearing. The gun in his hand was not what Max had been expecting. Nothing in your few stories about the bastard had ever indicated that he had a penchant for brandishing a weapon. His fangs instantly descend and he’s clenching his fists together as his nails elongate into claws.

The world seems to go into slow motion all at once. As soon as you see the flash of steel in Derek’s hand your mind goes into high gear. You barely register Max’s growl or Derek’s shouting, or even the unsteady pounding of blood in your own ears. All you can think in this split second of terrified panic is that Max is about to be shot. If ever there was a time for your magic to manifest itself, let it be with this moment of intense emotion.

According to all of your grandmother’s letters — and the memories that have begun to spill back into your mind from their locked away place — you have more magic in your little finger than you do strength in your body. And that means something when it’s said about a dancer. Your body propels itself forward, voice calling out to Max to be careful, but all your thoughts are on all the things that will never happen if Derek pulls that trigger. No more dances. No more feeling Max’s heartbeat when you kiss him. No more reading aloud to him. No more dreaming. You’ll never get to spend innumerable lifetimes with this man that you’ve fallen so deeply in love with. That you want to marry. And hadn’t Yayo said his line could even have children? Without Max you would never have the strength and support to try going back in time to see your mother and grandmother again.

“Stop!” Your hand connects with Derek’s wrist at the same moment your other touches Max’s chest, and you push yourself between them with purpose. Only to feel the world turn upside down a moment later.

Max is furious when you move in front of him, knowing that it’s him that can handle whatever this little shit can throw at him. “Noooooo—” his angry yell rips out and he grabs your arm just as something happens and suddenly he feels like he’s being tossed in a tornado.

Rougher than Dorothy getting tossed into Oz, you find yourself face down in the dirt with one hand still clinging to Max just seconds later. It’s darker, somehow — the glow of festive lights from the nearby farm deadens so the moon and stars seem brighter but only from the loss of competition. There’s panting to your other side, and you scramble to your feet to grab the gun that has fallen out of Derek’s hands. Your desire to never touch a weapon in your life is far outweighed by your desire to protect your soulmate.

It takes Max a second to orient himself again, whatever you had just done had fucked with his equilibrium. Taking him longer than normal to situate himself and immediately zooms over to you as soon as you reach the gun.

“Are you okay?” Nothing else matters, and the moment Max is at your side you are wrapping one arm around him tightly and clinging carefully to the butt of the gun with the other. “I-I—I don’t think— I mean I tried to cast a protection spell,” you blurt out, rushing and stammering through the words.

“Are you insane?” Max huffs, shaking his head and his own hands slide over your body to check you for any injuries. “How could you step between me and a gun?”

“He was going to shoot you!” It was instinct, pure and simple, and the grumbling moan that comes from a few feet away signals your entire system to flood with adrenaline all over again. Derek is on his knees in the grass, shaking his head as you raise the weapon with shaky hands. “Was I supposed to just let him hurt you?”

“He wouldn’t have hurt me unless it was a wooden bullet to the heart.” Max huffs, still shaken by how you could have been killed. “Don’t ever do that for me again.”

It isn’t until he spells it out for you that you even realize the stupid mistake you made, and your eyes grow even wider looking at the weapon in your hand before you drop it to your side and instantly look around for a way to get rid of it.

“Goddamn fucking idiot—” As he starts to clamor back to his feet, Derek is cradling his head on one side and practically snarling at you. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing charging at me like that you stupid bitch? I should kill both of you!”

Max’s fangs come down again, beautiful and deadly as he grins. Hoping the bastard keeps coming. Even if you don’t want him to kill Derek, he’s going to.

“What is the meaning of this!” a scandalized voice rings out, and Max pauses, turning to see none other than Mrs. Taylor.

“Mrs. Taylor!” The surprise of seeing her out here outweighs anything else and you jump back, dropping the gun into the grass in the process but Max steps forward immediately to cover half of it with his foot and discourage Derek from trying to grab the thing. “What are you doing here?” In the dark of night, it is difficult to see that her outfit is nothing like what you are used to seeing her in, and clothing certainly isn’t where your mind’s focus is right now.

“I could ask you the same, dear girl.” Her voice is more prim, accent a little crisper, and she surveys your group with the air of a captain on deck of his ship. “Alone with two men unchaperoned. And dressed as a boy! You will be lucky if I do not inform your family. And what could you gentlemen possibly mean, cornering a young lady in the dark woods like this? Anyone would think you had no breeding at all.”

Max relaxes slightly, smirking because he knows that Mrs. Taylor won’t put up with any nonsense out of Derek. Even if she doesn’t quite know who you are yet. There’s a little bit of a reckless history in her past and he flashes her his fangs. “The lady is my wife.” He tells her. “The man is a delusional ex-beau who refuses to believe that we are honeymooning.”

“I see.” The honorable vampire draws herself up to her full height and sets her eyes on each of you carefully. “Then you will attend to the matter yourself? There is nothing but privacy, of course, this late into the night.”

Max hears you inhale roughly and he sighs. Rolling his eyes at the inability to tear the rat apart. “My wife is tenderhearted.” He tells the older vampire. “She does not wish for me to take his life.”

“Why are you being so weird?” Nothing about anything makes sense right now but maybe you’re just missing some kind of vampiric social intricacy.

“You have clearly been unsettled by this intrusion, ma’am.” Mrs. Taylor never seems to break her poise, and as she steps forward into a shaft of moonlight you see that the thing you missed isn’t an intricacy, but something very obvious. The dress she has on is one that you saw in the attic of the mansion barely a week ago. One she said was one hundred and fifty years old. “Allow your husband to escort you home. This gentleman will trouble you no further.” She assures you with a demure, polite smile.

“Come, my dear.” Max turns towards you and even though you are in modern clothing, he offers his elbow to you like he’d seen his sire do with Cookie hundreds of times before. Mrs. Taylor is about to dispose of his problem and while he would love to stay and watch, you shouldn’t. “You don’t want to see this.”

“Don’t walk away from me.” Derek spits, finally pushing himself up on his feet. He must have hit his head on a rock because his hair is matted with blood. “What’s some middle-aged bitch in a Halloween costume gonna do? Scold me?”

She’ll do a hell of a lot more than that if you so much as say the word, but for a moment you truly consider amnesty. But he was going to kill Max. That was his intention, anyway. And while you have taken endless worlds of abuse from him for yourself, you can’t let that intention against your soulmate stand. There is anger brewing in you from that intention. There is so much anger, and a decade of frustrations, fears, and failings to cap it off with. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you lean over and pick the gun up again to hand it to Max before you turn back to Mrs. Taylor with eyes of stone. “No one will miss him,” you tell her with certainty. “But he still should not be found.”

And understanding passes through her eyes and she nods once. “I assure you, he will never be found.” She says before she turns back to the man who is stumbling forward.

“You stupid bitch, you think you’re through with me? You aren’t done until I say you’re done.” He yells, balling his hand up into a fist.

Despite having an inclination of how poorly your magic obeyed you when you tried to protect Max, your hand shoots out to stop Derek’s just as his juts out. His fist collides with your palm, but instead of hurting you, he yelps in pain and recoils in shock. “I am through with you.” You tell him steadily, though you’re disappointed to find that your palm produced no flames when you look down at it. You had intended to burn him with fire but it seems like your hand only temporarily turned to a lava-like texture. It still did the job though, if the way he’s cradling his hand is any indication. “The whole world is through with you. And history will completely forget your name, just like I will.”

His hand is injured but his ego more so. “He will be bored with you in a week.” He spits. “I was. But I just let you hang around like that unwanted stray.” He wants to lash out at you, feel that hurt rolling off you again. It feeds his need to push around someone else, props him up.

“You wanted someone around to pay your bills.” It hurts to admit, but they say the truth will set you free. In a way, as distorted as it is, it feels a little true. “Go to hell, Derek. And make sure you let the Devil know who sent you when you get there. He’s a friend of the family.”

Max doesn’t allow the shit stain to say another word, whisking you away so you can’t see what Mrs. Taylor does, but within seconds, a panicked, tormented scream starts to echo in the woods. Stopping a few seconds later, nearly five hundred yards from where you had last seen your ex, Max keeps you close.

You shudder visibly, leaning into Max’s side and burying your face in his chest. “Tell me I did the right thing?” You beg quietly, knowing that he deserved worse but not feeling good at all about being the one to deliver it.

“You did the right thing.” He promises sincerely, turning into you and pulling you closer. “He’s— he would have continued until he hurt you again, or worse.”

"He was going to hurt you." Or he thought he was. He intended to. And that matters far more to you than anything else. "And I couldn't—" Your voice cracks a little and you sigh, eyes closing against the weighty truth of the moment. "I couldn't let that happen."

“Sweetheart,” Max sighs softly, pressing his face to your hair and inhaling your mouth-watering scent. “At the risk of sounding completely sexist, I’m supposed to protect you.” He hums. “You are so much braver than you give yourself credit for.”

"It's not about being brave." He said he would protect you and you believe him, but if he's focused on you then he's likely not protecting himself as well as he could. It's a vicious cycle that flashed in your mind and left doubt there, which you are not fond of. "It's..." You sigh into his sweater. "It's that I love you. And I can't stomach the thought of losing you."

“You won’t lose me.” It’s a hollow promise since he’s been brought back once before, but he still kisses your forehead. “You’re stuck with me.” He stares into your eyes and cups your cheeks, making sure you are looking at him. “I love you, Queenie, my queen, my soulmate.”

“And…apparently…your wife?” You do have to crack a smile over it, even as dower as this moment might be otherwise. “That was a surprise, I admit.”

“You will be.” He predicts with certainty. “But…sweetheart, we – whatever you did – we have time traveled back to your letters.”

“No we did not.” There is no way. It’s just not something you’re capable of. “I couldn’t even cast a Protection spell when I tried to. Or conjure a simple flame. There’s no way.”

“Did you see the way that Mrs. Taylor was dressed? The lights have changed and it smells different.” Max insists. “We are back in time.”

The fact that you noticed two of those things doesn’t quite deter your stubborn incredulousness. But it doesn’t stop you from burying yourself against his chest again and shaking with anxious fear. “What—” You blow out a long breath. “What if I can’t get us home again?”

“Obviously you do.” Max reminds you quietly. “Because the letters continued.”

“This is insane.” It feels like a trick. Like the twist of some Halloween film you turned in on Netflix out of boredom. But it is as real as the grass under your feet or Max’s arms around you.

“We need to find Mr. Taylor.” Max huffs. “If she is here, I know he is also around. The best thing we can do is get to the house.”

“What do we even tell them?” You look up at him with doubtful eyes. “We can’t just spew out that I’m family. Who knows when we are? My mother might not even be alive yet.” To make this remarkable journey and not see her would feel awful, but it isn’t as though you simply set a destination in your GPS and drove back in time. This all happened by accident.

“My sire will know that he has made me.” Max promises. “He can smell blood. He will be able to smell your blood as well.”

“I’m not sure if that’s comforting or not,” you admit with a weak smile. But there isn’t time to protest more, as Mrs. Taylor walks out of the woods looking as put-together as ever. Not so much as a hair is out of place.

“That was an unfortunate tasting gentleman.” She huffs and smooths down her dress. “Now, wherever did you come from?” She asks as she looks up and down at your clothing. “Obviously not from around here.”

“It is…a very long story, I think.” Looking over her now, in the clear moonlight, there is no denying it. Mrs. Taylor may look exactly the same as she did this morning in the dining room of your house, but she is also a much different version of herself. And her appearance is undeniably old fashioned. “Unfortunately, it seems that we are without a place to stay or any of our luggage. And…as you will understand…my husband,” calling him that is so odd and yet feels so right. “He is not everyone’s ideal guest.”

“You will come back to the estate with me.” She decides with a jut of her chin. “My mistress will sort everything out and her soulmate has the same inclinations as your husband.”

“We…know of your mistress,” you murmur, looking around to make truly sure there is no one to overhear you. “As her husband shares the inclinations of my own…so, so I share with your mistress’.”

Her brow furrows and she is curious about how you know about Cookie Brown. “A vampire and a witch… interesting.” She looks past you to where her own soulmate is pulling into the clearing with a cart. “And our ride.”

“I suppose it behooves you both to get work done at night.” The cart is full of barrels and things stacked up under oilcloth, and you accept help from both Max and Mr. Taylor in getting you up onto the bench of the cart.

“Our skin is sensitive to the sun. We cannot be out for many hours during daylight.” She explains. “But your husband should experience the same issue.”

“He does.” You reach for Max and squeeze his hand once he’s seated behind you. “Our…carriage…has darkened windows. To allow him comfortable travel.”

“That is good. Modern conveniences have made our existence easier.” She nods as the four of you start to move. “What brings you to our area?” She asks. “There has been no request for a coven transfer.”

“I am afraid it is not an easy matter.” And you have no idea if you’re even talking the right way, let alone explaining yourself well, but so far just pretending you’re in a Jane Austen novel or an episode of Downton Abbey seems to be working. “But my husband and I had thought to take a house here in town.”

“I am afraid that you will find that houses here are few.” Mrs. Taylor hums. “My mistress and her soulmate built their estate.”

The carriage ride takes far longer than the little ride in Max’s sports car did to get out here, but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It will help you to get a handle on the situation, if nothing else, because the situation is a very big one. “We have heard it is very grand.” You commend, nodding at the mention of the house you’ve come to think of as home. “With forty acres and a view of the sea, they say? It must be very grand.”

“People love to talk.” She’s suspicious, but you look familiar in some way although she cannot pinpoint how. Something about your eyes.

“They do.” Sensing you might be overstepping; you walk back your interest and squeeze Max’s hand gently. “Thank you again, ma’am. For helping us.”

“My mistress would be very upset if I did not help someone of her kind in need.” She tells you.

“But you did not yet know that your mistress and I were alike when you stepped in.” The smile you offer her is sincere and deeply felt, and you practically bow your head. “We are most grateful.”

“I heard the shouting and the vile curses.” Her placid expression turns into a fierce frown. “Disgusting man. Were you really entangled with him before?”

"I cannot deny it." Though you dearly wish you could. Although...none of that matters now. It is over, done with, and truly a thing of the past. An irony which does not escape you at all. "Before I met my husband, of course." You add quickly.

“Meeting one’s soulmate has a way of making the past fade from memory, does it not?” Mr. Taylor is the one who speaks up, looking fondly as his own.

There is no way to deny that, and you turn back to Max again with the sort of honest smile that seems specifically reserved these days to be just for him. "More than I ever could have expected."

“Again, we thank you for your hospitality.” Max murmurs. His fingers slide under your shirt to caress your skin reassuringly.

"The master will be about when we arrive, no doubt, and he will see to any arrangements for you after I have explained how we have all come to be acquainted." Mrs. Taylor tells you both. "And, of course, your lady wife will require rest."

“She will.” Max acknowledges with a nod of his head. He’s drained after whatever magic spell you used so he knows that you are probably even more tired due to still being human.

Conversation is polite but not overly familiar as the ride drags on, and by the time the horses are pulling the four of you down Bellevue Avenue with Chateau-sur-Mer in sight, you're practically asleep on Max's shoulder. It's only the sight of the house that perks you up again, realizing that you've come back in time far enough that the landscaping is drastically different. The huge weeping beech outside your front door is nowhere to be seen and neither is the hedge maze in the north garden. For the first time you realize that your beloved teahouse might not be here, either.

“Wow.” Max whistles and shakes his head. “Those hedges can hide so many bodies.”

Mr. Taylor chuckles, glancing over at their passenger in amusement. "The upper class like to play at a bit of mystery. Keeping the house half hidden is a game the mistress likes to play."

“I like the idea of privacy.” He admits. “They should have kept them. It complements the gothic vibe of the house.”

"Should have?" Mrs. Taylor raises one eyebrow in question as her own soulmate steers the horses and cart toward the service door of the house on the other side of the east wing.

“An estate we were close to, back home.” Max supplies quickly, with a shrug. “They tore out their maze.”

"A shame." That has the vampiric housekeeper nodding in understanding. "Such a feature is a talking point, at the very least. One that humans seem to enjoy very much." When the carriage comes to a halt, Mrs. Taylor lifts herself out with ease and dusts her hands on her skirt. "Come inside," she beckons toward the service door. "I will have you wait below stairs while I inform the master of your circumstances."

Max helps you down and immediately takes your hand. “It will be alright.” He assures you softly, aware that Mrs. Taylor can still hear every word he says. “We are safe and together.”

"This is where I feel safest," you tell him honestly, holding onto his one hand with both of yours. Whether the assembled vampires take that to mean this house or with Max is up to them. "It's all just...so much has happened the last few days. And now this?"

“At least now, you completely understand that the visit was a joy. You can relax.” He smirks, squeezing your hand. “And we can still sleep in the same bed. Or…you can sleep.”

"I will return momentarily," Mrs. Taylor tells you with a polite smile before she disappears up the stairs faster than any human housekeeper would ever be able to manage.

“At least we know the layout.” He jokes quietly as he pulls you closer to cuddle against him. Knowing that despite the letter, you are anxious.

“I guess that’s true.” Despite it, though, the nerves running through you are heavy and stinging. What was once a perfectly beautiful date night has spiraled out of control. “I just hope you’re right and he lets us stay.”

“He will let us stay.” Max is confident in that. He might not understand the connection quite yet, but the blood running through your veins is his and he will smell it.

“I hope so.” The house might be the same but all the mechanisms are different. The Viking appliances that outfit the current kitchen are obviously nowhere to be seen, and the great, coal burning, cast iron monstrosity that sits against the wall here looks more complicated to use than you could ever wrap your head around. Mr. Taylor pops in and out of the delivery door toting things off the cart from the farm with his immense strength but does not use his uncanny speed, and you wonder if he is trying to be discreet around a mortal. That sounds just like him.

“This is like living in the twilight zone.” Max snorts and shakes his head and looks around the vastly different kitchen. “I wonder what the bathrooms will look like.”

“Rene said the master bathroom on the second floor was the only bathroom on the second floor until the renovations they did in 1872.” Leaning into his side, a layer of anxiety and tension eases away when Max’s arms come around you and hold you tightly against him. “From the look of the house, it’s after that. But I saw the formal entrance on our way in, and that was closed off in 1893, so we’re somewhere in that twenty-year span between renovations.”

"So how old was your mother during that time?" Max frowns slightly, trying to keep the timeline in order in his mind.

“Yayo said they built the house when abuela Cookie was pregnant, so…at the youngest maybe around twenty? Or as old as forty, depending on what end of that spectrum of time we’ve arrived in.” It’s mind boggling, but the idea of seeing your mother again makes you feel infinitely less dreary about the entire prospect.

"We should not say anything about our true origins until we speak to him." Max tells you. He knows that you would never affect the future on purpose, but you might slip up and greet her as your mother and you can't do that. Not when you haven't been born yet. "We will see what your grandfather says."

“Believe me, I’ve read enough time travel stories and seen enough movies to know that you don’t fuck with the timeline.” The prospect of it terrifies you, if you’re honest, and you have to shake it off quickly. “I’m done with changing anything. But…what’s done is done.”

"Absolutely." He nods quickly and his fingers squeeze your reassuringly. "Do not even think about that unfortunate episode at the farm. "We know it was successful because she had written to you about it."

“I’m glad you’re here,” you murmur into his chest, knowing he’ll hear you all the same. “I think I’d be scared out of my mind if you weren’t.”

"I'm glad I'm here too." He admits quietly. "Although.....my phone doesn't work here." He jokes, attempting to lighten the worry and unsettling unease of the moment.

For just a second you think he might be serious, but in looking at his face, your lips twist into a smirk. “I’m sure your clients will forgive a short absence.”

"I need to text." He huffs, playing up the joke a little more. "My fingers are burning with the need."

“Then I suggest you learn the art of sending a note,” you murmur, hearing very deliberate steps out in the servants’ hall. “Because until I can learn how to send us back correctly, I can’t just take a chance on my magic getting us home by accident.”

"I am sure that with my business savvy and romantic heart..." He grins at you and winks. "I will be sending missives that will stand the test of time." He vows, holding his hand over his non-beating heart. "Love notes, dirty notes."

Mrs. Taylor clears her throat politely in the doorway and nods in an equal sore off manners. “Follow me,” she intones, and it feels very much more like an order than a suggestion.

He raises his eyebrows and makes a comical face as she whirls around and the two of you follow her down the hall. "I have to admit that the lanterns give the hall a proper....austere look." He whispers to you, fully aware that Mrs. Taylor can hear him.

“The estate has the finest of everything available to it.” She commends, heading for the servants’ stairs at a brisk pace that gives Max no trouble but you have to hurry to keep up with. “It is the greatest house in Newport without competition.”

"I am sure the Vanderbilts would disagree." He chuckles under his breath.

The absolutely derisive huff Mrs. Taylor exhales is fully for show, and you have to admit that you love her for it. She obviously doesn’t care a fig for those new money millionaires who built up the palaces along Bellevue Avenue that are now museums. “That cottage they bought from Mr. Lorillard is no match for a house of this grandeur,” she asserts proudly.

Max snickers, appreciating that he can still get under her skin and yet she's just as poised as she always is. "Of course not." He agrees with a serious nod. "Peasant’s cottages."

Your little trio emerges upstairs and Mrs. Taylor deposits you in the library with one more polite nod of her head. “He will be in momentarily,” she tells you, before heading back to the servants’ side of the house. If you Mrs. Taylor at all she’s off to make up a bed and probably a tea tray, but that is just a guess.

Max snorts as he walks around the room. "Good to know they still had the same taste back then." He tells you. "Or is it now?" He asks with a tilt of his head. "This is going to get confusing."

“Aren’t you the one who always says the house is a time capsule?” The chair sitting at the large library desk isn’t exactly the same, but it was definitely from the same maker. Maybe even the same set. “Fair warning. If Yayo makes me wear those giant dresses while we’re here, you’re going to have to help me keep my balance.”

He throws his head back and laughs just as the door opens and your grandfather appears. “It seems as if I have missed a joke.” He muses, his sharp eyes narrowing on the two of you.

Whatever instinct it is that’s ingrained in you, the relieving sight of your grandfather almost makes you stumble forward to hug him. It’s only the fact that you are holding Max’s arm that stops you, and you end up nodding nervously. “We’re…very sorry to intrude like this,” you start, hoping that sounds appropriately contrite.

“No, no you are not.” He hums, arching a brow. “You are relieved, but not apologetic.”

"Sorry to intrude," you clarify, though you swallow thickly at the fact that this is obviously not the doting grandfather you knew as a child. "But not to be offered sanctuary. In that, you are correct."

“And why should I offer sanctuary to a vampire and his mate who somehow smell like my progeny?” His head tilts and his fangs descend into a pair of sharp needles extending from his gums.

There seems to be no beating about the bush tonight, and you look over at Max with a plaintive expression though you both know that this is your story to tell. "Because we are." You tell him honestly, keeping your voice as whisper quiet as you can possibly manage. "In different ways. And it is a long story, but we didn't come here with any...nefarious purpose. In fact...it was an accident. Sort of."

In the blink of an eye, your grandfather is beside you, his hand around Max’s wrist and his fingernail sliced into his skin. The elder vampire's lips wrap around the wound as he tastes the other vampire’s blood and he reels back. “I have never seen you, yet it is my blood that travels in your veins?” His voice is astonished and mystified as he stares at Max curiously.

"I am afraid it is...an unusual story." And one that you are going to have to tell, whether you like it or not. A fact which makes your heart thump with nerves.

He turns to you and leans in close, inhaling your scent. While you are human, you are the soulmate of a vampire. To touch you would be a grave sin. “You smell like my daughter.”

“I should.” You don’t flinch the way someone else might have when he gets close to you and he notes it with a flick of his eyes and nothing more. “I am her daughter.”

The smell of you proves that, but he knows that his daughter hasn’t given birth. “Explain.”

“I…attempted a spell that was more powerful than any other I have tried before.” It isn’t worth mentioning that you haven’t tried much of any spell work at all before, so you keep that to yourself. “But I was able to make us travel through time by some mechanism that I don’t yet understand.”

“And my biological granddaughter managed to transport herself and her soulmate – my vampiric offspring – back in time.” Your grandfather fills in, talking mostly to himself. You nod and he is silent for a moment. “We will keep this to ourselves.” He decides, softening immediately. “You will be related through your soulmate.” Turning towards Max, he arches a brow. “What is your name? I must know it at some point, since-”

Max introduces both of you, making sure he calls you Queenie like you had discussed before. If Yayo is going to be the only one to know the truth, it makes sense to just be straightforward about most things. What you don’t want to do, however, is influence any future decisions if you can help it.

Your grandfather nods. “Cookie will be interested to meet you. As well as your mother.” He cups your cheek again and stares at you, memorizing your face. “You are beautiful. Do I tell you that in your proper time?”

“You do.” His cool hand is a welcome sensation against your hot skin and you nod softly against it. “You are always very kind to me.”

“Good.” Your answer pleases him and he smiles, his fangs once again hidden from sight. “Cookie will have settled down for the evening, so I will show you the bedroom Mrs. Taylor has no doubt prepared for you.” He glances at your clothes. “She will sort out suitable clothing. You cannot wear that.” He gestures towards your outfit.

“It certainly doesn’t seem that way.” Which is frustrating, if not realistic. You like your clothes most of the time. “But…what should we call you?” You ask after a moment. “I can’t go around calling you ‘grandfather’.”

“As you can imagine, I have had many identities through the times.” It’s almost bragging, but not quite. “For now, I am John Jacob Brown, residing here with my wife, Cookie and our daughter.”

“Mr. Brown.” Of course that makes perfect sense, and you nod accordingly. But it does make you wonder what his original name was. “And she is…here? Now? Annie?” It’s impossible not to ask, even though you know you shouldn’t make a big deal out of seeing your mother.

“By now, if you have come from as great a time in the future as I imagine, you know by now that your mother is far older than she appears.” He smiles proudly, happy he can provide centuries of life to his offspring to enjoy. “Right now. She is thirty-one. A ‘spinster’ by the collective society, yet she still receives callers regularly.”

“I would guess that most of society does not know her real age,” you venture, before looking up at Max. “Mom always had a baby face. It really was impossible to know how old she was.”

Your grandfather’s eyes flicker between you and your partner, not missing the terms you are using to describe your mother. Past tense, as if she is no longer in your life. “She appears to be eighteen.” He nods and Max snorts. “Sweetheart, you should look in the mirror. You don’t look twenty-one yourself.”

“It runs in the family,” you joke quietly, always glad for any way you could be positively compared to your mother.

“Have you eaten?” Your grandfather asks and then shakes his head. “I meant the vampire; I know that Mrs. Taylor has prepared a tray to have sitting in your room.” His eyes crinkle in amusement.

It is something of a comfort to know that Mrs. Taylor has always been the same, and you smile at how pleased the vampire housekeeper would be to know that the house still operates like a well-oiled machine under her supervision. “Actually…Mrs. Taylor takes wonderful care of us, still. So Max had blood at tea today.”

“I see.” He nods in understanding. “When you are needing some, we have a donor, so the supply is fresh.”

You both thank him, not wanting to say too much about your own time and give away more than you have. When Mrs. Taylor appears a moment later to escort you to your room, it is only at the prospect of sleep that you really start to feel how exhausted you are.

“Don’t worry, Dolly.” Max murmurs as the two of you are guided through the familiar halls. It’s not as if you can say that you know the way since you’ve supposedly never been in this house. “I will not leave you during the night.”

The third-floor guest room you are shown to has a big, beautiful canopy bed carved in Chinese imagery and with a typically Chinese element in the carvings. Renee had told you once that he took Cookie to China when they were first married and she had loved it there. As far as you know, this is known as the Gold Room, and judging by the even more brilliant color of the gold silk brocade wall coverings and golden bedclothes, it probably is called that in this time as well.

“The bell cord is right here.” Mrs. Taylor wraps her hand around a gold braid rope. “If you require anything, just pull it sharply and we will be up.”

“Thank you,” a simple nod seems to work best, but you chew your bottom lip nervously and add, “for everything.”

“My pleasure.” She nods and motions towards the sitting area. “There is a tray with some refreshments if you wish.”

“Thank you,” you murmur again, barely stopping yourself from assuring her that she always takes such good care of you. Yayo says your origin needs to remain a secret from everyone else, and you absolutely understand why.

Once Mrs. Taylor leaves the room, Max turns to you and cups your cheek. “When you want to talk about it, sweetheart…why don’t we call it ‘back home’?” He suggests. “I know this will be hard, but we can do this, we did this before.”

“It’s hard to wrap my head around.” With your face in his hands, your shoulders droop from pure exhaustion rather than anything else, and you sigh. “We’ll say we’re from Tennessee? Since that’s where we would have met if things had gone differently?”

“Perfect.” He winks at you. “I’ll adopt a hillbilly accent and everything.” He teases, knowing that he was nothing but happy in Tennessee before he was kicked out of Vanderbilt.

“Don’t push it.” Even though you try for a warning tone it comes out in a laugh. “I’m so fucking grateful you’re here, honey. I couldn’t do this without you.”

“Sweetheart, we are in this together.” He promises, leaning in and giving you a soft kiss on the lips, relishing the sudden bump of his heart. Something he doesn’t know if he will ever get used to and he loves it.

“I’m very glad to hear it.” Without that solidarity, with his utter and complete support, you really don’t know how you would manage whatever is to come. But with him? You just might be able to make it work.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04

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My Masterlist!

[ome-magical-ramblings]

Review: Spiritual Cleansing by Draja Mickaharic

If there's one book I would always go back to or always look back to or recommend to others it is this book! Seriously, that's how good this book is. To start with, this book is the best because it is direct, to the point, and only 100ish pages. I honestly have to put the following "warning" that the author himself puts in the start of the book:

Because some of these things sound simple and interesting, don't get an idea to “do a variation.” When you try to work “magic” using only your own enthusiasm you are treading in dangerous waters.

How do I sell you on this book? that's a funny way of me saying that this is the best book you will have in your library as a starting beginner. First let me mention some stuff from the book, which is evil eye being the first chapter and get dealt with so swiftly with a beer bath and there's no extra mystification or complicated procedure being given. As this whole book the procedures are simple but application of them consistently will proves their benefits. In the Arbatel itself we find the following:

God and Nature have ordained all things to a certain and appointed end: so that for examples sake, they who perform cures with the most simple herbs and roots, do cure the most happily of all. And in this manner, in Constellations, Words and Characters, Stones, and such like, do lie hid the greatest influences or vertues in deed, which are in stead of a miracle.

Protection while asleep, psychic, attacks, and stuff related to sleep and protecting your loved ones can be seen here where you can help someone who can't help themselves like a child or someone who's too weak to protect themselves at night.

My Favorite Chapter(4) is the bath/spiritual baths chapter. Every part of the bath from beginning to end is filled with gems and wisdom that you will not regret. 4 Cleansing baths, 12 herbal bath, 6 household items baths, 2 love baths, and 4 nut baths, like what's MORE I can say except mention the bath he got the most testimony out of! To add ¼ cup bicarbonate of soda (baking soda) to the regular bath water is an amazing cleansing bath both physically and spiritually :) of course praying, doing it with the instructions and so on is the best you can do!

Special mentions go to chapter 6 for teaching how to cleanse with an egg and not making it some tiktokized or 30 seconds or 2 minutes version of it. What can I say more is that it is a VERY amazing chapter, for all kind of cleansing emotional or spiritual, for eyestrain, for protection while asleep, cleansing your home, cleansing the sick, and cleansing your pet!

I will jump over chapter 7 and 8 despite them being EXTREMELY good and mention that chapter 9 is a MUST READ. Mainly these methods of washing the head or feeding the head are used to work with the non-physical part of the human mentation, not exactly a replacement for psychology or psychiatry or medical treatment of mental illnesses but it is an AMAZING addition to anyone who's healthy but feel slightly "off".

The last chapter and appendix is about finding spiritual practitioner to help you, and what Draja describe as "Recommended System of Treatment for General Therapy", I am honestly just going to say good read the book, it isn't that long and the weight of it is in gold with how much jam-packed it is with technique you would pick up from here or there. Go buy it, pirate it, I don't know just get it and see for yourself!

[riririnnnn]

Aftermath of NEL/BM Vs PxG:

Isagi is the protagonist, so I'll be focusing on him.

From the start, the main main rival in NEL for Isagi has been Kaiser, and there have been instances where the latter had accepted that Isagi got him good. In fact, in the chapter 239, he was genuinely tweaking:

You see my boy in the top left? Yeah, even Ness was taken aback.

Also, while we are at it, can we give a glance to this panel:

Ness, indeed, calls everything disgusting, but the last line, "The Magic of Yoichi's football...!?"

Hello???????????????

How did we ignore that, huh?

I understand that it doesn't seem like much but if we were to take in account of his backstory, then we can say that, that IS a big statement coming out of Ness' mouth.

So, is this like a slow/indirect build-up to a moment in the BM Vs PxG where Ness assists Isagi instead of Kaiser?

BUT

That's where things becomes low-key difficult for me to digest.

You see, if Isagi were to INDEED surpass/defeat Kaiser, then what?

No, I'm not trying to pick up a fight, I'm genuinely asking what will happen after that? Will Kaiser become a disposable rival or something like Kira Ryosuke?

But you know, the above thing seems a bit farfetched. I understand that Kira disappearing like that seemed farfetched too, but Kaiser as a character has too much depth to just be thrown away.

That's why, I think that Isagi MIGHT surpass Kaiser but only superficially.

That's that, and now we have this grumpy fella:

Rin has been Isagi's rival ever since the beginning of second selection and the thing low-key became officially mutual when Sae praised Isagi after the U-20 match.

However, Isagi's Blue Lock rank is canonically 2 now and Rin's rank is 1. So if Isagi were to truly defeat Rin, then he will became number 1 and that's like the endgame for Blue Lock you know— protagonist reached the highest point. I understand that the main goal is to win the World Cup, but still.. you getting me, right?

BUT

Amidst everything, why are we forgetting this miracle boy:

What if he pulls up some Prodigy shit during the Barcha match and gets into Top 3?

Further, with Kunigami Vs Shidou, what makes you think that these two wouldn't get into Top 5 too?

I think that Isagi wouldn't be number 1 yet. He'll probably share the rank or maybe that his auction value will increase for sure but he'll get his rank lowered/shared. It makes sense because there have been many moments where Isagi was humbled and didn't get the victory he wanted at once.

But.

(screeches)

BUT

We can't forget the above panel.

Something fiery is being cooked up.

Every type of theory that has been made about World Cup arc/Post-NEL arc takes in the facts from whatever we know about REAL life U-20 World Cup.

So if something entirely else is going to happen in the BLLK universe, then I don't know what more can happen.

To sum it up, I think this MIGHT happen:

Rin gets an offer from Royale Madrid/Re Al and will maintain his ranking of 1.

Isagi gets an offer with higher salary than his current but it'll not affect his ranking.

Nagi pulls up his shit and becomes L(egend).

Top 5/Top 10 will have more than one shared ranking.

Shidou and Kunigami gets banger offers too.

And about the match:

Kaiser will score a goal.

Kunigami too and Shidou will give him some kind of acknowledgement.

IGA-DA-GOAT-GURI will clutch and gives BM a free kick by making someone from PxG do a foul.

Kiyora will either assist or will score himself.

Isagi might score a goal too.

Yukimiya might assist.

Raichi defends against Loki.

Goatmaru slays.

Charles Vs Hiori.

Feel free to add yours!

.

.

.

Charles might throw a tantrum if PxG loses. Idk why he gives off a BIG bratty prankster vibes.

[skyward-floored]

The cat’s out of the bag chapter 3

Surprise, I finished it! It’s a pi day miracle lol. Yet more adventures of Wind as a cat.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52017334/chapters/137983660

Chapter 2 | Next

————————————————————

The last bits of light were gone from the sky, revealing stars speckled all across the dark expanse it had become. The moon had risen as well, a thin claw of white partially obscured by the branches of the forest, and Twilight glanced at it once, before looking back at the heroes who were gathered around him.

“So...”

Warriors’ voice seemed loud in the quiet that had fallen over the group, and the captain crossed his arms, giving Twilight an intense look that felt like it burned straight through him.

“Wind touched an item of yours he shouldn’t have, it turned him into a cat, and the only sure-fire way to fix him is with the Master Sword. Am I correct?” he asked in a surprisingly level voice, and Twilight nodded.

“Yes.”

“Hm.”

Warriors raised an eyebrow, but nodded and didn’t push for any further information, to Twilight’s surprise.

...and relief.

He’d just finished his explanation of how Wind had become a feline, and Warriors had seemed... extremely skeptical of the tale. It was true Twilight had tiptoed around the fact that he was Wolfie, and the item that had turned Wind was what he used to do it, but he hadn’t lied at all in his story.

...sidestepped the truth a little, but hadn’t lied.

Time had given Twilight several looks during his explanation of events, as had Wild, but neither of them interjected, and nobody else who knew about Wolfie had said anything either.

And maybe it would have been better just to explain everything, since Warriors and Hyrule were the only two heroes beside Sky who weren’t aware of his wolf-form. But truth be told, Twilight just wasn’t in the mood to face the whole ‘by the way I’m Wolfie’ conversation. He’d already had to explain it all to Wind today, the others could wait a bit longer.

Though, with the faces Warriors was making... it probably wouldn’t be long before he figured it out.

If he hadn’t already.

“So it’s a magic item then,” Hyrule said thoughtfully, then frowned a little. “One that isn’t easy to control... I thought you didn’t like magic, Rancher?”

Twilight shrugged. “I have a few artifacts. That one is just...” He hesitated. “...tricky.”

“That’s one word for it,” Legend snorted under his breath.

“Is the Master Sword really the only way to restore him?” Warriors asked again, and Twilight nodded.

“The only one available to us. Another source of strong, pure light magic might be able to fix him, like the light spirits in my Hyrule, but I’m certain these aren’t my lands. The sword is our best bet.”

“Well that’s unfortunate with Sky missing,” Four frowned. He looked at Wind, and the thoughtfulness in his eyes quickly turned soft. “...Is he asleep already?”

Twilight paused at Four’s hushed question, and looked down at the ball of fluff curled up on his lap, little breathy noises coming from within. Wind’s tail was tucked over his nose, leaving only the top of his face visible, and his eyes were closed, the tension his body had been holding all afternoon finally relaxed.

“I think so,” Twilight whispered back, and Time sighed from next to him.

“Good. He needs the rest. He was barely standing,” he said softly, and Twilight nodded, resisting the urge to cuddle Wind up to his chest.

He would never admit it while the sailor was awake, but he was cute, soft creamy fur with faint windy swirls of a darker pattern on his feet, face, and tail, and big blue-green eyes with a little pink nose. He wasn’t even a completely full-grown cat yet, which only made him more adorable, but Twilight was sure he’d get a bite on the hand if he voiced it.

But... he really was cute.

And exhausted because of you, his brain hissed, and the guilt constricted in Twilight’s middle again. You should have warned him sooner about touching the crystal.

“Poor kid. He’s totally exhausted, huh?” Legend asked, and Twilight checked back into the discussion, nodding.

“The transformation wore him out. It’s a lot of magic all at once, and he wasn’t expecting it at all,” Twilight said quietly, running a gentle hand over Wind’s fur.

“But he’ll be okay, right?” Wild asked, fiddling with his tunic as he looked at the sailor, and Twilight nodded.

“Yeah. The first time is always the worst.”

Warriors narrowed his eyes at that, and Hyrule had a suspicious look on his face as he glanced between Wind and Twilight. Twilight swallowed, and averted his gaze from the two, trying not to fidget.

Okay, maybe I should just come out with it already, this is a bit ridiculous.

Twilight couldn’t quite get his mouth to open, though.

He shifted a little awkwardly on his seat, and Wind suddenly raised his head with a soft mrrp?, looking around sleepily. Everyone immediately quieted down, and they all looked at Wind, who barely seemed awake.

“Sorry Wind, it’s okay. You can go back to sleep,” the rancher whispered, and Wind flicked an ear, then closed his eyes, tucking his paws back underneath him. He let out a breathy little sigh as he curled back up, and was asleep within moments.

Twilight heard a soft click, and looked over to see Wild taking a picture on his slate, a grin on his face.

“It’s for posterity,” he defended when Twilight raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t want future generations to miss out on this cuteness, would you Twi? Or his sister? She’ll be so sad if she hears that this happened and she didn’t get to see.”

Twilight waved a hand in defeat. “I take no responsibility for this if Wind asks.”

“He might not appreciate pictures,” Time mentioned with an eyebrow raised similar to Twilight’s, but Wild just took another picture.

“If it happened to me he would be taking pictures too. I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it,” he said cheerily.

Twilight shrugged. He knew Wind had at least one picture of Wild his protégé wouldn’t want getting out. This was just evening the score.

“So... what are we going to do about Sky?” Four asked, trying to get back on track, and Warriors hummed.

“Going out and looking for him now wouldn’t be very productive, it’s too dark,” he said with a look up at the sky. “My suggestion would be that we leave someone up to watch for Sky, do an occasional loop around camp, maybe call now and then. If he hasn’t come around by tomorrow, we can look for him in earnest.”

He glanced at Twilight, and Twilight met his gaze with a level look.

“That sounds fine,” Time said before either of them could say anything, and placed a hand on Twilight’s shoulder. “But now we should all get some rest, you especially rancher.”

Twilight turned towards his ancestor with a confused look. “I’m fine old man, that red potion did the trick.”

“Those don’t fix blood loss though,” Hyrule pointed out helpfully. “At least not all the way. And you still look pale.”

“Our Traveler is correct. Get some sleep, Rancher,” Time said firmly, and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “You’ll be able to help Wind better if you’re well rested.”

Twilight hesitated, then let out a sigh. “Fine.”

He had wanted to stay up for at least one shift of keeping an eye out for Sky, but it didn’t look like that was going to happen. Not with everyone watching me like I’m going to suddenly collapse.

Though to be fair, he did still feel a tad dizzy.

Twilight slouched more against the log he was sitting against, unwilling to further disturb Wind from his peaceful slumber by properly lying down, and closed his eyes, beyond tired from the day’s events.

He just hoped they would find Sky quickly.

(...)

Wind stretched himself out with a big yawn, extending his toes and claws into the sunshine, and raising his back up in the air.

He shook himself once he’d finished, and watched the rest of the heroes finish packing up camp. Wind had slept straight through the night and woken up early, but had been sorely disappointed to discover that Sky hadn’t joined them in the middle of the night.

Waking up and remembering he was a cat also wasn’t so fun, but at least he was starting to get used to it.

A spot on his head itched, and Wind huffed, sitting down and attempting to scratch at it with one of his paws. He didn’t have any luck though, merely bonking it once and nearly falling over, and Wind growled in frustration. Oh come on!

“Try your back leg.”

Wind lowered his front paw, and looked over at Wild, who had obviously been watching him.

“Your back leg,” Wild repeated, and pointed to one. “Raise it up and tilt your head, you’ll be able to reach any itches on your head or neck.”

That sounds fake, but okay, Wind thought, then tried to do what Wild said. To his surprise, his foot went right where he wanted it to, and he was able to relieve the itching with barely a thought. Well whaddya know?

Wind gave Wild a grateful look, and the cook shot him a grin.

“No problem, Sailor. I’ve spent enough time around Wolfie and stable dogs to know a few of their tricks,” he said, and Legend snorted from nearby, standing up as he strapped his sword on.

“You’re wild enough without needing to take tips from dogs and wolves, Champ.”

“Hey now, the stable dogs are very civilized,” Wild said, and earned a flick on the ear from Twilight as he walked by. “Hey!”

Wind let out a little mewl of laughter at Wild’s offended look, and Twilight kneeled down next to him, extending an arm. Wind blinked at him, then realized Twilight must want him to climb up and sit on his shoulder again while they walked.

“I know, I would rather walk if it were me too,” Twilight apologized when Wind let out a grumpy little huff. “But we need to figure out what happened to Sky, and we’ll make better ground if I carry you.”

Wind lashed his tail and stood up, walking around in a little circle and concentrating on where he placed every paw. He managed to make it all the way around Twilight without falling over, and gave him a hopeful look.

“See? I’ll be fine!” Wind meowed pointedly, blinking up at Twilight.

Twilight sighed. “Sailor...”

“I think he could walk with us for at least a little while,” Four piped up from nearby, looking down at Wind. “He seems a lot stronger than he did yesterday.”

“Yeah, and he can always just hitch a ride if he gets tired,” Wild added, and Twilight looked between him and Four, then back at Wind.

“You’re sure you can handle walking?” he asked seriously, and Wind nodded, his tail sticking up. Twilight studied him a moment, then sighed, giving him a nod. “...Then I’m okay with it. As long as you let us know the minute you need a break, and let someone carry you.”

Wind scrunched his face up at the addition, but meowed in agreement, willing to put up with it so long as he got to walk by himself.

He felt plenty rested from sleeping, and had practiced walking around a bit while everyone else had woken up and packed up their things. Wind felt much more confident in his paws, even if he was still tripping regularly, and he was eager to walk around more.

Besides, I bet we’ll find Sky really quickly and I won’t even need to walk that long.

“So which way should we go?”

Wind looked up at who’d spoken, Four gesturing to the woods around them. Everyone was packed and ready to go, and they stood ready to begin walking.

...As soon as they figured out where to go.

“...huh. Good question,” Twilight said, looking around the trees as well. “What’s the mostly likely direction for Sky to have ended up in?”

“Well, if we came out over there, and you guys came out over there, then it stands to reason that Sky probably came out in a different direction,” Wild said, studying the woods and pointing in a seemingly random direction. The birch trees he was gesturing to made the forest seem strangely bright, and Wind had to squint a little. “So we should try over here.”

“Why there specifically?” Warriors asked.

Wild shrugged. “The ground slopes up, it’ll probably lead to a good vantage point if nothing else. If Sky isn’t there, we might be able to at least see where he actually is.”

“But what if Sky came out the other direction?” Hyrule asked. “Then we’ll be going away from each other.”

“That might be a risk we have to take,” Time said thoughtfully.

“We might waste a lot of time though,” Warriors cut in, “Sky might need our help, and if he really did come out a different direction...”

They all began to argue about where to go, and Wind rolled his eyes and stopped listening, looking around a minute, then trotting towards a rock nearby that was covered in moss. It smelled pretty interesting, much more interesting then a discussion he couldn’t contribute to, and Wind gave it a curious sniff as he walked around to the other side, out of view of the arguing Links.

The moss looked soft too, and Wind raised a paw, pressing against it and letting out a little purr when he realized he’d been right. It was really soft!

Wind nuzzled up to it, rubbing his face along the moss, then pulled back when a bug nearly crawled on his nose. He sniffed at it, poking it with a paw, then flattened his ears and backed away as a smell hit him, thick and unpleasant. That must be one of those stink bugs Hyrule was talking about.

Wind shook his head in disgust and sniffed around some more, trying to get the bad smell out of his nose by smelling other things. He wandered into the woods a little, smelling pine needles and sunshine, and sat down on a small stone, curling his tail around him as he took in the forest.

As annoying as being stuck as a cat was, it really was kinda cool how heightened his senses were. He could smell all sorts of things about the woods, flowers and animals, and faint traces of the ocean somewhere. He could smell the other heroes from behind him too, each with their own unique scents. Wind could even hear them talking if he swiveled his ears around, though not the exact words.

He could tell they were still arguing though.

Wind shook his head in exasperation, and stood up again, trotting a little deeper into the woods. If they were going to just stand around and argue, he’d look around for Sky himself. He could smell things so well right now, he’d be one of the most likely to find him, right?

Easy-peasy.

A chirp interrupted his thoughts, and Wind looked over to see a little white bird land on a log nearby.

It chirped and hopped along the wood, and Wind couldn’t help staring at it, his tail twitching. Something about it was almost mesmerizing, drawing his focus, and he crept a bit closer, staying low to the ground so the bird wouldn’t see him. It chirped on, oblivious to his presence, and Wind hid behind a stump, poking his head out and watching the bird.

I wonder what would happen if I pounced on it? he thought as it chirped again, then blinked. ...I wonder where that thought came from.

Wind watched the bird again, pecking at the wood below it and trying to get some bugs to eat. His tail gave a big twitch, and Wind began to creep out from the cover of the stump, zeroing in on the bird.

I’ll just jump on it to see if I can, he thought to himself, sneaking closer. Aryll would kill me if she knew I hurt a bird, so I’ll just pounce on it and let it go—

“Wind!”

The bird squawked and flew away, and Wind felt a hand scoop him up by the scruff, startling a mrreow out of him.

“Don’t wander off!” Twilight’s voice scolded, and turned Wind around so he could look at his face. Wind let out a cross hiss at him. “Oh don’t give me that, you’ve been gone ten minutes, we thought you’d gotten lost or something!”

Just because I’m a cat doesn’t mean I suddenly can’t handle myself! Wind thought with an growl, and he and Twilight glared at each other a minute before Twilight sighed, and set him down.

Wind sat down and crossly licked his shoulder, ears flat with annoyance.

“Look, Wind... you’re vulnerable at the moment,” Twilight said, his face creased. “I know it might not feel that way to you, but the truth of it is you are. You’re not used to this form, and you can’t easily defend yourself. You need to be careful.”

“I was being careful!” Wind meowed back, wishing he could actually speak his mind. “I was listening and smelling for danger! And I was looking for Sky! Unlike you all who were just arguing!”

Twilight sighed. “I don’t have any idea what you said, Sailor, I’m sorry. But we figured out where we’re going, so come on back so we can get a move on.”

Wind let out a muttered growl of agreement, and walked along at Twilight’s heels when he turned back towards the others, Wind’s ears still flat.

Great. We’d finally started to get past treating me as a useless kid, and now we’re back to square one! Being a cat doesn’t not make me a hero!

Wind kicked at some pine needles, and tripped, just barely catching himself. Twilight gave him a look, but Wind ignored it, righting himself and looking grumpily at the paws he kept stumbling over.

Sky... please be somewhere close by.

I miss being me.

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

The Good Omens Season 2 Soundtrack! 😍❤🎵

The Soundtrack CD has wonderful cover and pics and look at the brilliant booklet! :D When you open it it looks like a box with a fly! :D

Options :):

(best to use the local store of course :), the Silva Screen page is thewebpage of the recording company)

CD:

Silva Screen 15.99 €

Amazon.co.uk £10.99

Amazon.com $30.79

Vinyl:

Silva Screen 39.99 €

Amazon.com $53.99

Digital:

Silva Screen 10.99 €

More digital listening options :) (some free)

Episode description and Track Listing :):

CHAPTER 1: THE ARRIVAL - Retired angel Aziraphale and retired demon Crowley's lives are upended when a visitor arrives on the doorstep of Aziraphale's bookshop, bringing chaos. Local shopkeepers Maggie and Nina get locked in to Nina's coffee shop when Crowley loses his temper. Heaven and Hell are suspicious, and Crowley and Aziraphale have a disagreement.

1. Before the Beginning 2. Good Omens 2 Opening Title 3. Into Soho 4. Something Terrible 5. To The Bookshop 6. Maggie and Nina 7. He’s Smoking 8. Tiny Miracle 9. Heavenly Alarm Bells

CHAPTER 2: THE CLUE featuring the minisode A COMPANION TO OWLS - Heaven and Hell are determined to find the missing angel. An overheard song provides Aziraphale with a Clue. Crowley and Aziraphale visit the pub to discuss ways that humans fall in love. While almost 5,000 years ago Crowley is sent to inflict punishments on the righteous Job, God's favourite person, as Aziraphale learns at first hand about temptation, and what Gabriel will and won't believe.

10. Avaunt! 11. The Song is the Clue 12. It’s What God Wants 13. A Mighty Wind 14. Whales 15. Gabriel Returns 16. His New Children 17. Am I Awful Now? 18. Fallen Angel

CHAPTER 3: I KNOW WHERE I'M GOING featuring the minisode THE RESURRECTIONISTS - Heaven sends the angel Muriel in disguise to spy on Aziraphale and Crowley. Aziraphale drives to Edinburgh in pursuit of his Clue, and learns a little about a lot. The couple's visit to Edinburgh in 1827 involves graverobbery, a statue and an unfortunate encounter with a vial of laudanum. In the present, Crowley is in charge of the bookshop, and is disappointed by human beings and the weather.

19. Police Arrive 20. Scotland 21. We’re Going to Hell 22. People Get a Choice 23. My Car is Not Yellow 24. Beelzebub in Hell 25. The Book 26. The Fly 27. Mr. Dalrymple 28. We Need to Cut 29. I’m Going to Save Her 30. Crowley Goes Large 31. Not Kind 32. Beelzebub Isn’t Happy

CHAPTER 4: THE HITCHHIKER featuring the minisode NAZI ZOMBIE FLESHEATERS - Aziraphale's good deed of picking up a hitchhiker on his way back to Soho proves to be a serious mistake. In 1941 Crowley and Aziraphale encounter some surprising adversaries, old and new, as the Nazi spies who almost entrapped Aziraphale return as zombies from the dead, intent on preventing him from attempting a bullet catch on the West End stage.

33. Hell-O 34. Nazi Zombies 35. March of the Nazi Zombies 36. Crowley Pep Talk 37. The Magic Shop 38. Catch The Bullet 39. Zombies in the Dressing Room

CHAPTER 5: THE BALL - Aziraphale tries to bring Maggie and Nina together by organising a meeting of the Whickber Street Shopkeepers and Street Traders Association. In Hell, Shax is determined to launch a full scale attack on the bookshop, with a legion of demons at her command. Nina's heart is broken, as is a bookshop window. Gabriel has a close encounter with Mrs Sandwich and a small plate of cakes.

40. I’ll Let You Have It 41. We’re Storming a Book Shop 42. Monsieur Azirophale 43. The Candelabra 44. Here Comes Hell 45. Gabriel Gives Himself Up 46. Shax 47. The Circle

CHAPTER 6: EVERY DAY - Crowley becomes a Heavenly bee and learns the truth about the Armageddon sequel. Aziraphale defends his bookshop from Shax's army and reveals his halo, Maggie and Nina become warriors, and Jim the assistant bookseller gets some hot chocolate. Crowley and Aziraphale get to the bottom of the mystery of the Matchbox. The Metatron brings an oat milk latte, along with a final offer.

48. Bin Through the Window 49. Gabriel Leaving Heaven 50. The Halo 51. Gabriel Revealed 52. Gabriel’s Love Story 53. Leaving The Bookshop 54. Gabriel and Beelzebub 55. Crowley and Muriel 56. I Forgive You 57. Don’t Bother 58. The Biggest Decision 59. The End?

The vinyl should look like this :) (damn, it gorgeous toooo! :D):

[carpetbug]

ML Feline Blue AU Chapter Two: The Pont des Arts

1 • 2 [tw: blood and slightly gory imagery] • 3

ao3

The last time Marinette had felt such paralyzing anxiety as she traveled towards the Pont de Arts was middle school. It was the day she realized she had a crush on Kim, and Socqueline - her best friend at the time, who left Francois’s Dupont at the end of 8th grade - had almost immediately shut down the immature day dream that was their future together. Still, Marinette had made her way to the bridge after school to stare at the locks of all the couples that had been here before her and conjure up sickeningly sweet fake scenarios of her new heartthrob. The craziest thing she had done that day was silently wish that Kim would magically reciprocate her romantic feelings, and still it had felt like she was walking some invisible tightrope, putting her life on the line for some spectacular balancing act she knew she could never pull off. She can still remember the way her hands shook and stomach churned while she perused the locks that decorated the bridge's walls. The fear she felt that day, that heavy stone of discomfort that lodged itself in her stomach, she felt it now all the same. Only this time, instead of feeling like she was merely risking her life, she could have sworn she was marching straight to death's door. And the miniature ladybug creature, this ‘kwami’, was doing little to put her unease to bed.

“You’re not listening, are you Marinette?” the alien-like red bug questioned delicately with a slight inflection to her already syrupy voice. Her eyes softened with guilt when Marinette met her expression with a lost look, lips parted slightly as she struggled to respond.

“I-I’m sorry.. uh.. Tek…?”

“Tikki” the small bug smiled patiently.

“Right. Tikki. I’m sorry Tikki” Marinette sighed and adjusted her hold on the miracle box. What a guardian she would be, she couldn’t even remember this kwamis name. How was she supposed to do.. well, everything else?

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“I died. That old man pushed me into the seine and I died.” Marinette stammered in disbelief as her limbs pushed her away from these freaks of nature without waiting for her brain's command.

“Don’t be scared, Marinette! We’re your friends!” The ladybug themed creature said reassuringly, dropping the intense tone with which she was speaking seconds prior. She, along with all the other small beings, floated effortlessly in the air. “I am Tikki, the kwami of creation. We aren’t going to hurt you, Master”

“Master?” Marinettes throat went bone dry as the words rattled her brain. She was their master? “Oh my god I’ve actually lost my mind.” She chuckled under her breath. The chuckle morphed to a steady laughter, and soon enough she was doubled over in hysterics, hands clutching her sides so tightly she could feel her nails digging into her ribcage. “That OLD man PUSHED me into the SEINE and I DIED!” She shouted in a side-splitting roar of laughter.

“Good job Sugarcube, now she’s having a breakdown.” Marinette heard a much more sour voice taunt. Suddenly what seemed like a million more voices chirped in, each unique in its pitch and pronunciation, and each more desperate to be heard than the last. She could only hear broken sentences and words through the plethora of noise from the kwamis and her own uncontrollable laughter, an occasional ‘We’re doomed!’ and ‘Master Fu!’ catching her ear.

“Just hush, Plagg!” the ladybug scoffed in annoyance. She darted closer to Marinette, small fin-like arm extending to pat her shoulder in a comforting gesture. “Tune them out Marinette, you simply need time. Your bravery will surface soon.” She tried to soothe the frantic girl before returning her attention to the other beings. “Everyone, please listen! We can’t do this now, not to her.” Tikki spoke sternly, yet the words hung in the air like a plea. “I.. I’m certain none of us are ready to speak about Master Fu," a dejected tone began to cling to her small voice as she continued “But he wants us to go forward. And he needs us to guide the new guardian”. Marinette looked up as her voice began to catch in her throat, a pang of pity shooting through her unstable heart at the sight of the tears beginning to pool in the small beings eyes.

“Master Fu?” Marinette repeated softly, peeling her hands off her body and standing up from the rough cement platform that offered her safety. With a powerful shudder she became painfully aware that she was still soaked from the seine. Her hands traveled up to her hair, removing the smooth ribbon that held together her right pigtail - the left had come undone in the water. “Is that... was that the old man?” She asked the kwamis with a weary tone, eyes trained on her soggy shoes as her hands wrung out her dark hair of the water still wearing it down. “Why did he-?”

“Throw you in a river?” the sour voice chimed in again. It belonged to the black cat, who was now floating leisurely on his back with a yawn. Marinette was almost certain she could see sharp teeth in the kwamis mouth. Tikki shot him a deathly glare, but he went on. “I’m Plagg, kwami of destruction, lover of cheese” He stated with casual disinterest, as if nothing traumatic had just occurred. “Not his smartest move, I’ll agree. But-” he sat upright and narrowed his eyes, voice taking a more serious tone “-he did what he had to do to keep us all safe.” his long tail flicked, motioning to the other kwamis. “That includes you.”

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“I was telling you about the kwamis, '' Tikki chirped, following by her guardian's side while levitating in the air. Marinette nodded, quickly glancing up to check what street they had reached, then darting her eyes back down to the wooden box she had hugged to her chest. It was getting harder and harder to focus on the bugs' words, her mind occupied only with thoughts of Master Fu. Despite the kwamis, and the freezing water that seems to have seeped into her bones, and the distressed voices in her head yelling at her that she was alone in this, Marinette couldn’t shake the idea that this man was still alive. He would be waiting at the Pont de Arts, ready to retrieve his miracle box and kwamis, and he'd reassure her that she would never have to worry about any of this miraculous nonsense ever again. Marinette wasn’t going to find his body. She wouldn’t.

“There's nineteen kwamis in all, but two of us are missing. Nooro and Duusu are the kwamis of transmi-”

“Tikki, I’m- I can’t-” Marinette bit her tongue as she fought to find the right words.

“What is it Marinette?”

“I’m sorry but I just can’t talk about this with you. It’s just… too much” Marinette mumbled, wishing the earth would open up beneath her and swallow her whole. “Can’t this Master Fu just explain things to me when we find him?”

Tikki blinked in surprise and remained silent for a few seconds. Then, she nodded and feigned a weak smile. “Of course Marinette. If we find Master Fu he will explain everything” she reassured.

Marinette nodded absentmindedly, taking another brief glimpse at the street signs and sighing in relief at seeing they were close to their destination. Suddenly this all felt like some sort of fever dream, like she would go home and sleep tonight then wake up in the morning with nothing changed. Except maybe she would always think about being thrown in the seine, the cold and brutal water that had seeped through her skin, leaving her fingertips wrinkled and pruny against the wood of the miracle box. And sure, it might feel real enough that her knees still wobble a bit as she walks, but everyone has horrible nightmares sometimes - right?

“Marinette”

“One second, Tikki” she stopped the kwami, still stuck in her train of thought.

“Marinette!” Tikki had paused, and Marinette turned her head to see the small red kwami floating, arm extended to point at the bridge that suddenly seemed to appear in front of them. When had they gotten here?

“Oh. Great, we’re here! Let’s find this Fu-Man and let me get home so I can go to bed and forget all about this.” She adjusted her hold on the box and began to cross the wide bridge when Tikki darted in front of her with urgency.

“Wait! Master, I must tell you, thi-”

“Sorry, but please just call me Marinette.”

Tikki smiled and continued “Marinette, I have to quickly warn you that- even we kwamis are not sure of the lengths this villain is willing to go. We do not know if he acts with mercy, so this may be something you don’t want to see. If you’d like, I can go ahead without you and see for myself then come back?”

Marinette scrunched her nose as she thought for a few moments. Eventually she shook her head and smiled- a genuine and kind smile that made Tikkis heart ache. “No need, I’ll come with you. You’ve been here for me during all this, so I want to be here for you until you’re back in good hands” she promised.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

“He was being chased?” Marinette questioned, reeling from the information the cat kwami had just dumped over her head like cold water. Fu had been pursued by some unknown antagonist for several weeks, until they eventually found and attacked the guardian. Marinette had only been an innocent bystander, a stranger in the wrong place at the wrong time, and a helping hand when Fu was at his most desperate for any kind of savior. She was the only way to get the miracle box out of the villains' reach in such a short amount of time. And the seine had been the only way to get her out of danger.

“More like hunted” Plagg sneered in response and crossed his arms

“Plagg, you're scaring her!”

“She should be scared!”

While the black and red kwami hissed at each other, the girl's head was spinning, overwhelmed with this new world she was suddenly a part of. There were so many questions running through her mind, all begging to be answered. But the most desperate one came first “Can we go back to the Pont des Arts?” She asked softly, interrupting their argument.

Plaggs expression widened in shock, and he was about to protest when Tikki stopped him. “Good idea, I’ll have all the kwamis return to the miracle box.”

“Well, wait-” she stopped her “Will you stay with me? I would feel a bit better if I had someone more informed by my side”

The red bug smiled and nodded, still ignoring the bewildered look from the cat. Before he could say anymore, she turned back to the kwamis, leaving him grumbling and following after her.

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“God. It’s already three a.m, papa is going to be awake and getting started in the bakery soon.” Marinette muttered to herself while checking the time, her and Tikki moving at a slow pace across the bridge. It was dark, the moon providing the majority of the lighting cast down on them. And, it was almost entirely silent. Save for the constant rushing of the water beneath the bridge -the sound was making her hands begin to shake all over again-, and the occasional distant hum of a car passing nearby.

“A bakery?” Tikki whispered in response.

“Yeah,” she smiled. “My parents own a bakery. ‘Tom and Sabines’.” Her hands came together then spread like she was forming a rainbow in the air as she spoke, adding a loving touch to the simple name. Tikki gave a light giggle.

“Sounds amazing! What kind of sweets do they make?” the red bug questioned before suddenly gasping, “Do they make cookies?! I haven’t had a chocolate chip cookie in so long!”

Marinette was taken back by the kwamis sudden eagerness for one of the simplest sweets their bakery had to offer, but she couldn’t help but give an entertained laugh. “We make all kinds of cookies. Snickerdoodle, peanut butter, red velvet, oatmeal raisin, -”

“Yuck.”

“Don’t you dare say that about oatmeal raisin cookies.”

“Get to the good stuff!”

She stuck her tongue out teasingly at the kwami before continuing, “chocolate chip, chocolate chunks, and like a billion other ones I'm forgetting. Give or take seasonal and custom flavors my dad makes from time to time, too.” When she looked up, Marinette swore a line of drool was trailing from Tikkis mouth, but as soon as she had noticed it the bug was in her face in excitement once again.

“Wow!” Tikki exclaimed. “I can’t wait to try them.”

“How long has it been since you last had a cookie?” she asked. Marinette wondered what parts of human life the kwamis knew of and took part in, given the ‘secrecy’ about their existence. They were familiar enough to have opinions on cookie flavors, apparently.

“Oh, I'm not sure. I haven’t had a holder in a few decades, though I have left the miracle box during that time, - Marinette? Are you not listening again?”

Almost as soon as the kwami had started talking, Marinette had frozen her stare on something ahead of them, and she seemed a million worlds away. Tikki turned to look and her heart dropped.

Blood soaked into the wood underfoot, leaving a dark stain that seemed pure black in the night time. More sat in small pools and splatters, some spraying across the lock decorations and steadily drip-drip-dripping into the surface below. The longer she stared the more she realized the Pont des Arts would now always feel like it had been smeared with death. It was all too fresh, like someone had drained the old man of all his blood and used it like paint, spreading the viscous liquid on any surface they could. It seemed like both an introduction, and parting gift. The display was left with intent, the predator that had gotten Fu was leaving a warning for whoever tried to come to his rescue. It said ‘I’m here, look what I am capable of. Look at everything I did. Look at what I’m willing to do.’

Marinette took a step back, mouth agape as she realized breathing was becoming increasingly difficult. Her blood pounded in her ears, droning out the seemingly fraught help Tikki was trying to provide the panicked girl. Another step back and her legs buckled, dropping her directly into the glistening pools of gore. Her hands clenched into fists, now stained a dark red as she kneeled in the blood, and she panted in desperate need for air. It seemed to hang in the air now, the metallic tang filling her mouth and nose.

“Marinette!”

The screech - almost directly in her ear - snapped her attention back to the ladybug creature, whose voice was feverish with alarm. “Tikki..” she breathed, still struggling to keep from hyperventilating. “Tikki, this is him, isn’t it?” Marinette brought her hands up, now holding them raised in the air to shine in the moonlight. The crimson liquid trickled from her palm to her wrist, then down her elbow and back to the bridge. “This is Master Fu?” the tears began to fall down her cheeks now, the reality setting in. She was the guardian. She was alone.

“You need to get home.”

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Marinette gets home, soaked (though no longer bloody, thanks to an alley hose she passed on her walk), and exhausted. Her breathing still awkward and unbalanced, lungs aching from whatever water she took in from the seine. Her emotions bubble inside her, threatening to spill over from her eyes once again. It was bad enough you could tell she had been crying already, she didn’t need her parents to see her in the act. Tikki rested on her shoulder, tucked neatly into her hair as they approached the bakery.

“Home sweet home” she said, waving her hands with pretend enthusiasm as she tried to revive the playful energy they had earlier. Instead her voice felt deflated and hollow. Her hands reached for the doorknob, shaking slightly as they hovered above it.

“Do you not want to go in?”

“Its not that.”

“Marinette. You can talk to me”

Marinette took a deep breath. “I can’t hide all this from my parents. Not yet, at least. If I go inside now and they’re awake, they'll know I was outside then they’ll see I was crying and I’m terrible at hiding things from my maman so one word from her and I’ll instantly spill everything that happened and then they-”

“Slow, Marinette. Is there any way you can sneak in?”

“Only through a window or my balcony, both of which I definitely can't reach from down here” she huffed, the puff of breath blowing through her still damp bangs that hung across her face. She was about to grit her teeth and accept the inevitable interrogation her parents would give when Tikki spoke again.

“I can fix that.” the kwami gave a sweet smile before phasing seamlessly through the wood of the miracle box and returning with a small case in her arms. “These are the miraculous of the ladybug. If you put on these earrings and say ‘Spots On’, you'll transform and be able to get to your balcony undetected.”

Marinette hesitated, then reached for the box and opened the lid to peek at the miraculous. Inside were two round, red earrings each with five small spots, which she carefully plucked from their resting places. They went through her ears effortlessly and lacked the weight that many earrings came with. “Please don’t tell me this is going to hurt” she wheezed, eyes drooping with sleep.

“Definitely not.” Tikki reassured quickly. “When you’re inside just say ‘Spots Off’ to drop the transformation.”

“Well… spots on?”

Tikki flew through the air, this time as if she was being pulled by some invisible force - one coming from the earrings. Her vision exploded with pink as bubbling, glowing masses appeared out of thin air and swarmed onto her body. She held her breath and pressed her eyes closed, still awaiting a sting or ache to overtake her body despite Tikkis reassurance. Instead the magical clouds felt light and tingly on her skin as they passed over her from head to toe.

The buzz came to a stop in a few moments which Marinette took as a cue to open her eyes. Nothing around her had changed, she was still standing outside the bakery clutching the miracle box, only now she was dressed in a sleek red and black spotted suit from neck to toe. She was a ladybug.

Marinettes breathing hitched in her chest as she ran her gloved hand across the material, then up to her face where she felt the grooves of a mask across her eyes. Built in secret identity, cool. She felt refreshed, the soreness in her legs was now just a weak discomfort. She took a relieved breath, and slowly stretched her limbs as she gathered her bearings. A yoyo rested on her hip, also a solid red with five black spots like the earrings, but with the same honeycomb texturing of her suit.

“A yoyo? I’m going to… yoyo to my room?” she mumbled to herself as she gave it a few experimental tosses. Looking up, she took a few breaths and prepared herself. She took a step back and threw the yo-yo towards a neighboring roof, then gave a slight tug when it had wrapped around some solid object. It pulled her effortlessly from the ground, propelling her upwards while she struggled, airborne, like a fish out of water. In moments she landed, almost entirely flat on her face, on the spine of the rooftop.

It took a minute for Marinette to figure out her next step, which ended up being just to drop from the roof to her balcony. It had seemed much more complicated in her head, like she would have to be some ninja, hiding in the shadows. But she had left the trapdoor to her room unlocked, so it had required no more effort than opening a door. She landed softly on her bed, and subsequently threw herself back onto her blankets with an exasperated sigh.

“Spots off” she mumbled, already fighting the alluring call of sleep. Another flash of the magic light and the suit was gone, leaving Tikki in its place. She looked around, observing her new environment before turning back to Marinette.

“Home sweet home” She echoed the previous statement, then burrowed into the crook of Marinettes elbow as the girl groggily put herself to bed. With the miracle box held firmly in her grip, and the deep ache slowly returning to her muscles as the magic of the miraculous wore off, she mumbled a barely coherent goodnight to Tikki and let herself fall into the comfort of sleep.

[separatist-apologist]

Never Not Mine

Summary: Elain Archeron has been betrothed to the seventh born son of Autumn for as long as she can remember. With her family's reputation in the balance, Elain is resigned to her fate.

That doesn't mean she has to like it…or that she has to make it easy for him.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Read on AO3

Elain wasn’t invited into the meeting with Kallias, leaving her alone with the Lady of Winter, Viviane. She’d never met her, either, though Elain of course knew of her—had seen her on occasion but never spoken to her.

“Walk with me,” Viviane had suggested when Lucien disappeared behind a door. His face was still freshly brutalized, the scars pink around the edges. It was a miracle he was alive at all—he should have died. He should have died in the mountains while she clutched at his body, sobbing into the howling wind. 

No one knew that, though. Lucien had survived that night, a magic Elain didn’t truly understand. He was a seventh son with no magical gifts to speak of. Eris had the markers of a future High Lord and yet…when Elain had woken that morning, Lucien had still been battling the ravages of the poison, but he, too, still radiated magic pooled deep in a well he had no business having.

Kallias had been prepared to turn them away with little more than a healer but had changed his mind when he looked upon Lucien. Had he seen it? The challenge to Beron’s power, the possibility of a neighbor whose High Lord owed him his life? 

“Walk with me,” Viviane murmured, linking her arm with Elain’s. “There’s no point sitting around waiting on males.”

“I’d like to know what they’re discussing,” Elain replied, frustrated she’d been shut out. The only reason Lucien was around to talk to was because of her. She’d dragged him here, heavy and limp and at one point without a horse. She deserved to be included. 

“I’m sure your husband will tell you,” Viviane replied in that sweet, good-natured way of hers. “They like to feel important though, don’t they?”

That did little to soothe Elain’s wounded pride. “Do you know what they’re discussing?”

“Helion's terms, likely,” Viviane said, pretty face serene in the cold morning glow. If Kallias was frigid ice then Viviane was inviting snow. Still cold, but in a way that felt friendly—pretty, beneath the glittering sunlight and yet no less dangerous should you drop your guard. “High Lord’s can be…difficult…when it comes to hospitality.”

“Eris Vanserra warned us not to go to Day,” Elain admitted, wondering only after the fact if it was wise to tell Kallias’ wife. 

“I’m sure he knows more about the inner workings of Autumn…but his wife is from Day, and I would think the relationship between their two courts is friendlier than most.”

“Maybe the way he acquired her left a bad taste in their High Lord’s mouth?” Elain asked as she slid her hands into her pockets.

Viviane’s pale, blue eyes twinkled. “Perhaps. Helion can’t be too upset if he’s allowing you both to remain in exile, should you like.”

Was that what they were, then? Exiles? Elain would think about it later because she had one, last question for the Lady of Winter. “Lucien should be dead,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper.

Viviane’s eyes sharpened. “My lady Elain. Are you certain this is a conversation you want to have with me?”

Elain hesitated. “You…you were there when Kallias became High Lord. You saw…”

“I did,” Viviane agreed, her face cold as night. “And it was a secret I would have taken to my grave. I would consider what you say to me very carefully because there are some who would kill a potential High Lord on sight.”

Elain’s blood ran cold. “You wouldn’t.”

Viviane only shrugged, her sweetness returning. “Who can say what I or my High Lord might do? I would hate for you to find out when you’re so close to leaving.”

Elain sighed. “I hate politics.”

Viviane bumped her shoulder with Elain’s. “As do I. Whatever your suspicions, though, just know…I echo them, privately. Helion commands over a thousand libraries. Do some research, see what you uncover…and then move in secret. No matter how his brothers claim to love him, they will only see a threat, should your suspicions prove correct.”

There was nothing left to say to the Lady of Winter—though Elain had a million questions. They could have been friends, she thought glumly once Viviane parted ways with her. Viviane could have mentored Elain through all this, if only briefly and instead…instead she picked her home. Elain couldn’t begrudge her for that. 

She found Nuan lounging in one of the sitting rooms available to guests. She was knitting something with both her good and mechanical hand in a buttery beam of light that made her onyx hair shift between blue and purple depending on how the light touched it. She turned her lovely face toward Elain, causing Elain a prick of discomfort. How did Lucien know her?

She was…she was beautiful.

And Elain was jealous. How had they met? What, she wondered, was even the nature of their relationship. She could have asked, of course, but Elain didn’t know how to without betraying what she felt. Nuan might betray her to Lucien, who would surely gloat and be generally obnoxious. 

Elain started to turn but the rustle of her skirt was loud. “Sit with me,” Nuan said in her pleasant, sweet voice. “I’m going crazy sitting here by myself. It’s so quiet.”

Elain had never been to Dawn. Creeping closer, she asked, “Is Dawn loud?”

“Dawn is lively,” Nuan replied with a bright smile. “It’s warmer, and people are naturally around. Here, everyone is in specific rooms, and it feels so…exclusionary, I suppose.”

Elain crept a little closer. “How much longer are you staying?”

“Just until I can see Lucien again,” Nuan told her, eyes falling back to the yarn in her lap. What was she making, Elain wondered? She was entranced by the way her fingers moved in a blur of color, creating row after row as though it were an afterthought. 

“You need to see him?”

Why did it bother her so much what Lucien may or may not be doing? It never had before. It did, though. Elain’s stomach churned at the thought of beautiful Nuan with her husband, her…her what? 

Nuan offered Elain a secretive smile. “Just to make sure all is well…and offer him some advice.”

“Advice about what?” Elain demanded a little too hotly. 

Nuan didn’t react, raising her hand to flex mechanical fingers. It was just as lovely as she was, glinting in the sunlight as each finger bent like the real thing. “His new life. The stares, the whispers…the way people are going to react when they see him.”

It was pure indignation that made her respond, “Why would they do that? He’s still just as handsome as he ever was!”

Nuan didn’t bother to hide her smile. “I suppose all that matters is that you think so. It’ll make things easier for him.”

“Can I sit with you while we wait?” Elain asked her, some of her frustration easing. If Lucien did have a past with this female, maybe it wasn’t the worst thing. 

Nuan nodded, her fingers slowing for a moment. Curious, Elain asked, “Do your mechanical fingers help?”

Nuan’s laugh was pretty. “A little. They never tire, which is nice. It doesn’t help with my other hand, of course, but I can keep this going indefinitely if I want.”

“I’m a little jealous,” Elain admitted, thinking of how much more gardening she could do if her arms didn’t start to ache halfway through. 

“Don’t be,” Nuan replied, but there was a lightness to her tone. They fell into companionable silence and by the time Lucien found them, Elain had forgotten all about her jealousy. They talked of Dawn and Spring, comparing and contrasting the High Lords and their courts. Elain listened like a starving animal, desperate for any crumbs of the world she’d been so sheltered from. 

“We can leave as soon as you’re ready,” Lucien told her, sounding just as exhausted as he looked. 

“Do you have a moment?” Nuan asked, setting her yarn and needles into her chair as she rose, graceful as a dancer. 

Lucien’s eyes cut between Elain and Nuan before nodding, beckoning for her to follow him out. Elain felt her hackles raise, fingers gripping the edge of the chair as she forced herself to remain seated. Everything is fine, she chanted over and over in her mind. Why did she care if he was alone with another female?

But oh.

She did

LUCIEN: 

“I spoke with your wife,” Nuan began once they were locked in Lucien’s bedroom. Her dark eyes teased him, sparkling with mischief. “What kind of lies did you tell to get her?”

“What are you insinuating?” Lucien demanded, laying himself on a chaise as Nuan loomed over him.

“Only that she could almost certainly have done better than a rake like you.”

Lucien spluttered, though there was truth to her words. “I’m not a rake.”

Nuan only laughed, fingers pressing at the edges of his new eye. “Of course you aren’t, which is why there was a small fight over who would get to come and see you. Again.”

Her words would have once amused him. Now they filled him with shame. His wife—his mate—lay somewhere just outside that door. She’d carried him across courts, saving his life and Lucien felt like he dishonored her with this conversation. Unable to meet Nuan’s gaze, Lucien merely mumbled, “Ah, I see.”

“I’m glad it was me who came,” Nuan said with an easy wink, applying enough pressure to force a gasp of pain from between his lips. “I was never that impressed with you.”

There was no need to point out no male could impress Nuan—she preferred females. As to how they’d become friends, Lucien still couldn’t say, though he was grateful for it all the same. 

“How do you feel?”

“The same. Different,” Lucien said, sitting up once Nuan was satisfied with her work. “I don’t suppose you can…”

He gestured to the scars raked down his face. There was nothing he could do about the mechanical eye, but it seemed a greater insult to have both a ruined eye and the scars.

“If I’d been there right after it happened, yes. But now…? I’m sorry, Lucien. Truly.”

Lucien stared at his hands folded in his lap. “So am I.”

Though, he wasn’t. If it hadn’t been him, it would have been Elain. Still, his vanity won out. Lucien’s looks had always been his saving grace—he could always fall back on a charming smile and a quick wink if he needed to. Now…

“It’s not so bad,” Nuan murmured, perhaps guessing his misery. 

“Do you ever get used to the staring?” he asked, knowing people would be gawking at him everywhere he went, now. The High Fae were supposed to be beautiful—unblemished. 

“You stop caring after a while,” she said, holding his gaze. “It stops mattering.”

“How long did that take?”

“A decade,” she admitted ruefully. “I won’t pretend it’s easy or that it doesn’t get tiresome, but the alternative is, what? Death, in your case? And your wife was very clear about what would happen if you died.”

Lucien’s heart quickened. “Oh? Making threats, was she?”

“And then some,” Nuan said with an easy smile. “And when things settle…come to Dawn again. I’ll talk to Thesan—”

“No,” he interrupted, thinking of Jesminda. She was there, somewhere, starting over. Lucien didn’t want to be near her. Not now. Not while he was trying to untangle his feelings toward her and Elain. It was for the best to give her space—and himself, he supposed. 

“You’ll feel more at ease,” Nuan told him, though she didn’t press further. “I hope you enjoy the Day Court more than I do. It’s far too warm.”

“I like the heat,” Lucien said absently, picking at a stray thread on his sleeve. Nuan didn’t respond, slipping from the room so he could be alone with his thoughts. Where they’d once raced, however, now they faded into a jumbled hum of noise, keeping him company without drowning him in his misery. He only noticed Elain slipping in because of her scent, and though he didn’t dare look up at her, she sat beside him all the same.

“We didn’t bring anything worth packing,” she told him gently, fingers tumbling around each other in her lap. “We could leave.”

“I know,” he murmured, more anxious than he’d ever been in his life. “Elain, I ah…I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh, no,” she murmured, nose scrunched upward. 

“Hear me out,” Luicen said, gathering the courage to say the words he desperately didn’t want to. “I can go to Day alone. You don’t have to join me. I…you can tell them the truth. That I didn’t consummate our marriage, that you have tried to be a good wife while I’ve spurned you at every turn. I won’t dispute it. You’d be free to pick another male—someone you love.”

Lucien waited for Elain to say something and when she didn’t, he dared to glance at her. He found his mate staring at her hands, tears streaking silently down her cheeks. Were they happy? Misery clawed at him, demanding he fix this as Lucien forced himself to remain still.

“Why are you crying?”

“I…I suppose I thought…” Elain swallowed a gulp of air before rising to her feet. “If that's what you want.”

“It’s not.”

He hadn’t meant to say it. The words had escaped before he could contain them, slamming against them both with his confession. Elain looked over her shoulder and he saw that bright, sunny relief crest over her pretty face. Surely not. 

And yet hope bloomed in his chest all the same.

“Then we’re agreed. And we’ll go to Day together.”

Lucien wanted to rise to his feet and kiss her so badly it made his teeth ache. To hell with Day, he thought privately. There was a bed right here—he could consummate their marriage, at least. The only thing that stopped him was the thought that after years of treating her poorly, Elain deserved to meet the more charming version of him. The male other females had fallen in love with.

Jesminda’s Lucien.

It should have felt like a betrayal, and yet right then somehow it seemed like a gift. The male he’d given Jesminda was not the same male Elain had been talking to. That male was someone Lucien liked. Someone Elain might like, too.

He couldn’t help himself from standing, stretching his stiff legs before making his way toward her. Lucien wanted to kiss her and settled, instead, for pulling her into a gentle hug. 

“You saved my life,” he said, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair. “I owe you my life.”

“You saved mine,” she protested, shaking her head back and forth before resting her cheek against his chest. Elain simply didn’t understand because while Lucien believed she felt the bond, she didn’t realize it was the bond. Protecting her was his sacred duty—to let her be harmed was a failure so egregious that Lucien didn’t dare contemplate it.

But what he’d done compared to her…it was nothing. She’d risked her entire life for his. If Beron had caught up to her, punishment would have been severe. Swift. He’d have died, and she likely would have to, though slowly and only when Beron tired of torturing her. Lucien would die in exile, now, away from his home and his family, if only to keep Elain safe.

She wanted to stay married.

He couldn’t help his smile. 

“There are some things you need to know about Day,” he told her, pulling regretfully from the hug. Elain took a healthy step backward, smoothing out her skirts to hide how pink her cheeks were.

“Tell me,” she said softly.

“You can’t wander like we did in Autumn. There are areas we’re not allowed to go—and the libraries are forbidden to us without a written request that is approved ahead of time. Helion doesn’t want us in the city, either. Not without an escort. We’ll need to be careful.”

“Why let us in at all?” she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Beron and Helion have history. Maybe he’s hoping I’ll divulge secrets,” Lucien said with a shrug. “He’s the only High Lord willing to house us for the moment. Even Tamlin…”

Kallias had told Lucien none of the Seasonal Courts were willing to risk Beron’s wrath. He commanded the largest ground force in Prythian as far as they knew, and bordered the other seasonal courts. He could sweep in and unseat their High Lord with little resistance before absorbing their borders within his own. 

Still, it stung. Lucien considered Tamlin his friend and Elain’s family lived there. He should have risked it—Lucien would have. Now he had a wife without a home that he was taking into uncertain circumstances. He didn’t have a home for her, though he intended to beg one off Helion. It didn’t have to be extravagant, it just needed to have four walls and a roof.

First, though, they had to get there and prove themselves trustworthy. Lucien intended to make himself of use to the High Lord even as he knew it would be considered an act of betrayal to his father. 

There was no way around it. Beron would demand them back so he could kill them. There was no point in remaining loyal—not while his father lived, at any rate. If Helion wouldn’t let them stay, he’d secure passage across the sea toward the continent. Lucien would figure it out.

He’d keep his mate safe.

ELAIN:

The heat his Elain before anything else. Blinking against the blinding sun, Elain gulped down the warmest air she’d ever experienced. She didn’t know the world could be this hot. Spring and Autumn were mild in comparison, but here? Oh. Elain raised her hand to shield her eyes as she drank in the sprawling marble palace set atop a winding hilltop. Tall spires seemed to reach like spindled fingers toward that same golden sun while little golden domes threw rainbows of light against the cobblestone streets below. Trawling vines slithered up the slide, reaching, too, for the loving arms of a sun it would never touch.

Elain felt strange. Settled somehow, though maybe it was just the relief to be somewhere without the constant threat of rain. Beside her, Lucien sighed, unaware he looked radiant in the golden light. Something about it offset his skin, making it seem richer somehow. He was glowing, even with his glum expression. Elain was practically bursting with excitement—she’d always wanted to see the world. This was her opportunity, even if Lucien saw this as a curse. Once he settled and got used to no longer being a prince, he’d see her vision.

They could live anywhere. If they got bored they could simply pack up and move on. 

They.

We.

Us.

Elain swallowed the realization that she was thinking about herself and Lucien as a singular entity. She just assumed they’d stay together. He’d said he wanted to, and she did too. Somewhere between dragging him up that mountain and him agreeing to leave, Elain had decided if she had to be married, she’d prefer it was to him. 

It was tempting to reach for his hand. Elain did when their escort arrived, lips parting as the male stared openly at Lucien’s face. Elain didn’t consider herself a violent creature but right then, she wished she’d asked Cadmus to teach her to fight. 

Lucien glanced between them, causing Elain to squeeze tighter. She knew what people saw when they looked at her—she was an empty shell, nothing more than a pretty face attached to an appealing body. Lucien wouldn’t be the first to suggest she ought to leave him, which made Elain feel all the more defensive. There was more to life than beauty—beauty was nothing at all, a mere accident of nature.

Besides, some of the most beautiful plants were deadly. Elain liked to imagine she, too, had thorns and could draw blood if someone was a little too careless. Elain glared daggers until the male glanced toward her, dark skin paling every so slightly at whatever he saw. 

Good. Avert your eyes. Lucien looked nearly the same as he always had, and certainly just as beautiful. Anyone attempting to deny it was merely kidding themselves. 

Elain and Lucien followed behind the male, hiking up a small incline toward the main entrance of the palace. Sweat slid down Elain’s temple before the cool air of the palace rushed from sheer curtains tied in front of the windows and doors.

“I told you not to come to Day.”

There, standing against the gold flecked marble, stood Eris Vanserra and Arina, the former looking annoyed while the latter looked delighted. Lucien exhaled, mirroring Eris’s irritation.

“What are you doing here?”

“Demanding you return,” Eris said, not looking as if he was demanding anything at all. 

Lucien frowned. “And if I refuse?”

“Then you’ll be disinherited and exiled. If you step foot within Autumn, you’ll be executed,” Eris replied, his words sounding as though a child were reciting a particularly boring passage from a book. “And father will marry Elain off to Cadmus.”

“He’s my favorite,” Elain chimed in as Arina grinned, mouthing me too as Eris scowled beside her. 

“Father sent you all this way to threaten me?” Lucien questioned.

“He thinks we’re in Winter,” Arina announced gleefully. “We got word yesterday Helion was going to allow you in and—”

“Just assumed you’re so brainless and stupid you’d take him up on the offer,” Eris interjected, his patience clearly wearing thin. “Come home. Let father lock you up for a couple days. Submit to the lash. Don’t…don’t do this.”

Elain’s outrage returned. “Why should he? Lucien didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Wrong has nothing to do with it,” Lucien surmised, eyeing his brother. “Beron told you to remain here and you disobeyed him.”

“You would have died.”

“And he would have gotten what he’s always wanted,” came another deeper voice. Elain caught sight of Eris rolling his eyes just as she turned, coming face to face with a truly beautiful male. Helion Spell-Cleaver seemed something out of a storybook—the handsome,  charming prince come to rescue the princess. Something about his features felt right, though familiar in a way she couldn’t quite place. The strong jaw, the full lips, the high cheekbones, all set against dark brown skin. His black hair fell in waves around his face, the tips brushing his bare shoulders while his golden were rimmed with kohl. 

“Lucien Vanserra,” Helion said, offering a ringed hand to Lucien. Eris looked like he might hack it off if Lucien took it, and she wondered what, exactly, Eris had against Helion. She bet Arina knew. “Come to visit at last.”

“I’ve been here before,” Lucien mumbled, taking the hand with little enthusiasm. 

“No greeting for the rest of us?” Eris interrupted as Arina elbowed past so Helion could wrap her into what seemed like a genuinely nice hug. 

“I allow you into my home, do I not?” Helion snapped, gold eyes flickering with irritation. “You have my—”

“That’s enough,” Arina hissed, pushing away from the High Lord. “We’ve come to beg a few days of your hospitality.”

“Apparently my palace is little more than a vagrant inn,” Helion said dismissively, turning to look at Elain. “Though you are more than welcome.”

“Ugh,” Eris muttered, nose wrinkled with distaste. 

“You, my dear Arina, can stay as long as you like. The rest of you have your restrictions,” Helion declared, eyes sweeping over the group. “Do not make me regret allowing you here.” “We won’t,” Elain said earnestly, wanting to make a good impression. 

Helion lingered for only a moment more, gaze drifting from Lucien to Eris. “I expect an update once you’re settled.”

Eris only offered a curt nod in response before grabbing Arina’s wrist and pulling her closer to him as though he expected her traipse off with Helion. And though Elain knew Arina had lived here her entire life, she didn’t quite belong. Even with her shimmering, golden brown skin and the hair that looked as though it had been poured by the sun itself, Arina didn’t have the same belonging Helion did—as if the Mother had known she was destined for Autumn and had left little traces in the wine red of her lips, the green of her eyes. 

“He’s so…” Eris trailed off as Arina turned fully to face him, her face appearing to seem interested, though Elain knew Arina was merely daring him to finish his sentence. 

There was no time to watch the inevitable argument. Another male appeared at Lucien’s elbow to show them to the room they’d been allowed, while Eris merely followed after Arina to a familiar place only they knew. Elain wished she could see people's memories—how had Eris managed to convince Arina to love him? 

The room she and Lucien had been given looked at though it ought to belong to a prince. Perhaps it did. Perhaps, she reasoned as she drank in the open, warm sitting room that overlooked a glittering cerulean sea, Helion wanted to honor the son of Autumn even if he was now living in exile. It was far larger than anything they’d had at Autumn, and Elain ruefully remembered how big she’d once found it.

Lucien, too, seemed flabbergasted. “I wonder what he wants from me.”

“You don’t owe him anything,” Elain murmured, uncertain if that was even true. Lucien certainly didn’t seem like he agreed as he moved past a long chaise to step into their bedroom. There was no fireplace—Elain assumed it wasn’t needed given how warm it was outside—leaving more space for cozy furniture and a bed so large they could have put four Lucien’s side by side comfortably with room for her as well. 

Elain was suddenly too warm, staring at the cream and gold bedding laid before her. Lucien shifted, his expression utterly unreadable. Was he wondering the same thing she was? They’d admitted they wanted to be married…and Elain understood what married couples did. She both wanted to find out if it was half as interesting as people said it was and was terrified to find out. 

Lucien swallowed beside her. “I ah…I wonder if they’ve thought to bring us clothes.” They had, which was a mercy given Elain’s clothing was still lined with wool and fox fur to keep her warm in Winter—it was intolerable in Day. She and Lucien hastily parted to change, though it did little to stem her overactive imagination.

She’d hated Lucien so long that she’d never given much thought to how you went about courting a man’s affection and attention. She hadn’t wanted it from him and now…now she thought it might be nice to know, at least. To make an informed decision about the male she’d married before she started pestering him to show her the world. And if she didn’t like it, well…perhaps they could work out some other arrangement.

Perhaps she could agree to give him access to her body in exchange for traveling, even. It seemed a little too transactional for Elain’s taste, who did want the kind of storybook love she’d grown up reading. She’d never wanted it with Lucien but…but maybe it didn’t hurt to try.

Just a little.

Just to know.

Parsing through the gowns, Elain found a white dress with gold chains for straps. It wasn’t entirely modest—her mother would have gasped if she saw how low the neckline scooped, revealing the tops of her breasts and the slope of her collarbones. And the straps that held the dress over her bare shoulder, also draped decoratively over her arms, creating a pretty effect. 

While she waited, she toyed with her hair, scooping it up before letting it fall, trying to figure out which one seemed the most seductive. 

Lucien came in, casual in a pair of trousers and a loose, white shirt that looked as though it belonged beneath one of his tunics. He hadn’t bothered lacing up the neck, likely because of the heat, but all Elain saw was the tease of muscle that made up his chest. 

He’d tied his hair off his face and never, in her whole life, had she wanted anyone as much as she wanted him right then. She didn’t even know how she wanted him. Only that she did. She needed Lucien to do all the work because somehow it was simply too embarrassing to admit how attracted she was to him. 

Lucien glanced at himself in the mirror, smile fading as he remembered what he looked like. She wished he wouldn’t do that—wished she could show him how he looked in her mind. With a sigh, he asked, “Do you mind if I stay in here for dinner, tonight?”

Yes, she wanted to scream! But Elain offered Lucien her sweetest smile, because she was trying to show him she wanted him, and said, “Only if you don’t mind if I stay with you.”

Lucien blinked. “Of course not.”

“Then it's settled.”

That, she decided, went better than expected. 

LUCIEN:

Something strange was happening with Elain, though Lucien couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Maybe it was merely her excitement at being in Day, though he couldn’t fathom why. Sitting across from her, Lucien felt entranced and wondered, absently, if she wasn’t a witch. It had to be magic, because he’d seen this woman a hundred times before. And yet he felt as if he hadn’t, because Lucien couldn’t drag his eyes off her. 

Elain had swept her hair over her exposed shoulder, revealing the long, slim column of her neck. Her soft eyes peered down at her cards, unaware that from his periphery, he was watching her breasts rise and fall with each new breath she took. Lucien wanted to haul her over his shoulder and thank her properly for what she’d done for him.

Wanted to pull that dress off her until it was ruined so no one but him would ever see it on her. It was a dangerous impulse and yet…she’d said she wanted to be married to him. Had she thought of what that entailed? He needed to ask and didn’t know how without sounding lecherous. 

Elain, when you said you wanted to be married to me, did you also consider what married couples do in their shared bed? 

Somehow, he doubted it would go over well with her. 

Would she notice if he began courting her? Night had fallen and Lucien was feeling a little bolder now that dinner had concluded and his brother hadn’t come banging down his door. Lucien wanted Eris to leave—nothing good would come of his brothers continued presence. The decision had been made and this was one thing Eris simply could not control. It was over, Lucien could not go back.

He would not go back. If he thought punishment would be reserved wholly for him he might have just so Elain had a stable place to live. Beron would assume Elain was a weakness and use her against Lucien and Lucien knew it would work. It was why, he assumed anyway, Eris rarely dared to defy their father. Bringing Arina to Day was a risk and Lucien wondered what Eris intended to do if they were caught. What lie he’d spin to keep his mate from harm.

“I’m going to lose,” Elain said, jutting out her bottom lip into a pout. Lucien’s entire body went hot and tight at the sight.

“That’s…” Lucien cleared his throat, unable to clear his mind of the image of his own teeth sinking into that plus lip. “Do you want to take a walk?”

Elain looked up and oh, he wished she wouldn’t. She was simply too pretty to be believed, made prettier by the fact that she was still here and looking at him with those eyes. How was he supposed to function? 

Had the Mother known his fate? Surely not, because why give someone like Elain to him, knowing his fate was to be…this? The thought was enough to temper his overheated blood before Elain could catch a whiff of his scent.

“Where would we walk?” she questioned.

“Ah…the courtyard?” he suggested, certain they hadn’t been banned from that area of the palace. Elain nodded, tossing her cards to the table. She’d been right about losing, unaware that she would have won simply because Lucien wasn’t able to pay attention. Still, no need to tell her that. Not when she was rising to her feet in that dress, glowing in the soft faelights shimmering overhead. 

Leaving the bedroom seemed like the worst idea he’d ever had, even if they weren’t even close to the bed. Elain had dragged a breakfast table away from the window and onto the balcony so they could play against the sounds of the ocean. Now, though, having stepped inside the sitting room, all Lucien could think about was the solid surfaces available to them, all of which were perfect for kissing, touching…and every other filthy impulse currently racing through him.

“This way,” he said, offering Elain his arm. They were courting in reverse—she was already his wife, and he’d secured her through no effort at all. Now he simply needed her to want him as badly as he wanted her.

Lucien swore he could feel her fingers through the thin material of his shirt. It had been the only suitable clothing—everything else was long tunics without pants and togas, none of which seemed quite right. He didn’t belong to Day Court, so why would he wear their clothing?

He’d need to speak to someone about it. Lucien didn’t want so much of himself on display, besides. He was feeling self-conscious about his form for the first time in his life and preferred to have everything covered, thank you very much.

“This place is big,” Elain whispered when they stepped into a darkened corridor. “Easy to get lost.”

“Agreed,” he murmured, not bothering to mention he’d only half heard her—he was too busy imagining what he could do behind a shadowed pillar. She continued talking and Lucien offered non-committal noises of agreement so she knew he was listening even though he wasn’t. His imagination was out of control, building on each new fantasy until Lucien was half mad with desire. What was he supposed to do with himself?

Stepping into the breezy night air was a relief, cooling him just enough to refocus on his wife. Elain seemed to know everything, somehow, as if the wind itself whispered its secrets to her. Lucien wanted to ask her how she seemed to know things she shouldn’t, but the moonlight spilled across her bare skin and Lucien found himself at a loss for the first time in his life. 

“Elain,” he managed, catching her by the wrist as she tried to step across the blue and white flagstones toward a bubbling fountain. He was going to die if he didn’t kiss her. 

Elain spun, eyes moon bright and Lucien…Lucien was an idiot. He wasn’t thinking straight, was so consumed by his gratitude and desire that he merely pulled her against him until their faces were inches from each other.

Sharing the same air, Elain whispered, “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, running a thumb over her bottom lip. “Tell me to stop.”

He needed to hear her say it. The instinct writhing with pleasure in his stomach demanded he obey her—if she told him to throw himself off a cliff, Lucien thought he’d do so gladly. 

Elain lifted her chin, eyes blazing with defiance. She didn’t say a word, which was permission enough. Lucien lowered his mouth, heart hammering in his chest as he breathed in the warm, salty air mingled against the spring scent of jasmine and honey. Their lips touched briefly—just enough to ignite a blazing heat in his body so intense he thought he might combust. Magic welled in this throat and Lucien swallowed it so he could kiss Elain again—actually kiss her the way he wanted, to make her want him as badly as he wanted her. 

“Am I interrupting?” Helion Spell-Cleaver asked from the shadows, illuminating the darkness like the sun personified. Elain skittered back, pulling out of his grasp and Lucien wondered just how much trouble he’d be in if he murdered a High Lord.

“No,” Elain breathed, the liar. Helion seemed to know it, too, given the amused smile on his face. “Are we…should we not be here?”

“You’re welcome here,” Helion replied with a graciousness that grated on Lucien’s nerves. You could see I was busy!  

“I often come out here to contemplate my existence,” Helion continued, coming closer still. His skin glowed a soft gold while his eyes cut through the darkness, banishing the shadows completely. “My magic, too.”

“Fascinating,” Lucien bit out, hating how Helion offered him a toothy smile, turning fully to look at Lucien.

“I feel it strongly in this place,” Helion continued, not looking at Elain at all. “Do you?”

“Nope,” Lucien lied before snapping his fingers so Helion could see the weak flame he commanded. “Just came to see more of the palace.”

Helion cocked his head. “Is that all your High Lord gave you?”

Lucien blinked. “I’m only the seventh son.”

“As you say,” Helion replied, turning to look away. They’d been dismissed. Lucien reached out his hand for Elain before the two scurried away, Elain looking over her shoulder as they went. 

“Something about him feels painfully familiar,” she whispered. “I can’t put my finger on it.”

“You probably saw him swanning around some meeting,” Lucien grumbled. The moment had been destroyed and Lucien didn’t know how to get it back. Trying to kiss her while they got ready for bed, and then were in bed felt too far. It was supposed to be a kiss somewhere clothed, somewhere he could make suggestions for other things that involved fewer items of clothing later. 

Helion had wrecked everything, he thought once he was settled in bed. Elain hadn’t immediately rolled away like she usually did, though the distance between them felt pointed. Careful. Lucien wanted to think only of her.

And yet…he kept coming back to that burning in his throat, and the magic that shouldn’t have been there.

I’m only the seventh son.

What if he was more?