#Our garden was like a little forest clearing

[idontliketomatoesleavemealone]

I have rarely felt as much visceral hatred as for the people that bought the house I grew up in

[harmonysanreads]

“A little bird told me that today is a certain someone's birthday.”

You feel the distinct prickle of two fangs halt halfway through the curve of your throat, a breath stuttering against the now marred skin. The tassels of Aventurine's earning tickles your nape, before his lips replace its unsought touches, soothing over the bite.

“I don't quite recall this,” he drawls upon your neck, gloved fingers slide up from the plush of your thighs and slant against your waist ; a clear message. “Being the resting place of wanton birds.”

You heart kicks against your ribcage as the implications of his words soak into your brain. Your eyes connect with enigmatic swirls when you swivel with a gasp, “It's just one little bird, Aventurine.”

He hums, a ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips, reaching out and failing to grasp his eyes. You feel his other arm wrap around your abdomen and tugging you closer closer closer— until not even whimsical air can intervene in your moment. For a time insignificant compared to the expanding cosmos, he leers and he waits — for you to stumble and forfeit your fortune to him. You've observed this game unfold many times, which is why, you don't so much as blink in the face of his scrutiny.

Aventurine tilts his head, the golden strands that frame his face shift in stride, “It's ‘one little bird’ for now, my jewel. Soon, it'll fly to-and-fro and invite its companions. One bird will become two birds, then three, four, five — until this flower of mine will be torn to shreds.”

Your skin erupts in pins and needles where the blonde's hand rests, the teases of pain make you lean your head against his chest in reflex, but they don't coax pained breaths to escape your lips. Your eyes gloss over upon capturing the dimming orbs heralding the colors of a bygone lineage. You feel as though you were lost in a dark landscape, with a shadowed fox breathing down your neck, claws already sunk midway — but you don't feel like the struggling rabbit, like a prey.

Your palm cradles Aventurine's face, “That's why we keep guns below our pillows, isn't that correct?”

The phantom finally reaches his eyes, his grin spreads across his face and the sun casts aside the darkness from the forest. Aventurine answers your query by tackling you with a flurry of kisses, you feel him at every corner of your body, grasping at every crevice of your soul — but it's not enough, neither for him nor for you.

When the intensity of his advance wanes momentarily, you sneak your hand past his grip to rest atop his chest, “Tell me your wish,” this time his heart revolts against the confines of bone, yearning to be freed and caged into your palm. “What gift do you want for your birthday?”

Aventurine chuckles, though it sounds quite strained this time. His fingers encircle your wrist and press your hand further on his chest for a moment (his shirt does little to mute the rapid marching of his soul) before he drags it to his face, his lips ghost over your pulse point.

“You don't think me to be that greedy, do you?” the humorous lilt of his voice prompts a smile to bloom on your face, too. He sighs as though he breathes in the gardens of heaven, lips firmly pressed to the beat of your existence.

“How can I ever wish for anything more when I have the whole world in my hands?” his eyes twinkle, hugged by a smile. They remind you of autumn sunsets blending into an awestruck ocean, before disappearing behind nightfall.

And just like them, you embrace and merge into one another, as well.

Happy birthday to the luckiest, prettiest, Aventurine <3

[perfectlyoongi]

DAD!NAMJOON who builds snow animals with your child every winter. when the crystal-clear snow covered the entire city in an innocent blanket, Namjoon dressed your kid in hats and gloves, carrying them on his shoulders to the garden, where he let the various snowflakes sprinkle on the dark clothes like stardust. on his knees, and always laughing with your child, Namjoon created a snow farm in your garden, dogs and cats mixing with very small sheep and extremely skinny cows, but all the animals made with the magic of laughter and the eternal love that Namjoon felt for your child. “you want to make so many puppies... you got me thinking about getting you a real one for christmas. hm? what do you say?”

DAD!NAMJOON who reads a fairy tale to your child every night. the only light in the room was you kid's yellow lamp which, shyly illuminating the already very yellow pages of Namjoon's childhood storybook, prepared your child for a deep sleep. allowing his voice to resonate calmly in the room, Namjoon's timbre was low, soft, pulling with it all of your kid's energy and giving them little cosmic drops of sleep that lasted an entire night. “once upon a time, in a land far away, there was a little princess who wanted to go to bed…”

DAD!NAMJOON who teaches constellations to your child since they were little. there were several nights spent in the garden of your house, where you and Namjoon lay on top of a yellow blanket, your kid resting between you. and, when the clouds were your friends and showed the whole sky to you, the various stars shone brightly in tones of curiosity and fascination; and Namjoon pointed to them, his index finger accurately drawing all the visible constellations, adorning them with their celestial names, leaving your child always dreaming of what could exist beyond this world. “and that’s aquila. the brightest point is altair. can you see how it forms wings? it's an eagle. a celestial eagle.”

DAD!NAMJOON who goes on picnics with you and your child on bike rides. usually in late spring, when the sun was shining but the heat wasn't intense, the three of you would leave the house early in the morning, pedaling your bikes through parks and forests, letting the fresh morning air whet your appetite for a late lunch. always in different places, but always far from the world, Namjoon always decided where you should have lunch, always choosing the most magical views and the most comfortable paths for the three of you to enjoy family time. “our angel wants peanut butter sandwiches. do you think you can swap the vegetable crepes for the sandwich?”

DAD!NAMJOON who replicates with your child all the paintings and statues you see in the museum. saturday afternoons were spent among galleries and museums, the various pieces of art gaining your kid's full attention. fascinated by the paintings and enchanted by the statues, it was common for you to see your child trying to imitate the various fictional people they encountered, having difficulty lifting their leg, but always having Namjoon's help to make them fly just like that painting. “hold on to my shoulder. come on. not like that. you will fall! your dami is looking here. quick, quick!”

DAD!NAMJOON who created a small garden just for your child. as soon as news of a little child was on the way, Namjoon immediately prepared your courtyard to welcome them in bright, colorful tones. various flowers and plants framed your garden in garish shades of greens and yellows; summer flowers and winter flowers, tall plants and low shrubs, your whole garden lived through the seasons, always offering joy, always hoping that your child would love and care for it. “i'm thinking about making one side just summer flowers and the other just winter flowers. i want there to always be joy in the garden so our baby can realize that there will always be color in their life.”

DAD!NAMJOON who has an album with polaroids of your family to give to your child when they turn 18. from the moment it became known that a little angel was on its way into your life, Namjoon took care to document the entire journey taken by the three of you. Namjoon wrote little reminders on the most special photos, always trying to highlight not only unforgettable memories, but also his eternal love for you, for your kid, for your family. “it is in this album that i poured all my love, and i seriously hope that each photograph can portray the fragments of my happiness.”

[stayevildarling]

could you do a hurt-comfort fic w either:

lou x tammy x reader

orrrrr

wilhemina x regina mills x reader pleaseee

Wilhemina Venable x Regina Mills x Reader- Burying our memories (AU)

A/N: I think this is absolutely not what you expected with this request dear anon. However the first thing I thought of was an AU with dark Mina x the evil Queen so I hope nevertheless you enjoy this <3 For anyone who has watched ouat please ignore how I altered the curse and changed the story

tw: dark mina, evil queen, cursing, degrading, blood, pain, angst, hurt

word count: 7k

taglist:

@lunaticwhittaker, @billiebeanhoward, @lanawinters-ily, @kenzbro, @minaslittleone, @httpfiftyshadesofgay, @whitelotus00, @ninaahs, @vintagepaulson, @isle-of-earle, @paulsonsratched, @stepintomyworld, @grilledcheeseandguavajelly, @lucyintheskywithxanax, @fanfics4world, @mymiraclewitch, @hazard-to-myself, @awritersometime, @ohrwurm26, @wastdstime

The dense greenery of the enchanted forest sways gentle in the cool breeze, casting shifting patterns of shadow and light upon the forest floor. With swift motions, you run through the tangled undergrowths, your breathing coming in ragged gasps as you glance over your shoulders, trying to see if they had gone, if you were safe.

Moments before, your day looked like it usually did, as you found yourself in the heart of the village, your heart heavy with the weight of injustice. The villagers lacking the most basic things including food, water and supplies to survive, due to the Queen's oppressive rules. And somehow over the years, after slowly losing your family and purpose altogether, you turned out to be an aid for the poor lost souls in the forest and village, their silent pleas echoing in the depths of your soul.

Somehow you had turned into your own version of a Robin Hood, wanting to help out, regularly crossing boundaries and stealing from the Queen's garden and palace grounds in order to provide for them, rid them of the poverty and pain they had endured for years now. And somehow, today you had been careless, not caring about the sound of alarms piercing through the stillness of the night. The queen's guards descended upon the village with ruthless efficiency, riding their horses, their gleaming armour announcing their presences further.

And now as you attempt fleeing through the labyrinth of the forest, trying to reach your sanctuary hidden deeply inside the forest, the branches tear at your clothes, the thorns pricking your skin and causing for blood to run down your arms and legs, leaving a crimson reminder of your foolishness before. Fear and desperation mingles in your veins as you push and push forward, occasionally glancing behind your shoulder to reassure that you would manage to lose them again, just like you had done many times. And if you were in a clear state of mind, you would have noticed that you took a wrong turn, ignoring the wanted poster with both your face on it, among other faces, like Snow White, all enemies to the queen who had been on her wanted list for quite some time now.

With a loud thud, you feel yourself losing your balance as you must have bumped into something, feeling a warm sensation before hitting your head on a nearby branch. It takes a little while for your vision to clear, before you find yourself face-to-face with a woman cloaked in darkness, her sharp features illuminated by a flickering lantern. Through a teary vision, due to the pain piercing through your body, you notice dark red hair styled in a sharp quiff, a shade of very dark purple, almost black coating her body. There's a calculating gleam in her eyes, as she finds you pathetically whimpering on the floor, her lips curled into a smirk.

,,Well well'' she remarks, her voice hushed ,,You seem to have gotten yourself into quite a predicament, running from the queens guards I presume?'' she questions and if it wasn't for the pain, you would have noticed the odd sense of familiarity you seem to feel and how you almost would have recognised her. Your heart pounds in your chest, torn between fleeing, the sound of shouting guards and horses still lingering in the air. But there was something about the woman's demeanour that stops you, a sense of intrigue mixed with caution.

Before you can respond, the older woman bends a little to place the lantern on the floor, the bright sensation causing you to close your eyes only momentarily. As you open them again, you watch as she balances on a cane before extending a gloved hand, offering assistance. ,,Come with me'' she offers, her tone surprisingly gentle. ,,I can offer you refuge, but you must trust me''.

Despite the feeling of doom and danger, you see a glimmer of hope in her offer, and so with a silent nod, you accept her outstretched hand, allowing her to lead you deeper into the shadowy depths of the enchanted forest. And it takes several minutes, for the pain to stop throbbing, the blood from your earlier wounds to stop pouring, until you can collect your thoughts. And as you walk behind her, following the sound of her cane and the light source provided by the small lantern she carries, something about the way she walked alarms you. And then it finally dawns on you, finding the familiar trees with carvings on them, where she was leading you, your secret path to the palace that you would often use in order to sneak to the grounds to steal in order to provide for the poor souls of the village.

And then at last it dawns on you who was walking in front of you, who's assistance you agreed upon. You didn't know her name, you had heard it plenty of times but you couldn't recall it, only remembering how she was the assistant to the wicked queen, the people in the village often mentioning her, how she never spoke much but was always by her side. As the forest echos with whispers of secrets, yet to be revealed, panic shoots through your veins, glancing around you to think of a quick escape and as you stop walking, you are quick to turn around, trying pathetically to begin running, however your legs give in as you feel a sharp pain, before everything goes black, having calculated your steps wrong, having put your trust in the wrong hands as the woman never had the intention of helping you, knowing you had been searched and chased for the longest time.

While you battle through unconsciousness, the woman had already alerted the same guards that had chased you before, who carried you inside the palace, the place that you had feared for years. And as the woman returns to the queens chambers in the middle of the night, not disturbing much sleep as her majesty had been awake, pacing back and forth contemplating her next steps and the secret curse she had been planning on casting for years, almost on the verge of completing it, finally having all the necessary ingredients, her peace is interrupted. ,,Busy'' she snarls as she is lost in her pacing, unaware who is standing in front of her.

,,Something demands your attention in the dungeons, your majesty'' the redhead woman announces, causing for the brunette to turn around, as her eyes sparkle with curiosity. And as her curiosity gets ahold of her, she brushes past her most loyal assistant yet, the sound of the queens heels and the other woman's cane echoing through the castle as they pass countless guards. And at last they make it to the dungeons, watching your almost lifeless frame on the floor, in restraints. ,,Well well'' the queen chuckles lowly, glancing at the other woman with a hint of excitement in her brown eyes. ,,Was she caught stealing my apples again?'' she chuckles as she approaches you a little closer.

,,No your majesty, I found her in the woods'' the other woman announces, causing for the queens head to snap in her direction, as she bites her lip in anticipation, almost a hint of lust in her eyes. As you slowly wake up, despite your body screaming in pain, you open your eyes, catching a glimpse of the woman who you had feared for the longest time, accompanied by the woman you had wrongly put your trust into hours before. ,,You lied to me'' you scream, struggling through the restrains as anger flashes in your eyes. The Queen simply chuckles lowly, seeing your pathetic attempts to regain your freedom. ,,My dear, you have no idea who this is do you?'' the queen remarks, causing you to avert your gaze in frustration. ,,This my dear is Wilhemina Venable, my most loyal companion'' she begins, her hand wandering to the redheads cheek, squeezing it a little, her eyes sparkling with pride for how she had managed to capture you after her countless failed attempts in the past.

And despite the circumstances, your eyes betray you as you watch the scene unfold before you, for the first time really getting a glimpse of both women. And you couldn't deny how utterly beautiful they were, at least from the outside, both their hair styled sharply, exposing their faces plastered in dark makeup, the same brown eyes despite the different shades. The queen was wearing one of her usual dresses, black this time, plastered in diamonds and jewels, Wilhemina dressed entirely in a dark shade of purple. While the queen is busy with admiring the other woman, feeling drawn to her for capturing you, you watch as the redheads brown eyes travel towards you, almost a sign of pity in them before she speaks again.

,,What are you planning on doing with her your majesty?'' causing for the queen to chuckle, and you knew what this meant as you had always been running from death, knowing you had deserved it for stealing and running from her for years. Closing your eyes, you wait for what awaits, waiting for her to open the bars, approach and rip out your heart, as you had watched her do it to innocent people many times. However to your surprise she begins pacing a little, thinking about what to do with you. ,,I think we'll keep her'' she announces with a chuckle, and as you open your eyes you notice the confusion in the redheads features.

,,Where she comes from my dear, people bathe in the river and use pinecones for money'' she exclaims, her eyes piercing right through you. ,,I think she can be of great assistance, considering she knows the village and forest so well'' she carries on, Wilhemina simply nodding, trying to avert your eyes. ,,She would make an excellent pet'' is the last thing her majesty says before leaving, leaving behind a very puzzled and confused Wilhemina. She looks at you one more time before following, leaving behind an ever confused you. ,,Pet?'' you think to yourself, trying to pinch yourself to see if this was all just a dream or if maybe you had already died a while ago.

The remainder of the night is spent in the eery dungeons, the restraints keeping you from moving all that much and so the only thing you can do is try and relax as much as the situation allows you, leaning your head against the cold and damp wall behind you, trying to calm the raging storm of thoughts. Eventually sleep finds you, despite it being broken as the castle was considerably loud, even in the night and sometimes you thought you heard screams from the lost souls that had found their ending in the same dungeons you are sitting in. The next morning, you are awoken by one of the guards, as he undoes your restraints, pulling you up by your arms and forcing your shaky legs to follow him as he takes you towards her majesty.

With heavy eyes from the remaining pain lingering on your body and lack of comfortable sleep, you blink a few times as he lets go of you, dropping to your knees in the process. And as you glance around, you notice an unfamiliar room, filled with fancy mirrors, a balcony overlooking the palace grounds, a large dining table and fireplace to the side. And you also notice the same two familiar faces that you had last seen last night, Wilhemina sitting in one of the armchairs by the lit fireplace, her cane resting beside her, the same shade of dark purple but a different outfit. And in front of you, you find her majesty, wearing a red dress, her hair down and despite it all looking beautiful, yet intimidating.

For some reason, you feel the urge to stand up and so with all the strength left you balance and face her as she takes slow and calculated steps around you, walking in a little circle, occasionally glancing at the other woman in the room before speaking. ,,Now now, what are we going to do with you, pet?'' she questions with a little chuckle and it causes you to gulp, wondering just why she hadn't killed you yet, considering all the wanted posters and the hatred you knew she felt towards you for your actions.

The room fills with silence before a low chuckle ripples through it, this time not from the queen but her loyal companion. ,,We can have her for supper can't we dear?''. And again they have you gulping and you could easily try to make an escape, the guards having disappeared now, despite expecting them outside this room. But your curiosity keeps you on your shaky legs, glancing at the older woman who continues circling you like prey. ,,No, no'' she tuts, shaking her head a little ,,We can't waste such a beautiful little thing, now can we?'' her voice sounds almost mocking and you have no idea whether she was being genuine or not.

Silence stretches on, before an idea pops into your mind, knowing what her majesty desired and considering she hadn't killed you yet, maybe you could truly be of assistance to her and her companion, maybe just maybe you could even continue to do what you had been doing, helping out the villagers if you played your cards right. ,,Your majesty?'' you try and her head snaps towards you, eyebrows raised as she never expected one of her prisoners to speak to her like this, adress her in the correct way, other than if she was about to take their life. ,,Yes?'' she questions curiously, her eyebrow remaining raised. You clear your throat before speaking again ,,You are trying to look for Snow White correct?'' you speak carefully, knowing this subject was more than a little touchy to her.

,,Yes, do continue'' she ushers, as her eyes lock with yours. ,,I am not the biggest fan of her either your majesty, perhaps I could be of assistance to help you find her?'' While Wilhemina chuckles, the brunette walks away sighing before she turns to you again, her eyes overtaken by anger. ,,Did she also get the one you loved most in this world killed?'' her voice is filled with venom, though her eyes filled with pain. Wilhemina averts her gaze, knowing Regina for a very long time now and knowing how much that had changed her. ,,No, of course not, I'm sorry your majesty'' you begin speaking again before adding ,,But we have met briefly and I can help you find her'' you try again.

This time the redhead woman stands up, her cane echoing through the room before she halts right in front of you, her dark brown eyes piercing through you. ,,We have our own spies in the village, what makes you think you can find her?'' she spits, almost feeling pitty at your pathetic attempt. ,,Well Ms Venable, you also have tried to find me for years and I know what it's like... to run, you know?''. Her eyebrows raise in the same way the queens had moments before, admiring how polite you are, admiring your manners despite it all and being able to tell that you didn't do any of this to be spared as she is utterly aware you could have tried to make an escape by now or even simply accept your fate.

,,If you don't like that, perhaps I could be of assistance with your gardens your majesty'' you try next, trying to think of anything to make yourself useful to them, while still seeing some of your own gain and advantage. The queen smiles then before turning serious ,,You mean those same gardens you have stolen from many times?'' she scoffs, glancing at Wilhemina who remains in front of you, her presence intimidating. ,,It's just I couldn't help but notice how some of the fruit didn't exactly look too healthy your majesty and your stunning castle, deserves a worthy garden'' you finish your proposal, assuming that she would kill you next or send you back to the dungeons.

,,Guard'' she shouts and as he enters hastily, you close your eyes, awaiting your fate. ,,Get me the gardener now'' she shouts and as he practically runs away, Wilhemina's eyes widen as she turns her head to face the queen, surprised she would listen to you, especially the possibility of agreeing as she knows exactly what is about to happen. A little while later a middle aged man enters the room, almost tripping over his feet, clearly intimidated by the presence. ,,I hear you haven't been taking care of my gardens the way you are meant to'' she tuts, and with a swift motion, before he even gets the chance to explain himself, she has him on the floor, with a flick of her wrist his neck snapped, moments later the guards carrying his lifeless body from the floor a few steps away from you.

All you can do is freeze, feeling terrible that this was the result of your words, not thinking about the consequences your proposal held for the innocent man. And despite feeling like screaming, you stay still, not daring to look up at either of them right now, the realisation slowly sinking in that this wasn't good, that you are trapped by a deranged witch and her odd companion. ,,Fine'' she finally speaks again ,,You can look after the gardens and you may be free to go to the village whenever you please and provide me with information on Snow White'' the queen speaks, before she approaches you. As you look up, you watch as she brushes past Wilhemina before taking your cheeks into her hand and squeezing them ,,But if you think for one second you can escape and not return, you are mistaken'' she warns and as your eyes lock with hers, you can't help and fight the tears beginning to swell in them. ,,Yes your majesty'' you agree with shaky breaths, before she releases you from her tight grasp.

,,Guard'' she shouts again, the same guard entering hastily yet again. ,,Take Y/N to a room, she will be overlooking the gardens and feed us information on snow white'' she explains, before he nods ,,Yes your majesty'' he speaks before he ushers you to follow him. And you do, not once looking back, your feet still shaky from the interaction that had unfolded. The walk feels like it lasts a lifetime, until he finally leads you to a door, opening it and ushering you to go inside. It wasn't nice in the slightest, a lot of dirt, spider webs, barely even a window but there was a little table and chair, a bed even and it connected to what you assume to be a small bathroom. And despite it giving you dungeon vibes all over again, at least you wouldn't be restrained any longer, regaining a small sense of your freedom. He leaves moments later, and you can't help but collapse onto the bed, it really wasn't much of a bed, more of a mattress but nevertheless, you close your eyes as sleep finally washes over your tired body and aching bones.

The next time your eyes force open, it's a few hours later and as you glance around the small room, you find some things that had been left on the small table. As your curiosity gets ahold of you, you find a few sets of clothes, a washcloth and even some papers and pens and despite unsure who had left it there, you appreciate it. Moments later you finally rid your body from the dirt and blood that the last two days had left on you, putting on some of the clothes and leaving your room. It takes you several minutes to find a guard, asking if he could point you in the direction of the gardens and hesitantly he does, leading you to what you assume to be the old gardeners shed as you find all the necessary tools and so without thinking about it, you get to work, watering the bushes, trimming some of them to get them into perfect shape, nurturing some of the fruits and vegetables and correcting any mistakes that the previous gardener had made, for whatever reason taking this task quite seriously.

It's dark as you eventually return inside, quickly having the hang of it by now and finding your room, finding a meal on your table and despite again unsure who had left it, feeling grateful as you hadn't realised until now how much you had been starving. After finishing your meal, you change your clothes again, washing the now dirty ones from working in the gardens all day, before sitting on your bed crossed leg, trying to figure out what to do as beside the day light, you had lost all sense of time a little bit. And so the only thing you can do is reach for the pen and papers, writing down the events from the past few days, sketching a little as well as it always had been your passion, unsure why but it really being the only thing you could do and several hours later passing out on your bed as sleep washes over you.

The next day, you find yourself doing the same things, her gardens were huge and as her majesty overlooks them, finding you working as you kneel on the floor, planting some flowers, she can't help but watch carefully, something about you utterly intriguing. You lose yourself in your task, unaware of who was watching before a presence startles you, causing you to drop your tools clumsily. You watch as Ms Venable circles around you, carefully observing without speaking a single word and it for sure intimidates you, having her observing and careful eyes on you. ,,You seem good at this'' she states, noticing how all the bushes and hedges had the exact same length and a part of her confused as to how you had managed that. ,,Thank you Ms Venable'' you almost whisper, after the last encounter quite terrified of them both and she can tell. ,,Have you managed to gather any information yet?'' she questions curiously and you gulp then before looking up at her as you still kneel on the floor.

,,Not yet, I was wondering whether I may be allowed to leave this afternoon to try and I was wondering whether I would be allowed to collect some seeds?'' you ask, your voice shaky. ,,Seeds?'' she chuckles then, almost mocking your words. ,,Yes Ms to plant some more vegetables and fruit and flowers you see'' you try your best to convince her. ,,I'm sure her majesty doesn't mind, as long as you return in the evening and report back to us'' she almost scolds, her features turning more serious and stern. ,,Of course Ms Venable, thank you'' is all you reply with a small smile, unsure why you had smiled in the first place but it somehow came natural. And before you know it she leaves, her cane echoing with each step before it stops altogether as she reaches the palace again.

Several hours later, you finally make your way to the village, using your secret path through the forest, stopping briefly by your hide out and gathering some of your things, putting them all in a small bag and changing into one of your usual outfits, feeling much more comfortable that way. You opted for one of your beige ones, leather trousers, boots and a vest, a shoulder bag with your belongings. On the way to the village, you had also collected some seeds, hoping if you worked briefly and hard on the gardens, you could still provide the village with food, hoping that you could somehow stuff it in your bags so no one would notice. And as you finally make it to the village, you are met with the usual families, the children greeting you excitedly as they knew you always brought them things but today you unfortunately come empty handed. ,,We haven't seen you for a couple of days'' one of the villagers exclaims, scanning your features and noticing some cuts and bruises on your face. ,,Brief encounter with some guards'' you chuckle, not wanting to go into too much detail. ,,I don't have anything today unfortunately but I should soon'' you exclaim, however you are met with compassion and understanding.

,,Have either of you heard anything about Snow White lately?'' you ask the group of villagers, before most of them shake their head. ,,I believe she has last been seen up north, by the rivers'' one of them exclaims and you simply nod, appreciating their honesty, despite feeling terrible considering what game you are playing. Noticing the beginning dawn, the sun beginning to set, you opt to return to the palace, knowing you would never be able to make the journey up north within the next few hours. And it doesn't take long until you find yourself in front of the familiar back door, some guards already awaiting you. ,,Your majesty wants to see you'' he explains before you gulp and follow him.

He guides you back into the room you had been in before, the two of them sitting by the fireplace, before you stand awkwardly, feeling as if you are interrupting their peace. ,,Tell me, any information?'' the queen questions before she stands up and walks over to you. ,,Yes your majesty, apparently up north by the river'' you explain before she signals to the guard who remained standing there before he leaves at her instructions. ,,I would have checked the information for myself but I know I needed to return tonight'' you explain yourself and she simply furrows her eyebrows before scanning you, noticing the outfit change and the bag. ,,Well well, did our little pet make a stop somewhere?'' she asks, glancing at Wilhemina who simply watches with a chuckle. The brunette is quick to take the bag from you, her eyes glancing through the contents of it, noticing some seed pouches and chuckling as the redhead had filled her in on your earlier request. ,,What is this?'' she questions, holding up your notebook.

,,My notebook your majesty'' you exclaim, averting her gaze as your cheeks grow red a little. She skips through the pages, impressed with the several sketches, some from the villages, some from the forest and even one of her castle. She slides it back into your bag, before walking back over to her armchair, leaving you confused and stranded, unsure what to do next. ,,I feel like some tea, you dear?'' the queen announces and you aren't sure whether to leave them to it or whether they still needed you. ,,Of course'' the redhead begins, reaching for her cane but the queen stops her by waving her hand. ,,No no'' she tuts ,,We have a pet now remember dear'' she instructs and Wilhemina simply chuckles before they both look at you. You glance around the room, unsure where you are supposed to get tea from, however the redhead glances towards a backdoor behind the dining table and you nod gratefully before quickly walking through the door, finding a small tea kitchen there.

And so it doesn't take long before you enter the room again, carrying a little tray, before approaching them, with shaking hands placing it in front of them. ,,Anything else I can get you?'' you ask almost obediently and if you would have looked, you would have noticed the sparkle in Wilhemina's eyes. ,,No pet, but how about you join us considering you did so well today, I heard they have a trail on Snow White'' the queen chuckles and your eyes widen at her offer, but as Wilhemina pats the space next to her, you simply obey, quickly pouring the tea for them, before glancing at the fire, softly crackling, providing you with some warmth, as you feel a little awkward, under their careful gazes. ,,So tell me Y/N, what led you to steal from me in the first place?'' the queen begins, causing you to gulp as the last thing you expected was to find yourself having small talk over tea with them. ,,Yes Y/N'' Wilhemina mockingly carries on ,,We want to hear all about you'' she exclaims, again having you gulping and squirming in your seat.

The next few weeks, carry on the same way they had previously, most of your days are spent with taking care of the gardens, regularly going back to your village, providing them with some of the food that you had grown and nurtured, in secret of course. Your nights mostly looked the same as well, spending them in your room, doing some writing or sketching in your notebooks. However lately, they had often demanded your presence in the evening as well, as you often provided them with tea, the occasional wine, and any information you had on Snow White. And you couldn't help but notice how they seemed a little less strict, they stopped calling you pet and started with your actual name. You are sure by now they know that you have continued providing for your village and they hadn't killed you yet, not even mentioned it. And so, ever so slowly, your life at the palace felt almost normal as you had quite the freedom now, not having to let the guards know where you are going as they and her majesty knew you would always return in the evenings. And so it almost felt like home, appreciating the fact that you don't have to sleep on the wet and cold forest floor anymore but you knew there was something off, you should be terrified, trying to run from them after seeing all the horrible things they had done in the past but something about being around them so much, you started to understand more about the queens pain and the reason for her actions.

,,Where on earth is she?'' she paces around her large chambers, the anger flaring in her eyes as her magic sparks, her emotions bubbling out of the brunette.

Her loyal companion, sits by the fireplace, trying to keep her composure, before balancing on her cane, the sound echoing through the room. ,,I'm sure she just lost track of time'' the redhead tries calming her down, placing a hand on the queens shoulder but she is having none of that, quickly escaping her grasp. ,,She always returns, we were foolish to believe that she wouldn't betray us'' her raised voice rings through the air again, startling the redhead a little.

And Wilhemina wasn't sure whether the queen was actually concerned for your wellbeing, or simply considering whether to kill you, having noticed how Regina had almost gone soft since bringing you to the castle, still plotting her curse that she had worked on for a while but considerably softer with the people in the villages, especially your village. She knew all about you still providing them with food and yet Regina hadn't kill you and so Wilhemina had began wondering whether the brunette may feel the same way about you that Wilhemina had started, despite never talking about it.

The silence is interrupted when a guard enters ,,Your majesty'' he begins but she was having none of it. ,,Not now'' she shouts, waving her hand, getting ready to send him flying out the door. ,,Your majesty, we have finally found her'' he announces, the sound of more guards filling the air before her head snaps towards him. ,,Snow White?'' she questions, despite your best information and efforts lately, they still hadn't managed to capture her. ,,No your majesty'' he begins, before Wilhemina's heart stops in her chest.

They watch as another guard, drags your body inside, your face filled with blood as it pours from your mouth, your clothes stained and bruises beginning to plaster your face. Your eyes are closed as they throw you on the floor, in front of both women, smiling at themselves thinking they had captured you. ,,Are you both out of your minds?'' she shouts and the smiles quickly vanish from the guards faces. ,,Your majesty, Y/N has been searched for years'' he tries to justify his actions. ,,Didn't you two fools get the memo? she hasn't been searched for months, she belongs to this palace'' Wilhemina shouts, usually keeping her composure but unable to in this moment.

,,Pathetic idiots'' the evil queen shouts, in a swift motion making them turn into dust, wiping them from their existence quicker than either of them can take their next breath or justify their pathetic actions. Wilhemina is quick to rid you from the chains, her hand brushing past your cheek, the blood staining her leather gloves. Almost helplessly, Wilhemina turns to Regina, who simply stands frozen, before turning on her heels, abandoning you both as she leaves towards her balcony, trying hard to keep her emotions and rage at bay.

The battle of unconsciousness wins in the end, barely aware of the encounter that took place and so when you wake next, you find yourself in unfamiliar surroundings, a dark room, the only light sources some candles. As you try and force open your eyes, you notice the interior almost entirely a dark shade of lilac and your eyebrows furrow, trying to recollect the events from before. All you remember is trying to make your way back to the castle, stumbling upon some guards who clearly had no idea who you were and how they didn't listen to your pathetic attempts of explaining. How they beat you, hurt you and dragged you back to what you assume to be the castle. The last thing you see before sleep washes over your tired and beaten body is the lilac large sofa you are laying on before everything goes black and quiet.

Meanwhile Wilhemina had returned to the queens chambers, opting between getting you back to your room or a little closer to them and so she decides for one of her rooms in the end, needing the help of a guard to get you there, yet she trusted that same guard, having helped her with some of her secret missions in the past. She watched over you for a while, gently ridding you from the blood and changing your clothes for you, unsure why she was doing it but ignoring the thought for now, wanting to check on Regina. She finds the other woman still standing on her balcony, overlooking the gardens, despite the darkness of the night surrounding them. The cane echoing announces the redheads presence, as she stands beside her majesty, silence surrounding them.

,,How is she?'' the brunette asks, not averting her gaze from the dark night sky for a moment. ,,Fine'' Wilhemina mutters, still unsure how to read Regina's actions so far regarding you. And as the redhead catches a glimpse of the other woman's brown eyes, she can see something unfamiliar in them, something she couldn't read. ,,She's causing me to go soft'' she suddenly speaks, taking Wilhemina by surprise. ,,Is that such a bad thing?'' she questions in return, the queen averting her eyes again at the redheads statement. ,,Where is she?'' Regina asks after a moment of silence before Wilhemina speaks again. ,,She's safe'' and the statement causes for the queens eyebrows to furrow as her eyes draw towards the redheads again. ,,Where is she?'' she speaks again before Wilhemina swallows hard ,,In my room''.

,,Your room?'' her eyebrows raise now, surprised at the statement. ,,You are going soft too my dear'' she chuckles before giving her companion that nod, that nod that indicated she was tired and would retreat to her own chambers for the night. ,,Good night your majesty'' Wilhemina speaks before giving her the space she had silently asked for and retreating to her own room. In her room, she finds you still asleep and a wave of worry washes over her, having seen some of your wounds when changing and washing you before, concerned at the severity of them. ,,Y/N?'' she speaks almost softly, almost lovingly, so unlike the usual stern and intimidating woman. And her soft voice draws you from sleep instantly, as you open your eyes. And then it kinda dawns on you, who's room you are in and you instantly jolt, thinking you didn't belong there, unaware of who had put you there in the first place.

,,I'm so sorry Ms Venable'' you try, your voice still hoarse from sleep. ,,I don't know how I got here'' you apologise, trying to balance on your feet, however a sudden wave of pain washes over your body, causing you to tumble forward but a steady body forces you to remain still, stopping you from falling over. ,,It's okay dear'' she speaks so softly yet again and as you look up, you catch a glimpse of her brown eyes and how they sparkle, how suddenly she seems so much nicer, so much less intimidating and just a person, not the evil queens loyal companion. ,,Come on, let's sit you down'' she tries and you quickly obey, not wanting to cause any discomfort for her, unsure why she used a cane in the first place, but often sensing how uncomfortable she was whenever you caught a glimpse of her.

,,I put you here'' she confesses, causing your eyebrows to furrow in confusion but when the realisation sets in, your cheeks growing red a little, feeling silly for your earlier panic. ,,Is the pain quite bad?'' she asks, her features filled with concern but you quickly shake your bed. ,,No Ms Venable'' you assure, the pain much better now despite the remaining feeling of unbalance whenever standing up. The room fills with silence as you catch a glimpse of what you assume to be her chambers, the large wooden wardrobe in a corner, a large mirror, a desk with several books on them, two armchairs and a fireplace in the corner. As your eyes meet hers again you can't help but notice how she is staring at you, looking at you up and down as your eyebrows furrow in confusion, mirroring her actions to check if there was something wrong with your appearance.

,,You are quite pretty for a peasant'' she speaks quietly and now you are definitely contemplating whether you are awake, whether this was real. ,,Tha- Thank you Ms Venable'' you stumble over your words, unsure what to reply before she speaks again ,,You may call me Wilhemina'' she offers ,,But only when we are alone'' she instructs and you quickly nod your head, feeling a knot form in your stomach. The room fills with silence again, as you feel yourself relaxing in her presence a little, trying to think how you had gotten here in the first place, how being captured after all these years got you to a first name basis with her majesty's most trusted person. ,,What happened to you tonight?'' Wilhemina asks, drawing your thoughts and eyes back to her.

And then without hesitation and the usual composure you have around them, you fill her in on what had happened with the guards, and she listens intently, her jaw stiffening a couple of times when mentioning some of the more violent details. Before she can reply, the door bursts open, and your eyes widen when seeing the queen enter, in a dark nightgown, her hair down, the makeup gone and for the first time feeling like actually seeing Regina. ,,I can't sleep'' she sighs before noticing your presence and tensing her shoulders, not expecting you to still be there as it had been hours since Wilhemina mentioned having you in her room and assuming by now that you had left to your own room again.

,,And what are you still doing here?'' she questions, more to Wilhemina than yourself really. ,,We were just talking'' Wilhemina informs, her features remaining neutral. ,,I'll leave you to it your majesty'' you speak, quickly on your feet and ignoring the pain and dizziness as you brush past her and return to your own room. That night you have a hard time finding sleep, equally to the queen before, as you toss and turn at first, before eventually giving up on the idea of sleep and retreating to the comfort of your words and sketches as the pen flies over the pages of your notebook.

The next morning you return to your usually tasks, going on about your day, finding an odd sense of peace and quiet in the gardens. Unaware who was again looking over you, observing quietly from her balcony. And the next few weeks continue just like that, you going on about your usual tasks, having your evening encounters with both women who stopped tolerating your presence and started appreciating it, as you bring an odd sense of calm around them, some life into their monotone lives. And within those weeks you feel yourself increasingly drawn to both women, especially after they had taken you to your village a few days ago in the queens carriage, how you assumed Regina was going to bring her usual wrath of violence over people but instead her carriage brought food and supplies for your people and you couldn't believe your eyes, just as stunned as the poor people who feared as soon as they heard the queens guards and carriage arrive.

And you wondered whether maybe, just maybe the queen was going soft, unaware of the events that had taken turn behind closed doors, of how the queen had casted her spell and how it was slowly brewing, unaware of what it would bring, chaos, forgetting and what she had always desired most- her own version of a happy ending. And so tonight, you were unaware that the upcoming day would bring just that, unaware that tonight was your last with them. You had been confused about the queens unusual cheerful mood, how she had invited you to join them for supper, how Wilhemina could barely stand your gaze. How silently Wilhemina had pleaded for the queen to stop her curse but she couldn't stop it as it had been brewing silently for months and how nothing could stop it now, despite her beginning to silently regret it, despite her never admitting that to no one, not even herself really.

You find yourself sitting beside Wilhemina by the fireplace, how her eyes linger on the dancing flames, not having said much all night. ,,Wilhemina, is everything okay?'' you question silently and as her eyes meet yours, you see the pain, the doubts in them and so many unspoken words. However, your peace is interrupted when the queen enters, the door banging shut in the process and your heart stopping in your chest as you notice what she was carrying in her hands. Your notebook slaps against the table as she throws it on it, leaving behind a very confused and startled Wilhemina.

,,What is this?'' the redhead questions, her eyes meeting the angry queens eyes.

,,Ask her'' Regina spits, her angry eyes meeting yours. Wilhemina's eyebrows furrow in confusion as she looks at you. You can't do anything but stand, taking a step towards her majesty, knowing if she had read it, you would be beyond screwed.

,,I can explain your majesty'' you pathetically try but before you get the chance to, she takes a step closer, the echoing of her heels matching her inner turmoil as her eyes shoot daggers towards you, before you gasp as a hand extracts your heart, watching in shock as she holds it in her hands, the sound of it beating steadily filling the room.

,,Regina-'' Wilhemina shouts, quickly on her feet and her eyes travelling from you to the brunette.

,,I have had a feeling this carried your secrets'' she speaks, her eyes wandering towards your notebook. ,,And I wasn't surprised to read all your little confessions, find all your little sketches'' she speak almost mockingly, her eyes filled with both rage and pain.

,,Regina- what is it?'' Wilhemina tries again, her heart beating fast, her hands trembling with fear.

,,She loves us dear, both of us, the pages are filled with it'' she informs her companion, who simply stands there with a shocked expression as the room begins spinning a little.

,,Regina stop'' Wilhemina demands, her eyes pleading with the queen, her cane banging on the floor twice.

Regina's grip on your heart tightens, her gaze cold as she holds it in her hands, causing you to gasp for air. ,,Stop?'' she repeats, her tone dripping with disdain. ,,Why would I stop? when I have finally uncovered the truth about our little pet?''

Fear courses through your veins as you watch the scene unfold before you. Wilhemina's eyes widen in shock, her features mixed with disbelief and anguish. ,,Regina please'' she pleads again, her voice barely above a whisper ,,This isn't necessary''

,,You know that she loves us, you have known for a while now, we both have'' she pleads again as she steps forward, her voice filled with desperation.

Regina's eyes flicker with anger but Wilhemina continues, her words gaining strength. ,,Love should triumph over revenge'' she argues, her gaze never leaving Regina's.

The Queen's expression softens slightly at Wilhemina's words, a flicker of doubt crossing her features. For a moment it seems as though she might relent, before she senses that her curse almost reached you, knowing it was too late, that she couldn't fix this, before her eyes harden once more, her resolve returning.

"Love is a weakness, Wilhemina," she retorts, her voice cold and unforgiving. "It blinds us, makes us vulnerable. We cannot afford such weakness in our world."

Before Wilhemina can respond, having heard those same words fall many times from the queens lips, Regina reaches out and places your heart back in your chest. The pain is intense, causing you to drop to the floor, and as Regina leaves the room, Wilhemina rushes to your side, abandoning her cane, pulling you into her arms as she braces for whatever comes next.

As she glances towards the door where Regina stands, a thick cloud of purple and green already surrounding her, the dark curse finally having reached you, she is quick to press a tender kiss to your lips, causing your eyes to open. ,,I love you Y/N'' she murmurs against your mouth, her voice filled with emotion. ,,No matter what happens, remember that''

Then, as the room fills with smoke and darkness, Wilhemina shields you with her body, trying to protect you from the curse's effects. As the world fades around you, you cling to her, unaware of what is happening, unaware that in a matter of seconds you would forget everything, forget them, forget your life and the woman still trying desperately to hold you close, despite it being useless.

[botanicalbasil]

Have you ever walked through an evergreen forest to clear your mind? Eaten a nice warm vegetable stew? Received flowers from someone you love? Well... thank our hidden hero:

Arbuscular Mycorrhizal Fungi!

Hidden beneath your feet, nestled away inside the roots of 80-90% of vascular plants, there is a complex network of hyphae working in tandem with their plant buddies to keep our ecosystems alive and thriving!

Essentially, these microscopic fungi give plants Super Tolerance. Hyphae are much smaller than roots, which means that they can reach out farther while expending less energy and worm their way into places that are normally inaccessible to plants. This allows vascular plants to access more mineral nutrients than they normally could on their own. These fun-guys are so effective that some plants can even live their lives completely achlorophyllic (without chlorophyll)!

In return, plants will partition some of the carbon and simple sugars produced from photosynthesis to give to their buddies. This is done through vesicles formed by hyphae in the plant cells.

This isn't anything new either! In fact, you might even thank AMF for plants migrating onto land at all. A popular hypothesis for the colonization of land by plants is that the first vascular plants formed from an ancient partnership between algae and fungi, where essentially the fungi would act as the algae's roots to collect nutrients not available to the algae alone outside the water. If you'd like to see a cool example, look up the Rhynie chert!!

Thank you for letting me ramble a while at you about my favorite organisms on this planet :•) I encourage all of you to do some more research on your own, there is a TON that I haven't covered here! If you have access to a microscope, you can even dissect and stain some common garden roots to say hello to these little buddies yourself!

[This piece is directly inspired by the work of @/byjacobparis on Instagram! Please go give him a follow :•) ]

[iphigeniainaulis]

Background paintings in Ikevamp and why they matter

...even if you are not familiar with art.

Warnings: minor spoilers for all routes, though I tried to keep it as vague as possible

Time to talk about background paintings in Ikemen vampire because…why not?

First, let me warn you that the following is nothing but a theory based on some visual resemblance. While it may occur that Ikemen designers wanted to hide a few Easter eggs, it's also fair to mention that sometimes the sky is blue just because it's Sunday morning, and that’s all. 

Nevertheless, one detail may hint at the former statement being true. And this is because there’s a significant difference in how different paintings are shown in the game. 

Some of them are blurry, overdark or too bright. While we can distinguish some unclear silhouettes, the rest is on our imagination.

For example, it seems that the first picture is the natural landscape (probably, sunset in the forest) as well as the second one with the Ionic style columns being placed in the center of a garden. Still, we’re not sure.

But the thing is it doesn’t matter. The amount of details the viewer is given is too small for us to make any art-historical assumptions. Based on these mere images we can figure out neither the artist who painted them nor the narrative. Therefore, these paintings have only a secondary function of background decorations and proof of demonstration of their owner’s wealth. 

On the contrary, there are paintings that we can easily detach because their creators are too famous to be unfamiliar with. But even within this scope of paintings there is a slight differentiation due to the way they are incorporated in the game design. 

Some of them have been revived by the hands of geniuses who once created them. This is the case of Leonardo’s Study of a woman’s head and Study of Hands

 or Vincent’s Sunflower and the Olive trees

While it’s easy to reduce the meaning behind this design decision to simple hype, I think that it also serves as a visual representation of the suitors' character traits. What is the point of redrawing the painting that was already brought to life a long time ago? For Vincent it means years, for Leonardo - centuries. My guess is that for artists like them it's never enough. Life is too beautiful to be captured once and forever. A woman’s face is never a mystery solved. While for many people it’s okay to achieve a goal and forget about it the exact minute they are done, for geniuses like Leonardo and Vincent it’s always different. You must improve. You have to work further. There is always something new an artist’s eye can capture. That’s why they painted it again, again and again. 

Let's move to another group of paintings. Spotting The Starry Night in Theo’s room is not a surprise because we know that, first of all, they’re brothers with Vincent, and, secondly, Theo is an art dealer.

What deserves to be brought into focus is that this work is regarded as the elder Van Gogh’s magnum opus. Sure, you can argue that the real Theo and Vincent thought little of this painting, calling it “a failure”. To which I reply that, again, this is a game for numerous people across the world, including those who are not familiar with art history. For many of us The Starry Night is viewed as one of the most popular art works, a special work, a valuable one. Therefore, by omitting historical accuracy Ikemen writers and designers try to achieve something more contributing to the plot - they try to evoke certain emotions. Putting the art of such great significance in the room of one of the brothers should be a clear indicator of the amount of respect and love the two of them share. Describing the emotional bond between them is mainly the prerogative of writers. But sometimes game design plays no less if not more meaningful role in the process of us as readers getting familiar with characters. The painting here becomes a subtle part of the plot as it highlights certain prerequisites of their relationship and prepares us for what is going to come next.

The latter is especially relevant to Vlad's route. The female portrait in the pureblood’s room is what takes background paintings in Ikevamp on a fundamentally new level - the level of plot-forming core.

Unlike those paintings I mentioned at the beginning, these ones are no longer a substitute for the room decor. Instead, they serve as a device that pushes the plot forward. It accumulates three major points that are relevant to the plot:

It adds the mystery element for triggering our curiosity. The portrait is ‘faceless’, and even though we all see the resemblance in features, there is this ‘if’ element. What if they decided to go with a classical Dracula plot? Eternal vampire loses his lover and waits for her to be reborn? Is this MC? Why can’t he remember her face?

The portrait itself allows us to get for a second into Vlad’s head and understand his feelings towards the mysterious woman. Vlad drawing her portrait is caused by the act of kindness she showed him. His entire motivation is connected to the single painting. She was the one who he wanted to be with. In order to do so, he had to become strong, to accept his tragic loss and move forward. The portrait serves as a silent reminder about what was his goal and why he chose the path he chose. 

It circulates the narrative. At the beginning, MC faces the challenge of being the third one in the relationship with Vlad and his unknown lover. She questions the identity of that unknown counterpart of hers and secretly wants to learn more about her. By revealing the truth of Vlad’s past and their connection, MC figures out who was the woman in the painting which in some way pushes her to find enough strength for making a certain groundbreaking decision. 

Finally, there is the third group of paintings that possess what I call ‘potential meaning’. These paintings maintain the main features of the two previous groups, namely, vague silhouettes combined with a rather clear narrative that somehow increases the possibility of them being more than a decorative object.

Take a look at the two paintings in Vincent’s room. In comparison to all other paintings these ones differ not only in terms of shape but also in terms of color. The lines seem to be more fluid, and the color palette is dominated by ochreous, blue and black which is typical for East Asian classical ink art. By taking a closer look, you can actually see the vague outlines of the sea and shrouded in mist mountains in the background. Personally to me such landscapes together with a specific composition angle remind of Hokusai’s Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji which can be a great allusion to Van Gogh’s obsession with Japanese prints and their role in his artistic career. 

The huge painting in Comte’s living room has been haunting me for years, I shall admit. It portrays a marine landscape with a single boat chasing the wild waters in the dark or right before the sunrise. When talking about marine art, the first person that comes to my mind is Ivan Aivazovsky. Yet, it is evident that Aivazovsky’s style was pure romanticism with heavy realistic elements, whereas this painting looks like it's more about light and colores rather than clear and precise lines. And also this sun, this strange orange sun..that can be spotted only in Claude Monet's Impression. Sunrise. 

The mansion’s copy is a darker mirrow image of the original work. Nobody knows why Comte chose this painting for the mansion, but isn’t it a bit of irony that the painting that praises France, the country that suffered from the war with Prussia and was on its way to revitalisation, is located in the house that is about to face the battle between the lesser vampires and their haunters or rather the figurative war of two different morals (we are yet to know about it, though)?

Another version is that the painting serves as a metaphoric description of the character. In various routes MC mentions how Comte reminds her of the sun that made manifest, and everything supports this claim to be true, from his golden eyes and hair, to the brightness of the room and..paintings that symbolize the master of the mansion.

Finally, I wouldn't forget about the massive backlash Impressionists had to face at the early stage of the movement’s existence. It was only until the 5th Impressionist exhibition in 1880 that the artists finally got praised by critics. Just a bit more than 10 years before the MC’s appearance. However, we know that the creation of the mansion had taken place before this event. So, my point is that probably Monet’s painting was purchased by the greater vampire during the times when Impressionists were still harshly criticized by the Salon. And if so, the display of the painting that represents the les misérables of the art world speaks so much volume about Comte’s character and devotion to fulfill what he perceives as his noblesse oblige - to support those in need, to help them reveal their talent no matter what social class they belong to. 

The game room’s central painting is another amusing detail as it’s completely out of mood. Playing cards, watching chess games or taking any other light leisure activity with a glass of brandy in your hand, you rarely expect to raze your gaze from the table only to stare at the image of ruins. Yet, this is what we get here - a typical capriccio painting like those of Alessandro Salucci and Leonardo Coccorante.

Capriccio artists dared to do something new in the history of art - they put real archeological signs into fantasy surroundings, sometimes from the same time period that the artists lived in. To an extent, they brought the ancient past and allowed it to live in the future, which is not a bad allusion to the original purpose of the mansion’s creation.  

And here is what we can spot in Shakespeare’s room. At first, I didn't think much about this painting in Will’s bedroom but something felt odd. And then I understood. 

You see, there’s this famous Vincent’s work named Cafe Terrace at Night. The painting is created from the north eastern corner that allows us to see the starry night without facing an obstacle in the form of the cafe's roof. 

But this is how the modern cafe looks from a different perspective. Yellow elongated building with two wide niches that serve both as windows and entrance. 

Do you see it, right? RIGHT?

I headcanon that Vincent was so eager to spoil his new friend with a present that he decided to redraw his favorite work and  give it to the bard. But being an empathetic and observant one, Vincent immediately figured out Will’s admiration of everything unique and rare, so he decided to create a completely new version of his own painting instead of just redrawing it from the same angle as he did with sunflowers. 

Aaand this is what we get in the living room. Random at first sight, the composition of various unrelated pictures actually makes sense. The most evident one is, of course, the image of theater curtains. What else should we expect to see in the manor of the great Bard of Avon? The same curtains, by the way, appear in almost every scene where MC and her suitor are invited to Shakespeare’s play.

Just a small detail, but I think this is one of those rare occasions when we can actually name the place Ikemen writers took inspiration from (apart from, of course, Louvre and the University of Paris). What helps us here is the curtains over which we spot golden metal lambrequin with a cartouche that imitates the image of the sun.

Such a prolonged lambrequin with the sun image (in honor of Louis XIV, the Sun King and also the father of the Paris Opera) in the center actually exists only in one Parisian theater - Opera Garnier, where in 1888 Shakespeare’s  Roméo et Juliette was staged.

Just to make sure, look at the curtains in some of the most popular theaters that existed during the historical period in Ikevamp -  Théâtre du Châtelet or the Opéra-Comique. You won't find a similar one.

Two last possible Easter eggs may be related to the two historical objects that existed during Shakespear’s era. The first one is still connected to the curtains for as you see, there were rumors (modern archeological findings prove them to be true) that the first venue of Shakespeare’s plays was called ‘the Curtain Theatre’.

And the second thing I want to point at is two images of the chair. Honestly, I highly doubt that a person like Will who has an almost narcissistic obsession with expensive staff would put a painting of such low value in his private apartment. But I can understand it, if this is not an image of  some random piece of furniture but the well-known Shakespeare’s Courting Chair, wherein, according to William Henry, ‘the bard was used to sit, during his courtship, with his Anne upon his knee’. 

Anyway, I hope it wasn't too much. Thank you for reading!

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

"sorry, but i think i lost your plot" where toothless notices hiccup admiring our protagonist often and follows her around one day while she's working? basically toothless being a wingman of sorts

Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot pt 17

Pairing: Onesided!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Modern!Fem!Reader

Words: 1,006

You and Toothless rendezvous.

Tags: Time Travel, Reader into Movieverse, unedited

<Previous - Next>

You hurried down the steps of the Ingerman home, basket in tow, a warm, clean cloth wrapped steaming loaf of bread sitting on top of a basket of dirty laundry.

Each step tapped against the wooden stair, your worn boots doing little to soften your footsteps.

You walked with quick strides through the clearing, running across damn dirt and a forge that hadn’t yet been lit in the early morning darkness, only pausing briefly to glance at a shadow at the corner of your eye.

When you looked back, there was nothing there.

You shrugged it off, despite the chills running down your back, intent on quickly getting down to the wells before anyone else could. 

You held a rag in your fists, braced against your hips, staring at your work, at the many, many shiny weapons lined and mounted against the wall, some patterned, most not, all sharpened to the highest degree.

As you polished to the highest degree, soot and other things caked onto your clothes and the apron you’d borrowed from Mrs. Jorgenson. 

Your attention was drawn, for a moment, to the half open window, where you caught a glimpse of a large green eyeball just as it disappeared from view.

You didn’t mind it, instead looking away and taking a few more moments to admire your work. 

You knew the Jorgenson head didn’t much care for polished artifacts, though Mrs. Jorgenson insisted on it. Something about utility and pride, nothing you learned from anyone but the head lady herself. She has some very strong opinions on it.

You looked outside a window to your side, half covered by wooden shutters and a wood frame to match the wood everything else, admiring the yellow, rising sun.

The Head should be back from his early morning training soon off in the forests. You found that he trained like every day was Thorsday Thursday.

You fled quickly as the morning got just a bit brighter, willing yourself out before the fresh dewy feeling left the air, grabbing your coin and your effects, before either one could come home and they could start arguing. 

Sitting by the well, on top of the built stone wall surrounding the hole, you looked down at the nice cloth wrapped gift you had gotten earlier that day.  

Off to your side, a terror danced and pounced around, following a bug. 

Animals, dragons mostly, crowed and lazed in the warming noon light. 

You unwrapped it, revealing a nice loaf of bread. 

You were sure you were going to save it as much as you could before it started to mold. You needed to finish it before it went bad. 

But you thought it wouldn’t hurt to take off a few slices. 

The poor woman, Mrs. Ingerman, had gotten up extra, extra early to bake you a loaf which was impressive considering you were up in the earliest of hours, so early it had only been a few since the last night. The last midnight, that is.

You stared out at the place around, at the occasional person bustling past, most vikings heavily involved with their tasks for the day. 

You spotted something in an alley, large and slinking and nearly black, it’s body language cautious and yet not.

A Night Fury. The only Night Fury you knew, crouched around the corner, observing you.

If he shifted just right, you could see the glint of a metal buckle attached to his strap. You wondered where his rider was.

You bit into the bread loaf, still staring at him.

Had he been following you all day?

You looked at the sheep in front of you, shears at your side. 

It was a dusty white one, slightly overgrown, white fur and gray face very fuzzy. 

You considered cutting its wool into a shape like you’d seen gardeners do to bushes. 

You stood on a floor of hay in the gentle shade of a barn, one by the open fields sort of close to the coast-cliff line overlooking the sea and the craigs. 

It had been a long while since you’d shorn a sheep, yet it felt like just yesterday you’d learned.

You stared out at the open stall towards the light of the afternoon where the fields were open and the sheep were wandering free.

The grass was tall and green and looked incredibly fresh, something nice to lay in. 

You would do that after your task and the retrieval of your coin when it was colder and you could better appreciate the fresh earth freely.

You blinked.

It looked like you had a friend for the day.

You didn’t see anything, but you did hear a light purr, the kind you could perhaps brush off as one of the sheep’s, before you heard a loud thump. 

You brushed it off.

You wondered if he had a task for you?

You stared down into the open barrel, slightly smelly, damp with seawater and slime, ready to be hung and dried and maybe pickled, filled with fish of many different sizes.

You wiped your hands on the towel by your side, shifting your rolled up sleeves further up your arm as you stared down at your work. 

And then you looked off to the side, where Toothless peered out at you, the green of his eyes a bit more difficult to make out, washed over with orange. 

You reached into the barrel and tossed him a fish.

It landed against the ground with a smack, and he jumped back into the shadows slightly, before creeping forwards again, eyeing you curiously. 

He sniffed it curiously, looking up at you with big, suspicious eyes all the while, large, draconic shoulder hunched before grabbing the tail delicately by the teeth.

Quickly, he threw it up into the air and gulped it down before quickly turning around and bounding away, leaving vague imprints of his paws in the dust layer resting over the hard, dry dirt floor.

 Whatever brought him to you, the fish seemed to treat pretty well.

[sundew199]

All For You

tags: Fluff, reiner's pov, modern au, no specific p/n’s used

You had the roughest day yesterday, falling into his arms the second you stepped through the door, burying your face into his chest. It was a bit of a downer on his part, having planned a nice date night for the two of you but deciding what you needed was a night in, curled up on the couch and watching reruns of your favorite show. Reiner hated to see your spirit dampened, the glow from your face dimmed and somber from the actions of other people. He wanted to shield you from that, like a parent protecting the innocence of their child.

Even though he knew it would be best for you to quit your job or transfer to a different office, Reiner didn't want to put the pressure, you were an adult who could make their own decisions. That same night, while curled up in bed after nearly falling asleep on the couch, you quietly mention wanting to spend a day in nature, walk through sprawling gardens of flowers and sit in a thick forest of trees to clear your mind of everything weighing you down. That's where he got the idea to take you to the arboretum, buying tickets from his phone once he swore you were asleep.

He woke up earlier than usual the next morning, bringing you coffee in bed and shying away from your prying question, insisting he always does things like this for you, which wasn't a lie, Reiner's life might as well have been centered around you, his love and dedication driving him. And how could he not, you were his person, the other half of his heart and all things good, making it less of a challenge to fall more and more in love with you.

The morning was expectantly slow, curled up back in bed with you after taking a few sips of your coffee, head tucked under his chin and arms wrapped around his neck. He would've stayed like this all day, but there was somewhere the two of you had to be.

"Where are you going?" Hearing your whine that made him pulling away feel like a villain.

"To get dressed." Kissing the tip of your nose and watching your face turn to pondering.

"It's Saturday, our day off."

"Yea, but I'm taking you somewhere today."

A litany of question followed, eager to know where he was taking you, following him into the bathroom and into the closet. Gently he brushed them off, telling you the surprise would be ruined. That seemed to work, watching you turn giddy with excitement Time slowed as he tried to focus on getting dressed, distracted with watching you get ready, the detail you put into your appearance and just how much he loved the little things about you. And there were so many he could spend days listing them off to anyone who dared to listen.

He had your things ready to go by the front door, handing them off to you and interlacing his hand in yours for the short walk out the front door to the car. The drive was lengthy, but not horrible as Reiner got to listen to your ramblings, relieved the previous bad day at work had been overcome quickly by you.

A man at the gate scanned the tickets from his phone, directing him where to park. You were busy texting someone to notice where you'd arrive at, and Reiner was kind of glad, adding more sweetness to the surprise outing today.

"Where are we?" Asking as you walked beside him in the parking lot, hand in hand, swinging his arm back in forth with yours.

"The arboretum." Answering with a smile, swelling with adoration at your soft gasp and falter in your steps.

"You were listening?"

"When am I not?" Stopping to squeeze your hand and give a quick peck to your lips, hurrying you along so you could spend all the time you wanted in the botanical gardens. The woman who scanned the same tickets handed you each a brochure highlighting the different areas. The magnolia grove was first on your list, dragging Reiner along in excitement and him happily being dragged.

A canopy of trees shielded the paved path, familiar white blooming flowers with dark green leave blowing in the wind. Reiner hadn't noticed how sweet these flowers smelled, heavy with an odd trace of lemon that pulled him into memories of when you'd get home from work before him and was wiping down the kitchen counters. From the moment he talked to you before mustering up the courage to ask you on a date, he knew you loved flowers and not just bouquets to put in a vase, no you had a passion for the delicate beauty of nature.

Steps lingered in the grove, Reiner watching you take pictures of the trees from every angle, smiling from a distance and wondering how he got so lucky. You were pure, full of passion for the things that took your interest and unabashedly expressed your love for the things that caught your eye, Reiner just so happened to be one of them.

"I saw there was a Koi pond, let's go there next." Suddenly standing in front of him, concluding your photography session with the Magnolia trees.

The arboretum was expansive to the point it could take all day to explore every area, and he knew you would want to. The Koi pond was unfortunately on the other side of where the Magnolia grove was, with plenty of areas to stop by on the way to the pond.

"We can stop by the rose garden and butterfly greenhouse on the way to the pond, if you want." Suggesting, seeing you nod idly while looking over the brochure while walking down the paved path. You were focused on planning out your sightseeing, brows slightly pinched and lips pursed.

"Let's go." Grabbing his hands and picking up the pace in your steps, weaving in and out of the other people walking the other way, set on making it to where he had suggested.

Elegant roses of nearly every color filled the flower beds of the enchanting garden. There were people sitting in the eloquent spiraling benches, taking in the scenery or reading a book they had Brough for ambiance. Reiner felt entranced, never seeing roses look prettier than they already were, glancing in your direction to see you examining the flower. He came up behind you, softened when you looked back at him with a gleeful smile, like a little kid living out a fantasy and that stirred something in Reiner.

Seeing you happy made him swell in his chest already, but to see you guileless and almost innocent just reestablished how lucky he was. God he loved you, swore he loved you more than the average man loved their partner, with the way you always brought a genuine smile to his face at just a mere glance.

"I wish I could pick a few, maybe dry out some of the petals, press them into a journal." Saying to no one, but still catching Reiner's attention and having him look to see if there were any signs that instructed patrons to not pick the flowers.

Guiding you away, further from where majority of the people say on the benches, he did his best to look unsuspecting for what he planned to do. Confident both of you were out of view, Reiner bent down close to your ear.

"Which color?"

Your head snapped to look at him, almost immediately with how close you nearly collided with his face.

"What?" Whispering through your teeth in a hiss, not believing what you were hearing.

"Pick a color, hurry." Digging around in his pocket for the small pocket knife he carried, weighing his actions by moving this wallet to the opposite back pocket from where it was to ward off suspicious eyes, if there were any.

"Peach or the yellow red tipped one."

Giving a nod, bending down at the knees, balancing his weight of his feet, he slide the blade of the pocket knife right under where the flower bloomed, handing you the peach colored one first. The yellow red tipped one was in close proximity, repeating the method again and handing you the second one, flipping his knife closed and shoving it away.

It was a stroke of luck that it was slightly chilly enough for jackets to be worn, watching as you carefully placed two heads of roses into your inner jacket pocket, giggling when you casually took his hand to walk away.

"Thank you."

"All for you." Kissing your cheek as he pulled you by the hand into his side, headed towards the way you came into the rose garden.

[queengiuliettafirstlady]

Sweet kisses of Love

Sweet kisses of Love

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Pairing: Kennyo x OC (Juliet)  

Prompt : Crickets

Part of : Sunshine and Starlight hosted by @violettduchess and @lorei-writes

Tag: Established relationship Gift giving Kisses Romantic Fluff  

Word Count : 1.375

Author’s Note: A pleasant date turn into so much more with a wonderful gift so sweet to make her heart melt, made with love conveyed through kisses with only the crickets and the stars as audience of their passionate affection. 🥰

Tag list

@kissmetwicekissmedeadly @lordsisterxotome  @aquagirl1978 @violettduchess @natimiles @nightghoul381 @dragon-liquorice @candied-boys

You can find me on AO3 as QueenJuliet 😊

Thank you for everyone who will like, reblog, or comment please be gentle with me english is not my first language so please do not leave rude comments I apologise for eventual errors I hope you will like it 😊

It was a frizzy summer afternoon, lazy as only a warm day can be one I am enjoying to the fullest listening to the soft music of crickets hidden in the bushes painted in warm hues by the fading light of the setting sun, admiring the way the lanterns were being lit up one by Ranmaru, before he retreats to his house not far from our little cottage.

He was my first true friend and also the one that let me meet my lover.

I gaze mindlessly at the garden, thinking about him that managed against all odds to win my heart and bring me back home to his side.

He was the only one crazy enough to deal with a weirdo like me but if that was love then so be it.

I sigh softly, caressing the golden band on my left ring finger, memories of all kinds resurface in my mind like on a silver screen, making me smile as I vow to myself to do my best to show him how much he made me happy like I do my best to make him.

The stars begin to sparkle in the dark blue velvet blanket of the sky, a smile curl my lips as I caught his form walking on the stoned path that from our cottage led to a quiet clearing in the forest, where he meditate before dinner.

There is a bashful smile on his usually stern lips, unusually so, it reminds me of when we started dating.

He was so shy and inexperienced like me and still we made it work together, me and him against the world fighting the odds like two weirdos against the stream.

Something curiosu glimmer in his eyes, shy and unsure, it seem like he was hiding something from me and yet I don’t know what. too curious to back down I am about to ask … when suddenly before my eyes it appears a bouquet.

It was colourful and messy … like him, but offered with such a sweet smile it was enough to warm my heart at his kind gesture.

“Would you like to go on a tryst with me ?”

Typically he limited himself to asking if I wanted to, but that gift warmed my heart.

Kicho must have told him it was a custom in westerner countries to bring a gift to someone’s lover when asking out on a date.

The idea that he went out of his way to learn and adopt a custom from my homeland made my heart swell with affection. 

His silver eyes crinkled with affection lock on mine, waiting with bated breath for an answer, paying no mind to how uncomfortable his kneeled position must be, his question more a plea he was asking humbly to grace him with my presence during his walk, I read it in his softened features so bright and hopeful as he smiles at me waiting like a knight for my answer, making me feel like a Queen, he never fails to remind me, I am to him.

“I would very much like to, thank you.”

I took the bouquet, admiring the light mishap way the red ribbon tied them all together, when my gaze fell suddenly on something.

I saw his eyes glimmering with happiness as he sat on the patio next to me holding the bouquet carefully against his chest to let me take the treasure hidden among the leaves.

There wrapped in an embroidered piece of red fabric, which I recognize coming from one of my haori, was a plush … or better two plush, a cat and a ferret sewn side by side, dressed in clothes to a closer glance that look like ours.

I try, to no avail, to hide tears pricking at my eyes, to anyone else that gift wouldn’t be much.

But to me, it is.

His love stark in each seam and details, I carefully caress with my fingers admiring my treasure, no doubting he had sewn that himself in that little free time he had, time he never fails to reserve for me alone, like the many nights and meal he spent with me only to make me happy, at the cost of being late to his work and even skipping it all together.

It warmed my heart in a way it was hard to describe, words flew by as futile devices while I gaze at him, clutching the two peluches to my chest. I lean over to him, brushing my lips on his cheek, revelling in the light blush on his cheeks matching my own as I smile back at him gazing straight in his silver eyes, filled with affection as he wraps one arm around my waist keeping me close.

“Thank you for the gift. I love it.”

“I am so very happy you do my little. I really hoped that was the case.”

“How can I do anything but ? You sewed that yourself for me that alone made it the most priceless treasure in the whole world to me.”

I wrap my arm around his torso, keeping the other carefully cradled on his chest along the peluches.

“I made it thinking of you, of us.”

“I guessed it by the dresses, I can say it’s the best gift you could have ever given me.”

“I am honoured you think so, my love.”

And if his gift wasn’t enough to fill my heart with love his words make up the rest for me, I hid my face in his chest hiding my blush from him, but before I could conceal it further he cupped my face, stroking the apple of my cheek with his rough thumb.

“Don’t hide away from me my gorgeous Goddess please allow me to bathe in your grace.”

I got lost in the love swimming in his gaze, crinkled with affection as he looks down at me, his nose brushing my own so close our lips could have touched if he wanted to, a hint to what I wish I give him closing my eyes, smiling at the sensation of his warm breath fanning over my sensitive lips before he finally melts them together.

I kiss him back eagerly to feel him come undone for me, and me alone as I do for him, moaning as he slips his tongue past my lips only to chase my own, entwining together, suppressing his own light groans as I slide my fingers in his messy curls.

A soft sigh escape my lips as he pulls back leaning his forehead to mine, holding me close as we regain our breath, thinking nothing of the fact anyone may have seen us, and not only the crickets that continue carelessly to play their song in the bushes, but also his disciples whose distaste for public display of affection, let alone unfriendliness toward me, threatened to tear us apart … thing he fought with teeth and claw to change managing to sway their opinion toward me.

Yet the idea of having an audience isn’t a deterrent to our effusion, quite the contrary judging by the way he kisses me again, conveying his love in the gentle movements of his lips that trail to pepper little kisses all over my shoulder, nibbing softly on the soft skin of my neck before raising once more to brush an achingly tender kiss on my forehead.

“I love you so very much Juliet, you are my only one.”

“I love you too Kennyo, only you.”

I would have liked to say we went on that walk, and maybe we did, all I could remember though it’s the long, sweet session of love making that followed it, with only the stars as audience, showing our affection to one another freely as we never felt like before.

Sure there will be gossip and rumour among his disciples and even among the westerner merchant, but we didn’t mind if this is the price for loving one another then so be it.

I smile to myself, nuzzling better in his embrace, ready to drift off to sleep on the warm and comforting embrace of my lovely, sometimes gruff, ever kind, sweet as honey, soft ferret, smiling as I feel his gentle lips kissing my forehead as he tightened his arms around me, blissfully engulfed in the smouldering warmth of our love.

[lycanlovebites]

little one-shot (1.6k words) of Emil and Wolf’s first real meeting and the ensuing conversation! I originally wrote this last February and I finally went back in today to edit it a bit and change some things. (When I wrote this it was before I realized I (and Wolf) was trans so I had to go in and change the pronouns. I uh really realized exactly how often I use them in this story.) anyways please enjoy this little vampire and werewolf tea party scene!

Below the cut since it’s a bit long!

Wolf thought back to the first time they met. He was caught in one of Emil’s traps to prevent trespassing one day while waiting out the rain in his forest, confusing it with his own. 

Emil set him free, and despite his dangerous fangs and claws, healed him. Wolf had ran away after that, but he couldn’t stop thinking back to the kind vampire who healed him (despite him also setting the trap). He returned several times over the next few weeks to watch him. Wolf learned that he enjoyed afternoon tea with friends on Sundays, and he meticulously cared for a delicate variety of plants that only bloomed at night. He learned that he liked garlic toast and sunlight on his face, but had to take safety measures first. 

He had learned a lot, but not enough. 

So one evening, when he sat outside to admire his garden, Wolf waited for him. He knew he would be there because he was a creature of habit. He always admired his garden at exactly 6:30 pm every Thursday.

Wolf was waiting for him, right behind his prized 

Night-Blooming Cereus. (He knew its name because Emil  sang it loudly as he watered it every Wednesday evening.) 

He walked out from his house, still freshly lathered in sunscreen, twirling an unopened frilly parasol over his left shoulder.

Wolf  watched from behind his Cereus. 

He hummed a melody to himself and sat down in an ornate lawn chair next to a table with a spread of evening tea. 

Such an odd creature, Wolf thought. Going through the work of preparing tiny foods and making tea and arranging everything so perfectly.. only to sit and sing at some flowers? Every evening?  Who did that? Emil, apparently. 

He watched him fold a satin napkin over his lap, stir a distressing amount of sugar into some tea, and use tiny golden tongs to place mini cucumber sandwiches on a floral china plate. It was utterly foreign to him. When Wolf was hungry, he dug up a cache and ate. Emil had so many rules that it was a wonder why he even bothered eating in the first place. 

When he raised his cup to take the first sip steam fogged his round glasses. Wolf moved forward, quietly, until he stood before him, six feet away. By the time the steam cleared he was just five feet away. 

He saw his eyes snap up to meet his own. 

He had expected to be met with shock or fear in his eyes, for him to drop his cup. But much to his shock all he saw was mild surprise. 

“I was wondering when you would stop by to pay me a visit,” Emil said calmly. “Although from the looks of it, you already have.” 

Wolf took a step back. How had he known? He thought he’d been careful not to reveal himself. He’d covered tracks and studied his routine. All this time he thought he was observing him, but had it been the other way around?

“I’ve noticed you a few times, but you always stayed within the edge of the forest until now. I saw you just the other morning, you know. You were admiring my garden.” He said gently. He had a kind voice. 

He lowered the teacup to the table. “I’m Emil, owner of the estate, as you must know. Who might you be?” He looked curious. 

Wolf paused, thinking. Werewolves didn’t have names in any human language. “Wolf.” 

“Well, Wolf, it is a pleasure to meet you properly. Sadly, our first encounter was not a very pleasant one. Thank you for the chance to make it up again.” He then pulled out a spare teacup from behind the teapot. “Would you like some tea? It’s rose, from my garden.” 

Tea? Wolf never had tea before. It seemed like a kind of simple potion, or maybe a soup. 

“Yes, thank you.” He nodded. 

“Sugar or cream?”

“No thanks.”

He took the cup from Emil’s outstretched arms, reaching to breach the gap between them. 

The beautiful, delicate cup felt so small, so fragile in his clumsy paws. He raised it to his snout to take a sip. It smelled deep and floral and the flavor bloomed and lingered on his tongue. 

“It is… nice,” he said simply.  There weren’t really other words to describe it to him. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Emil said as he topped off his own cup with more tea. He went to take a sip when his eyes widened like he suddenly remembered something important. “Oh! Where are my manners? Please, have a seat.” Emil exclaimed, gesturing at another seat across the table with the spoon he was using to stir his tea. Wolf got up from the ground and settled into the dainty-framed seat. He felt a bit clumsy surrounded by delicate cups and tiny cutlery. 

“Pardon my forwardness, but I must ask; why have you been watching me all this time? Why visit me after what happened?” Emil asked. 

Wolf was silent for a moment. He thought carefully about his next words. 

“After being trapped, you set me free.” He took a sip of tea. “No Trapper would release a creature like me. Especially in their own forest.” 

Emil smiled. “I’m no trapper. I let you go because I never meant to catch you. It was to prevent trespassing vampires, not wandering creatures. Forgive me for injuring you.” 

“That’s the thing. After you set me free, you healed me. Why?”

“Why? I couldn’t leave you injured, not in good conscience.” Emil nibbled a sandwich. “It was the least I could do. After all, it was my fault you got hurt.” 

The two sat in silence for a moment.

“To answer your other question,” Wolf continued, “after what you did, I was intrigued. I wanted to learn more about you, this.. kind stranger all alone in the forest. I’ve never heard of anyone like you before. I mean, I knew there was someone living here in this forest; the birds talk about it all the time. But I had no idea it was.. you.” Wolf gestured at him. “Say, why do you live here? Not many vampires around the forest, from what I’ve seen.” 

Emil looked thoughtfully on how best to explain. 

“I came here after moving out of my parent’s home. I wanted a nice place of my own where I could live undisturbed. Well, relatively undisturbed, anyways. The deer that keep trying to eat my tomatoes keep me busy I suppose, but it’s nothing as bothersome as business meetings and marketing strategies.” he paused and Wolf looked at him curiously. 

“Business meetings?” He asked, tilting his head in curiosity.

Emil nodded. “My parents were business owners, selling cosmetics and jewelry and such, and they wanted me to inherit their business after they retired. We had always lived in the city, and we never got a chance to leave because of their job. When they retired, they left to travel the world, leaving me to run the place. I.. was never really a businessperson, not like my mothers. I hated the work. I wasn’t good with people, and it felt crushing to work on something I wasn’t good at or passionate about. So one day I sold the company. I took the profits from it and bought this place.” He paused to refill his teacup. “Now, I am ashamed to admit this, but I didn’t tell my parents about everything until months later, when I had settled into my home. I was afraid they’d cut their vacation short because of me. I didn’t want them to take the company back before I could sell it, which was irrational. The company was legally mine until I sold it, but I don’t know. 

“I left a quarter of the profit from selling the company to my mothers, took a quarter for myself, and the rest went to charities and all the workers who stayed with the company.”

“What did your parents think about it all?” Wolf asked. 

“Oh, they were furious of course.” He smiled. “I’ve only heard them that angry when I broke the family heirloom chandelier. I still don’t think Mamie ever forgave me for that one. Anyways, I told them that I had left the city, but I never said where. As far as I’m aware, they have no idea where I am. And if I’m being honest, I’d rather prefer to keep it that way.” He paused to take a sip of tea, blowing the steam off its surface. Wolf caught a flash of something dark in his expression. “As a child, all I wanted was my own life, made of my own choices. I wanted to be in a place that felt alive and free, away from my parents' influence. They had always chosen what school I went to, what hobbies I had, what I did and who I was friends with. They chose my future, and I never got a say. Inheriting the business was the last thing. It was my ticket out, and so I took it.” Emil stared deeply at his tea for a moment. “I live here because it’s my life now. I built my future, and my parents can keep theirs.” His voice was restrained. Wolf could hear how he held back heavier meanings behind those words. His peaceful features had a twinge of defiance. Wolf knew that look. It was the one he made when other wolves threatened to take his  prey. Emil was defensive.

Then he glanced up at him, seeing his understanding. 

[apologies for the open ending! I never really know how to end scenes like this so sorry for that]

[@justaderivative I don’t remember if I tagged u in this before or not but here’s my gay guys and their tea party! Wolf is a little bit of a freak and essentially lurked around this guys house for a few weeks except Emil has been watching this take place the whole time?? They match each others weird forest creature energy I guess. Also yes Emil has issues w his lesbian entrepreneur moms and basically tells the first person he really connects with about it on like their second ever meeting. He needs therapy I’m sure to work through it all but for now he’s busy fending off his garden from woodland animals and trying to cultivate a lovely friendship-to-queer-romance so that’s a problem for him to deal with later.)

[meadowlarkx]

elvenkings

Fic for @sindarweek day 2: Locations | AO3

Afterwards, they went back. No tale contains this part: no one set it down. Few set out: Oropher, his tall, gangly son, and a handful of others. A small cluster of green shoots. Spring was returning to the forest, and it smelled sweet, like unfurling leaves and old rot melting. They were very careful. They moved and slept in the trees, wishing their foliage fuller and missing Melian’s temperate cradle. But at the rushing Esgalduin, before Menegroth’s bashed-in mouth, there were no boughs to make the going safer.

“Finrod’s brother,” one said, weeping, “wished his mortal’s beauty to live on unmarred in his memory.”

Oropher looked searchingly at his son. Should we not have come back? the look asked. Should I not have brought you back?

Thranduil shook his head. He was serious-faced, with an edge of temper and a merry wit that darted free at times like a bird startled from a branch. No humor glinted in his gaze now. He was named for the spring, but perhaps it had been this kind of spring. “We had to,” he said simply. “Pass me a lantern:” and he crossed the stone bridge and went inside.

Ringing silence, orchestral silence, the tremor of the air from breath and speech shimmering up the vaulted halls roofed by gleaming roots, through the wide proud galleries with their pillars fashioned like beech-trees. No robbers or kinslayers had made lair of this place. Still they trod softly, reverently, until in the garden with its fountain gone quiet—not the throne room—Medlithor sang out clarion a love-song of Daeron’s, and briefly illuminated the dark like lightning.

Three of Nimloth’s gowns for the little princess. Torn tapestries—gleaming silver. A great book of heraldry, and another of sketches, plans for uncarved statuary. Daeron’s prized notes nowhere to be found. A chest of Oropher’s things, still fastened shut, guiltily perfect. A zither broken and unsinging. The dark space where the bodies had been heaped and burnt atop the frozen ground by their enemies. White bones of a few they had missed. The tree-roots embracing them, the new moss blanketing them. Circles ever widening outward, months late seeking children who would never be found.

Somber return, days in the making. Thranduil sat on a pier and watched the silt swirl and mingle with the clear salt of the ocean. Something tugged in his young breast: he could not name it. It was not sea-longing.

“It was very fine. The floor was fashioned like a vast ocean, sweeping out—oh!—with bright fishes, and strange sea-weeds like purple flowers, and amongst them, stars.” Evranin’s hands fluttered like birds, even when she was not at her stitching. “You used to hop from one spotted ray to the next.”

Elwing nodded dubiously.

“You remember it, don’t you, my girl? I know you do.”

“I think so,” Elwing said.

“Your great-grandfather planned it. He was the first to make the journey across the Sea, and he returned with a beautiful light in his eyes: they glowed in the endless dusk under the starlight.”

Elwing flinched.

“Not thus, sweet,” Evranin said, “like auntie Idril’s. ‘Twas a shine like the dawn, though of course, we knew no dawn then.”

Elwing looked confused, then squinted her eyes like two clenched fists, as though trying to work out a time before sunlight. Evranin thought this very Bëorian of her. At last, satisfied, she gave a little nod of approval.

“He loved the Sea: your great-grandfather. He and his brother meant to cross and live by the shore on the other side—where the fish leapt in the colorful shallows, and the stars’ reflection could yet be seen.”

“But he did not,” Elwing interrupted, frowning. She knew this part, and meant not to be appeased.

“He loved your great-grandmother more, and the woods’ green smell underfoot in the summer. But his brother—your great-great-uncle—did cross over, and he built a fair city for our people by the water. When you look west, my dear, think of all your family waiting to meet you. We live on the shore now, just as they do.”

“I don’t remember the floor of that gallery,” Elwing said quietly. “But I remember the music of the fountains through the room, and Naneth dancing with Ada. There were nightingales in his hair.”

If you looked carefully, as Bilbo was wont to do, you could see the places where the tapestry in Elrond’s library had been repaired. It nearly covered one complete wall of the hexagonal room, confidently draping languid and liquid across space where more books and scrolls could have been squirreled away. Its colors seemed to shift, unearthly, and the weave was finer than any Bilbo had seen—which made the repairs, neat as they were, quite obvious. The image was one of a shadow-crowded forest of brambles and feathery boughs, and in the foreground dark, shimmering water. Shapes were awakening beneath the stars in the twilight by the water’s edge, stretching up glistening bodies and dancing and drawing one another in to embrace. At one corner the winding border had been singed and the damage had not been mended. Still, it was very beautiful. Nearby, upon a varnished wooden stand, a book sat partly open, with thin, cracked pages of birch-paper. It was full of sigils, but Bilbo, despite making a study of Elf-lore, recognized none of them.

“Nor do I know most of them,” Elrond said, when asked. “It is far older than I, and a gift from Oropher from long ago, ere he left eastwards. See, though. Here is Beleg’s seal, and Mablung’s: the marchwardens from Túrin’s unhappy tale.” Bilbo exclaimed over these a while, and then asked: “What about the tapestry?”

“Melian the Maia wove it in the Elder Days.” He did not need to add: I thought it should be admired.

They had argued bitterly on the day the gift was made. It was vanishingly rare to see Elrond angry, but Oropher had managed it.

“Name me not king. I have chosen my king, and I am his herald. Leave it, I have begged of you. I won't ask again."

“And in what world am I to be named lord, while Elwing’s son bears no title? While our prince—”

“You might stay!” Elrond said rather wildly.

“And you might come with us—to oak and elm, the deep forest, people of our own ways—”

“I have made my choice.”

Silence fell between them, a silence of set jaws and brittle gazes. It was from an excess of care that they crossed wills.

“You are so like Lúthien,” Oropher said at last. Pride was soft in his voice. “Nay, your mother in her lordship. You are so like all of them.”

Elrond did not know what he meant.

“Accept these at least. They are your own inheritance. How I wish we had been able to offer you more.” Oropher said nothing else, but Elrond heard in his inmost heart all he meant, and opening his own heart he offered him forgiveness for the harsh words freshly spoken and for the old aches, the beaded necklace of orphans upon orphans, the bruise-tender childhood, the sunken continent, the houseless shades of the dead that crowded like moths: all the wounds still bleeding, and in which Oropher was faultless.

When Amon Lanc grew too dangerous, Thranduil knew what had to be done. Harried and unmerry was the Wood-elves’ journey northwards through the forest’s tree-paths. They took from the hill only what they could carry. Those of Thranduil’s people whom he met on the way—for many lived simply in the trees throughout Greenwood with their companions and children, and had joined themselves to no great settlement—spoke with him in troubled voices, though on the nights his following gathered around their small talans wine flowed and songs were sung.

“We need to make fast a stronghold,” he said. “Underground: a place of stone.”

“Better to go through the trees quickly! to travel lightly!”

“And if there is nowhere left that the Shadow has not touched?”

These Elves shook their heads and he read their thinking: we have always dwelt in this forest. But Thranduil’s heart misgave him, insisting the direst hour was still to come, and that he ready all his scattered people a sanctuary in advance of that hour.

Kingship did not rest easily on this son of Oropher. He had not been born to it, and he had meant never to find it. He preferred swimming the forest’s rivers and downing the sweet nectar of more summery lands to difficult counsels and deference, however warmly they were offered him. Very often since his father’s death, the way did not seem clear.

It was clear in this moment. He felt Elu Thingol’s hand cool upon his shoulder, as surely as if the king sojourned with him in the dappled wood and spoke as he had at the height of his wisdom. He saw in his mind’s eye the bridge that would cross the running water, the enchanted door, the roots that would be sung into high ceilings, the beech-carved pillars, the golden lamplight.

__________

From The Silmarillion: "But the Elves also had part in that labour, and Elves and Dwarves together, each with their own skill, there wrought out the visions of Melian, images of the wonder and beauty of Valinor beyond the Sea. The pillars of Menegroth were hewn in the likeness of the beeches of Oromë, stock, bough, and leaf, and they were lit with lanterns of gold. The nightingales sang there as in the gardens of Lórien; and there were fountains of silver, and basins of marble, and floors of many-colored stones. Carven figures of beasts and birds there ran upon the walls, or climbed upon the pillars, or peered among the branches entwined with many flowers. And as the years passed Melian and her maidens filled the halls with woven hangings wherein could be read the deeds of the Valar, and many things that had befallen in Arda since its beginning, and shadows of things that were yet to be. That was the fairest dwelling of any king that has ever been east of the Sea."

[everyones-fangirl]

Delectable Little Pet

Warnings: 18+ This will be about after ascension Astarion so expect some extreme dark romance and future triggers. This chapter does contain descriptions of death.

Word Count: 3,810

Chapter 1

Cassara

Naivety. It’s a word I grew extremely familiar with, especially after I left home. At home, I was considered unruly, a brat, and much worse. In my village, however, I was practically royalty, being the heiress and daughter of two extremely powerful wood elves. My father was a magnificent protector, a master of the forest and its creatures, while my mother excelled in healing, her touch capable of mending the deepest wounds. With those two traits, our family quickly became the cornerstone of our small community, a haven for refugees seeking shelter from the ravages of war and strife. We built our enclave from the ground up, nestled deep within the ancient forests of Faerûn. Our village was a hidden gem, a sanctuary cradled in the embrace of towering trees and verdant foliage. The canopy above was so dense that sunlight filtered through in a mosaic of green and gold, casting dappled patterns on the forest floor. Our homes were seamlessly integrated into the natural landscape, crafted from living wood that bent and shaped itself to our needs under the guidance of skilled elven artisans. Vines and flowering plants wove through the walls, creating a sense of harmony and unity with the forest.

The heart of the village was a large, open clearing where a majestic oak tree stood, its branches spreading wide to form a natural pavilion. This ancient tree, known as the Heartwood, was a symbol of our community’s strength and resilience. It was here that we gathered for celebrations, council meetings, and communal meals. Around the base of the Heartwood, a series of interconnected platforms and walkways, built into the trees themselves, created a multi-level village that felt like an extension of the forest.

Our village was a place of perpetual twilight, the thick canopy above allowing only the gentlest rays of the sun to reach us. Bioluminescent fungi and magical lanterns provided a soft, ethereal glow at night, bathing the village in a serene, otherworldly light. The air was always fresh, filled with the scent of pine, wildflowers, and the occasional hint of woodsmoke from our hearths. A crystal-clear stream meandered through the village, its waters sparkling as they caught the light. Bridges of woven vines arched gracefully over the stream, connecting different parts of the village. Children often played by its banks, their laughter mingling with the gentle babble of the water. Our homes, though simple, were beautiful and functional. Each dwelling was uniquely designed to blend with the surrounding trees, with balconies and windows that opened to the forest. Inside, they were cozy and warm, filled with handcrafted furniture and adorned with tapestries depicting scenes of elven lore and history.

The training grounds were on the outskirts of the village, a series of clearings where the young warriors practiced under the watchful eyes of seasoned fighters. Nearby, the healing huts stood as a testament to my mother’s prowess, filled with the rich, heady scent of herbs and the gentle hum of restorative magic.

Gardens and orchards were scattered throughout the village, providing fresh produce and herbs. These plots were tended with care, using ancient techniques that ensured the land was never overworked and always remained bountiful. The village’s self-sufficiency was a point of pride, and everyone contributed to its upkeep in some way.

Our sanctuary, while idyllic, was not without its defenses. Hidden watchtowers were strategically placed around the perimeter, and secret paths known only to our people allowed for swift movement through the forest. My father’s bond with the forest animals ensured that we were always aware of any approaching danger. In this tranquil setting, it was easy to forget the outside world’s turmoil. Yet, for me, the village was both a haven and a cage, its serene beauty a constant reminder of the freedom I yearned for but was denied. Word of our sanctuary spread far and wide, drawing elves from distant lands to our secluded spot.

My father, with his uncanny bond with animals, led our defenses, commanding both the beasts of the forest and the brave men who trained from a young age to protect our home. The forest itself seemed to come alive at his command, a living barrier against any who threatened us. Meanwhile, the women, myself included, took on the roles of caregivers and teachers. Domestic duties occupied most of our time, but the most thrilling moments were those spent mending the injured warriors who returned from battle. I especially enjoyed hearing their stories, even as a youngling. Their tales of bravery and danger, of distant lands and fierce battles, filled my imagination with visions of a world beyond our forest. Each scar carried a story, each wound a testament to the harsh realities outside our sanctuary. It was through these stories that I began to understand the true meaning of courage and sacrifice, and yet, it was also through these stories that I learned the extent of my own sheltered ignorance. My world was safe, my life blessed with the privileges of my heritage, but beyond the trees, a far harsher reality awaited—a reality I was yet to fully comprehend.

My parents were no help preparing me for the real world, steadfast in their refusal to let any woman train, especially their very own daughter. They believed that a woman's place was in the home, tending to domestic duties and healing, not out in the wild learning to wield magic or weapons. Their overprotectiveness stifled my spirit, and my mischief around the forest was my way of retaliating for not being allowed to learn how to do more with my magic than heal. Even as a child, my mischief in the village was legendary. The elders would often shake their heads and mutter about my antics, but secretly, I think even they were amused. My favorite pastime was sneaking into the armory, where I would borrow—without permission, of course—my father's weapons. The sight of a small girl attempting to wield a bow twice her size was enough to cause both laughter and mild panic among the guards.

Then there was the time I decided to "improve" the herbal mixtures in the healing hut. I had observed my mother blending potions so often that I was certain I could do it too. The result was a concoction that turned a patient's skin a brilliant shade of green. Luckily, it was a temporary effect, but my mother made sure I spent the next month sorting herbs as penance. I also had a penchant for leading my friends on daring escapades into the deeper parts of the forest. We would play hide and seek among the ancient trees, their branches twisting into natural labyrinths. My companions were often in awe of how I seemed to know the forest as well as my own home. However, our adventures frequently ended with a search party sent out to find us when we failed to return by nightfall. The relief of the adults was always quickly replaced by stern lectures and extra chores.

One of my more infamous pranks involved the village's festival preparations. I convinced a group of younger children that the decorations would look better if we "borrowed" some of the shimmering scales from the forest's sacred dragon statue. The elders were not amused when they found their revered monument looking rather bare, and the ensuing task of reapplying the scales was a tedious one. Despite the trouble I caused, my mischief was never born of malice. I was simply a child seeking adventure and excitement in a world that often seemed too small for my imagination. Each escapade, each prank, was a lesson in disguise, shaping me into the person I would become—restless, curious, and always eager to push the boundaries of what was possible.

My defiance began to crystallize into a plan. I managed to manipulate one of the younger warriors around my age, a boy named Aric, into showing me fighting styles and magic. Aric was a kind soul, eager to share his knowledge and excited by the prospect of a secret training partner. Under the cover of darkness, we would sneak away to hidden glades where the moonlight filtered through the ancient trees, casting ethereal shadows on our training grounds. Aric taught me how to channel my magic into offensive spells, how to hold a sword, and the basics of combat stances. Each lesson was a thrilling defiance of the rules, a secret rebellion against my parents' constraints. However, our clandestine sessions did not go unnoticed forever. One fateful night, we were ambushed by a patrol led by my father himself. The look of betrayal and fury in his eyes is something I will never forget. Aric was immediately dragged away, and despite my pleas and protests, my father decreed that he was to have no further contact with me. My heart broke as I watched Aric disappear into the darkness, his eyes filled with regret and apology.

My father’s punishment was swift and severe. He made sure Aric would never speak to me again, assigning him to a remote outpost on the very edge of our territory. I was confined to the village, my freedoms curtailed even further. The lessons Aric had imparted to me were now my only connection to the world of combat and magic that I so desperately yearned to master. My defiance had been met with harsh consequences, but it only fueled my determination to find a way to break free from the suffocating expectations placed upon me. I spent my days dreaming of escape, my nights planning how to continue my training in secret. Each act of rebellion, each small victory in my clandestine practice, was a step closer to the independence I craved. My parents had tried to shield me from the dangers of the real world, but in doing so, they had only ignited a fire within me—a fire that would one day lead me far beyond the confines of our forest home.

But if only I knew how hot fire burned and how quickly everything could be taken away. If only I had understood the weight of my wishes, the peril of yearning for freedom without comprehending the price. How could I have possibly foreseen that one mistake would cast me into the clutches of a bloodthirsty monster, reducing me to the status of his slave? What surprised me most of all were the dark desires he dug from deep within my subconscious, desires I tried my best to bury and ignore.

The day of my downfall began like any other. I was practicing my secret spells in a secluded part of the forest, a hidden glade I had discovered weeks earlier. It seemed a perfect spot for my training, untouched and silent, surrounded by ancient trees whose leaves whispered secrets in the breeze. But I did not realize that my presence had triggered an ancient trap, a warding spell set to alert the dark creatures lurking in the shadows.

I was deep in concentration, channeling my energy into a swirling orb of light, when a sudden chill ran down my spine. The atmosphere shifted, the once serene glade now thick with a foreboding presence. Before I could react, they were upon me—dark, hulking figures emerging from the shadows. Their eyes glowed like embers, and their snarls echoed through the glade. They moved with unnerving speed, their claws extended and teeth bared, reflecting the dim light in sharp, menacing glints. My heart pounded, but I forced myself to stand firm, summoning the defensive spells Aric had taught me.

The first monster lunged, its claws slashing through the air. I barely managed to conjure a shield of shimmering light in time. The impact sent vibrations up my arms, and the force of the blow pushed me back a step. I retaliated with a burst of flames, the fire erupting from my hands and searing the air between us. The monster recoiled, its fur singed, but another quickly took its place, closing in with terrifying ferocity.

Lightning crackled from my fingertips, striking one of the creatures square in the chest. It howled in pain, but the sound was quickly drowned out by the growls of the others. They surrounded me, a circle of malevolence and fury. I spun around, casting spells in every direction—flames, bolts of energy, gusts of wind—but there were too many. For every monster I struck down, two more seemed to take its place. Their claws raked across my skin, drawing blood and shredding my clothes. Pain shot through me, but I couldn’t afford to falter. I drew upon every ounce of magic within me, forming a vortex of energy that pushed the creatures back momentarily. The air crackled with power, the glade illuminated by the glow of my magic. Yet, their relentless assault continued.

Realizing I was outmatched, I turned to run, my heart hammering in my chest. Branches and low-hanging bushes seemed to conspire against me, tearing at my skin and clothes, slowing my escape. I could hear the creatures behind me, their breath hot on my heels, their snarls filling the air with dread. Panic surged, my steps faltering as I glanced back. That was my mistake. I tripped over a hidden root, the ground rushing up to meet me. Pain exploded through my body as I tumbled down a steep hill, branches and rocks bruising and cutting me. The world became a chaotic blur of green and brown before everything went painfully black. When I came to, dried blood crusted the right side of my forehead and face, and my head throbbed with a relentless ache. I was face down at the bottom of a large drop-off, and it was a miracle I was even alive. Night had fallen, casting the forest in deep shadows, and there was no telling how long I had been unconscious. Slowly, I stumbled to my feet, the world spinning around me as I made my way back up the hill. Every step was a struggle, my limbs heavy and uncooperative. As I reached the top, the first thing that hit my senses was the smell. Smoke mixed with the acrid stench of what I now know was burning flesh, a scent so vile it made me gag. Then I saw it—the sight of a blazing inferno in the middle of the night, flames licking the sky like the fiery fingers of some malevolent deity.

Panic surged through me, and I broke into a run, my legs barely holding me upright. As I neared the village, the oppressive heat of the flames pressed against my skin, stinging my eyes and filling my lungs with smoke. The once serene and harmonious village was now a scene of chaos and destruction. The towering trees that had sheltered us were now engulfed in flames, their branches crackling and collapsing under the intense heat. I fell to my knees as I reached the clearing where my home sat ablaze. The silence was deafening. I briefly wondered why I didn’t hear any screams, why I saw no one running around in frantic desperation. The homes, once seamlessly integrated into the forest, were now little more than skeletal remains, their living wood structures consumed by fire. The bioluminescent fungi and magical lanterns that had once bathed the village in a soft, ethereal glow were now reduced to molten globs, their light extinguished.

Then I saw them—charcoaled bodies lying in the burnt grass, twisted in grotesque shapes. The air was thick with the sickening scent of burning flesh, and my stomach churned. Horror gripped me, cold and unrelenting. I could feel the malevolent magical essence that had assaulted me in the glade, lingering in the air like a toxic miasma. It clung to the ruins of my home, a dark signature of the evil that had visited our sanctuary. I stumbled forward, my legs barely carrying me, as I tried to comprehend the magnitude of the devastation. The Heartwood tree, once the proud symbol of our community, was now a towering inferno, its majestic branches consumed by fire. The gardens and orchards that had provided us with fresh produce were now blackened and barren, their plants reduced to ash.

I crawled through the ashes, my hands and knees blackened with soot, my mind numb with shock. The destruction was total. Every structure, every tree, every piece of the life I had known was reduced to smoldering ruin. I reached for one of the bodies, my fingers trembling, but recoiled at the sight of its blackened, unrecognizable form. The training grounds, once a place of discipline and learning, were now a battlefield of charred remains. The healing huts, filled with the rich, heady scent of herbs and the gentle hum of restorative magic, were now silent, their contents burned beyond recognition. In that moment, the weight of my wishes crashed down upon me. My desire for freedom, my defiance, had led to this. Everything I had ever known and loved was gone, taken from me in the span of a single night. The beautiful, harmonious village that had been my home was now a nightmare of flames and death. And as the reality of my loss settled in, a new fear took root—fear of the unknown future, of the bloodthirsty monster who now awaited me, and of the dark desires he had already begun to unearth within my soul.

There I lay, unrelentingly coughing on the smoke that filled the air around me. Each breath was a battle, the acrid fumes searing my throat and lungs. The heat from the dying fires pressed against my skin, a constant reminder of the devastation surrounding me. I curled in on myself, clutching my knees to my chest, the world reduced to a blur of pain and grief. Tears streamed down my soot-streaked face, cutting clean paths through the grime. I wanted the earth to take me too. I wished for it to open up and swallow me whole, to end this nightmare. The weight of loss pressed down on me, a suffocating shroud of despair. My eyes closed as I prayed to whoever would listen—any deity, any spirit, anyone who could end my suffering. I begged for them to take me instead, to reunite me with my family and friends, to free me from this agony. But the night passed slowly, each minute an eternity. My prayers went unanswered, the silence around me as cold and unfeeling as the ashes beneath me. As the first light of dawn pierced the smoky haze, the reality of my solitude settled in. The village, once a bustling sanctuary, was now a graveyard of charred remains and smoldering ruins. I stirred, my body stiff and aching from the night spent on the ground. As I came to, the morning light revealed the full extent of the devastation. The trees that had once formed a protective canopy over our village were now blackened husks, their branches like skeletal fingers reaching towards the sky. The stream that had meandered through the village, its waters once crystal clear, was now choked with ash and debris.

The silence was overwhelming. No birds sang, no insects buzzed, and the only sound was the faint crackling of the dying fires. I pushed myself to my feet, swaying unsteadily, my legs weak and trembling. My dress, once a symbol of the elegance and grace of my wood elf heritage, was now in tatters. It hung from my frame in ragged strips, torn and dirtied beyond recognition. The delicate leaf patterns, painstakingly embroidered with silver thread, were obscured by soot and grime. The rich, emerald green fabric, which had shimmered like the forest canopy in the sunlight, was now dull and stained with blood and ash. The sleeves were shredded, leaving my arms exposed and covered in cuts and bruises. The bodice, which had once fitted snugly, was ripped at the seams, barely clinging to my shoulders. The skirt, designed to flow gracefully with each step, was now a torn mess, the hemline uneven and frayed. Large gashes revealed glimpses of my scratched and bruised legs, evidence of my desperate flight through the underbrush.

As I moved, the remnants of the dress rustled softly, a sad echo of its former beauty. The once soft and comforting fabric now chafed against my skin, each movement reminding me of the chaos and violence that had led to this moment. It was a far cry from the elegant attire I had worn with pride, now reduced to a pitiable state by the night's horrors. Each step through the village was a journey through a memory turned nightmare. I passed the remnants of homes, their walls crumbled and burnt. The once lush gardens were now barren patches of scorched earth. I stumbled upon the Heartwood tree, its massive trunk split and charred, the symbol of our strength and unity reduced to ruin. My heart ached at the sight, a fresh wave of sorrow crashing over me. I sank to my knees, my fingers digging into the ash-covered ground. The faces of my family and friends, their laughter and warmth, haunted me, now nothing more than ghosts in a destroyed paradise. As the sun climbed higher in the sky, its light harsh and unyielding, I realized the truth. No one was coming to save me. The world outside our village had always been a mystery to me, a place of unknown dangers and uncertainties. Now, it was my only option. I had to leave, to find a way to survive in a world that had already shown me its cruelty. I gathered what little strength I had left, my determination hardening like the cooling embers around me. I would not let my family’s memory fade into nothingness. I would find a way to honor them, to fight against the darkness that had taken them from me. My journey was just beginning, and though the path ahead was shrouded in uncertainty, I knew I could not give up.

With a final, lingering glance at the ruins of my home, I turned and began to walk. The forest, once a place of safety and comfort, was now a daunting wilderness. Each step was heavy with grief, but also with a growing resolve. I would survive. I would find the monster responsible for this, and I would make him pay. My destiny lay beyond the ashes of my past, in the unknown world that awaited me. As I moved forward, the first rays of sunlight broke through the canopy, casting a hopeful glow on the path ahead. Despite the overwhelming loss, a spark of determination ignited within me. This was not the end—it was the beginning of a new chapter. And I would face it with all the strength and resilience my parents had instilled in me.

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

Truth Hurts

Written for @fandomtrumpshate 2024!

--//--

“Hanguang-Jun!”

It takes a few beats longer than it should for Lan Wangji to turn and spot whoever had called for him; the title is new, and he’s weary from a battle still soaking the hems of his robes red in spite of the cleaning talismans woven into them — he thinks he can be excused the momentary lapse.

When he does turn to look it comes with a strange, detached sort of vertigo as he sees a small contingent of Lan cultivators clearly having just arrived on the field, their robes still a proper gleaming white and not a hair out of place despite their flight that the last few are just touching down from.

(Is this what people feel when he arrives on the battlefield with his own command? Some strange urge in him longs to smear a bloody, muddied handprint across all that gleaming white just to feel less filthy himself, but of course that’s ridiculous.)

Those just arriving sheath their swords immediately – there isn’t a single fleck of blood to stain the blades, so why shouldn’t they? Bichen drips a sluggish, red-black, congealing glob into the churned up mud beneath his boots and Lan Wangji knows he won’t be sheathing his own blade for hours, not until he has the luxury of sitting down somewhere safe long enough to clean and oil it properly.

He pushes the discomfort of the prospect away with the ease of much practice. “Mn?”

“We’ve found an abandoned manor, near enough to walk if necessary. It’s sheltered from the wind and the walls are sturdy enough to maintain a ward without expending too much of our own energy.”

Ah, of course they aren’t stained from battle — it would seem the scouting party that was sent out three days ago to find medium-term shelter for this leg of the campaign has finally returned.

“Provisions?”

“The kitchens have rice enough for all that seems suitable, and the well still runs clear. It will be easy to supplement our remaining rations.”

It’s likely the best they could hope for, and quite frankly Lan Wangji isn’t sure how much longer he can continue like this, sleeping in the open on churned and muddy ground, worried every minute of the day and night that they're going to be attacked again, that he'll lose more comrades in arms just to fight their corpses mere minutes later - though naturally he’ll never let his exhaustion show. It’ll have to work.

“Lead, we will follow.”

The order passes quickly through the small group Lan Wangji leads personally and then further to the rest of their forces, not just Lan but the Nie and Jiang contingents as well, though all under the command of captains rather than their Sect Leaders. Once word has been spread to all who need to hear it, they form up in loose ranks and follow the scouts through the forest, weary ears alert for the sound of more fierce corpses or of Wen troops stopping to make camp themselves.

They arrive at the promised manor without incident, and Lan Wangji spares a few moments and a portion of qi to wash away the worst of his exhaustion long enough to see everyone settled. They’ll camp here for a few days at least to recover now that they’ve cleared the latest round of puppets; to pursue the Wen forces directly is too dangerous with their current numbers, which means they must wait for more puppets to be made and sent to try to force them back from the borders of Wen territory, their only job to hold the line rather than gain the army any extra ground.

Though the respite is as temporary as Wen Ruohan’s whims will dictate, there’s a clear atmosphere of relief as places amongst the rooms and gardens are divvied up with surprisingly little argument.

Fires are lit and the evening meal prepared by the first round of cultivators to have washed themselves, and as the rest bathe and change out of their blood-soaked clothes they come to eat and take over the doling out of the meal to the next round, the first retiring either to their beds or to the first watch along the new wards. Lan Wangji, assured that the camp is running smoothly without his guidance, is about to retire and finally attempt to find a suitable bath for himself when a quiet voice stops him.

“Hanguang-Jun. Pardon the intrusion — this one has a request.”

It’s one of the scouts from earlier, not the leader but someone that Lan Wangji knows personally from his classes that seem as if they last happened a small eternity ago. “Mn.”

The boy — and he is just a boy, the youngest of those who once attended Lan Wangji’s Advanced Music Cultivation lectures with him — holds out his hand palm up to show him a piece of carved white jade, so fine it seems to glow faintly in the fading evening light. The nearest torch staked in the ground flickers in a wisp of a breeze and the carving seems to move with it, shadows shifting and stretching like a simple trick of the eye before the light settles again. It would almost be possible to believe the illusion was simply that were it not for the faint hum of energy radiating from the jade even without probing it with his own.

“We found this hidden in a sandalwood box in the master’s room,” the boy whispers. “It’s Lan, the box bears our insignia and the craftsmanship is unmistakable, but we could not discern its function beyond the sense of some type of spirit lurking in it. This one requests Hanguang-Jun’s expert assistance.”

“I will examine it,” he agrees, curiosity piqued despite his exhaustion. His former classmate (whose name has slipped from his mind like water, but whose familiar presence is comforting anyway) hurries to wrap the carving in warded silk. It feels warm even through the cool fabric, and when Lan Wangji pockets it he tests it with a thread of qi that resonates with a louder answering hum like a plucked guqin string, though the reply, if it is one, feels benign enough to only interest him further rather than cause alarm.

They make camp and rest for four days, but on the morning of the fifth a fresh fight begins in earnest with the garbled cries of swarming puppets surrounding the manor on all sides, and Lan Wangji is no closer to solving the mystery of his strange new treasure. He carries it in a qiankun pouch tucked into the front of his robes as they allow themselves to be harried back toward the main force at a last-minute order from Nie Mingjue, a feint to draw the enemy troops and their puppets closer to the main body of the army that has been advancing towards their position for the last week.

When their frantic flight is interrupted by the main body of the Jiang forces arriving to sweep in like the blow of a hammer against Lan Wangji's anvil — the Wen soldiers and fierce corpses caught in the middle to be crushed — the minor, unimportant puzzle of the jade pressed warm and steady against his chest is the furthest thing from his mind.

–//–

As is always the case in these skirmishes, for a long time the only thing Wei Wuxian is aware of is the screaming of the damned and the piercing cry of his Chenqing adding her voice to the din, the loudest and coldest voice carrying across the battlefield to better call the others to his banner. It rings in his ears for longer and longer after every battle, and he knows that his eyes fade to their usual white and strange silver more slowly every time he fights. Their own disciples hardly seem to notice this evidence of his demonic cultivation, so grateful they are for his help and the power he lends to the Jiang who are so new, so untrained. Other sects aren’t so quick to look the other way on the rare occasions they don’t manage to give him a wide berth, but for now he thinks no one has dared to speak out against him openly.

Well — that isn’t quite true, but to be spoken of by Lan Wangji is an honor in and of itself, even for censure.

He doesn’t know when the Lan forces arrived in this ravine he’s been told to mind. The battle is nothing but a blur of screaming agony — others’, his own, he doesn’t know the difference anymore — and the metallic cloy of clotted, rotting blood in his mouth and the back of his nose. Long gone are the days of sandalwood incense and magnolia blooms on the breeze, but Lan Wangji is here anyway, and that’s truly the most important thing.

The battle ends in victory as battles always do when he takes the field, though Wei Wuxian doesn't ever receive the same awed gratitude for his help that Lan Xichen does, the great Zewu-jun with his reputation for turning the tide every time he appears. It's fair, he supposes, and isn't as if he's here to demand their bowing and scraping anyway. There's only one person whose good opinion he cares for.

“Wei Ying,” his friend, his partner, his zhiji calls, concern barely hinted at in the depths of his gaze. It must not be the first time he’s called for him.

“Lan Zhan?” he asks and finds that it rasps in his aching throat. Clearing it will only bring up stale blood, so he refrains. “When did you-“ he coughs anyway and barely manages to keep the bloody bile in his throat where it belongs.

“Wei Ying, what is wrong?”

Wrong? Nothing’s wrong. Lan Wangji is here. What could possibly be wrong?

It’s alright, one of the voices in his head croons, such a welcome reprieve from the screams. You can go to him.

The permission is ridiculous; he’s never been able to truly avoid Lan Wangji, and he’s never truly wanted to try all that hard to do so either. Still, ridiculous and unnecessary as it is, Wei Wuxian is pathetically grateful for it. Lan Wangji is glaring at him, all he ever seems to do these days, but the ghosts would warn him if Lan Wangji were about to kill him, wouldn’t they? Their grasp of time is slippery; they would be screaming in rage as if he’d already died if Lan Wangji were going to run him through with Bichen’s pretty white blade and add to the blood spatters drying on the leading edge.

“You’re here,” he rasps. His next step is a stumble but Lan Wangji’s hands don’t quite extend far enough to catch under his elbows, so he rights himself with an effort. Curbing his tongue turns out to be too much effort to bother with. “I want you here. You should be here, Lan Zhan, ah? Not in some muddy field somewhere else, you should- you should-“

“Stay with me” dies in his throat as he spits out the blood clot in his throat, grimacing around the texture on his tongue and the wet splat of the pathetic little glob in the dirt. “Ugh. Sorry,” he grunts. He swipes a hand against his bloodied chin and tries to smile, but Lan Wangji’s glare doesn’t budge at all and he realizes his pink-edged teeth (which he can only assume are paired with demon-red eyes) probably don’t make for the most reassuring image.

“You are unwell,” Lan Wangji says, the stiffest understatement of the century. Wei Wuxian barks a laugh, humorless and short.

“Aiyah, Lan Zhan. Don’t be silly! Never been worse-“

Better. Never been better. Why the hell did he say worse?

Lan Wangji’s gaze somehow sharpens in the way that cuts everyone but Wei Wuxian, who only feels it like the exhilarating rush of flying on his sword too recklessly for others’ comfort; seeing as he can’t have the one anymore, he’ll just have to content himself with continuing to chase the other whenever he can bear it. Getting close to Lan Wangji is like sticking his hand into an open flame to try to warm the perpetual chill he can’t shake anymore — excruciating bliss.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji calls, and it rings somehow, an echoing gong in his ears and in his mind. He shakes his head vigorously, earning himself another dizzy spell that only passes after he’s taken two more steps forward, thoroughly in Lan Wangji's personal space now but that's allowed, isn't it? That's okay so long as it makes the screams stop, he can go to him-

“Lan Zhan, I think there’s something wrong- what have you-?”

“Hey!”

The shout comes with the smell of ozone and an ominous crackling that still straightens Wei Wuxian’s spine entirely on instinct. It also serves to break whatever strange compulsion has him standing a mere handsbreadth away from Lan Wangji, who’s watching him approach like a hawk seconds away from diving into the grass after a mouse. Wei Wuxian stumbles back a step, and then another, and as the distance grows so do the screams, strangely muted but quickly strengthening again as he gets some space.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Lan-er-gongzi?! Stay out of Jiang Clan business, or else the next time will not be a warning!” Jiang Cheng demands, sneering as he practically spits at Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian wants to tell him to stop but his ears are ringing and the dizziness is back in full force, his head swimming with screams that can’t actually be there as no one else seems to be reacting to them, and that’s usually a good way to judge what’s real.

Wei Wuxian throws his arm around Jiang Cheng’s shoulders as if to jostle him out of his mood, and he’s pretty sure only he knows that he actually just needs the help to keep standing upright. “Aiyahhhh Jiang Cheng, I started talking to him! Don’t bully poor Lan Zhan, ah? Come on, he’s brought back our shidimei all safe and sound for us, let’s go greet them.”

As far as excuses go, it’s one of his better ones as it’s something that genuinely needs doing, but Jiang Cheng still takes it with poor grace. That’s fine, all that matters is that he does listen, and that he drags Wei Wuxian away from Lan Wangji with no small amount of force.

It feels like the only way he’ll be able to leave Lan Wangji’s general vicinity.

–//–

Wei Wuxian can’t sleep.

That isn’t new, he hasn’t been a good sleeper for most of their lives, but it’s different tonight, somehow. Jiang Cheng lies awake on the other side of their tent listening to his brother thrash and twist in his bedroll like a man possessed, though he’s eerily quiet about it. If Jiang Cheng were sleeping it wouldn’t be enough to wake him, even as on-edge as they all are in the midst of the battlefield, but he’d laid awake for some time after they’d blown out the lanterns, unable to stop thinking about what their next move is likely to be now that the army is together again…and now he’s listening to Wei Wuxian in the throes of some silent sort of agony.

He can't let his brother pass the entire night like this - who knows how many times this has happened when Jiang Cheng has been too exhausted to hear him?

“Wei Wuxian.”

“Sorry,” Wei Wuxian gasps immediately, rasping and thick. Jiang Cheng is off his pallet like an arrow from a bow, crossing their tent in a few long strides to drop to his knees beside Wei Wuxian’s shivering form. He's mumbling, “I’m sorry, A-Cheng, I’m sorry-”. A senseless litany tumbling from clumsy lips.

His eyes are blood red again in the faint glow of the strip of moonlight sneaking in between the closures at the front of the tent. Jiang Cheng uses a flash of qi to light the lantern hanging from the central pole, and once he can see he dares to look away from Wei Wuxian’s gaunt face only to find his limbs wreathed in ribbons of resentment, cold enough to leave his skin chafed and raw wherever his inner robe has been pulled or pushed aside in his thrashing.

“What the fuck is going on?” he demands, but as always his brother won’t answer him; he reaches out with one skeletal hand and the weakness of it scares Jiang Cheng more than anything else yet. Wei Wuxian clings to everything he can get his hands on like a limpet, impossible to shake off until he’s ready to let go and absolutely no sooner. Jiang Cheng can tell he’s using every ounce of strength he has to cling to his wrist, but an infant would cling more strongly to a finger than what Wei Wuxian is currently managing.

“Lan Zhan-” Wei Wuxian gasps and Jiang Cheng can’t keep the snarl off his face.

“He did something to you earlier, I fucking knew it-”

“No! He wouldn’t-” Wei Wuxian’s frantic denial cuts off with a wet cough into his own shoulder, and Jiang Cheng can’t pretend he doesn’t see the dark stain he leaves on his red underrobe, not nearly as good at hiding stains as his many layers of black. “Take me to him. Please, it’s- he can help. I need him.”

“I’m not carrying you through camp like this,” Jiang Cheng balks at the very thought. Wei Wuxian’s position in the army is already tenuous at best, and while their own people are the most forgiving of his new eccentricities, entering the Lan camp with a demonic cultivator clearly losing control of himself and his cultivation is a good way to get his brother hurt before anyone would even think to offer their help.

But at the same time, he can’t do nothing. Wei Wuxian sobs just once, nothing more than a brokenhearted exhale that ends on another pathetic cough too weak to accomplish much of anything.

“I’ll bring him here,” he promises, if only to never hear his brother make that sound ever again. “Jiejie is in the medical tents, I can send her here while I go-”

“No! Don’t, just..just Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian’s glassy, red-tinged eyes finally stop roaming around the demons only he can see to fix on Jiang Cheng’s. It doesn’t make him feel any better. “Just Lan Zhan, A-Cheng. Please. No one else.”

“Alright.” Jiang Cheng has never been able to deny either of his siblings anything, really, and tonight is no different. “Alright, I’ll get him. Just stay here.”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t even bother to reply; they both know he’s not going anywhere when he’s curled in on himself in agony, limbs twisted around himself and his fingers crooked into rigid claws tearing at his own clothes and bedding.

Jiang Cheng throws on a single outer robe for the sake of propriety and then, uncaring that he’s breaking camp rules, takes off on his sword, though he at least stays low to the ground to avoid alarming the boundary sentries.

The Lan contingent are on the other side of camp from the Jiang, the entirety of the Nie forces and the small Jin contingent between them. It’s at least an hour’s walk from the inner edge of the Jiang to that of the Lan, only slightly faster by horse and that only so long as the lanes aren’t crowded with cultivators moving between their tents and their duties.

Jiang Cheng alights in front of Lan Wangji’s snow-white tent a mere quarter of an incense stick after he left.

–//–

It’s unwise to ignore the proscriptions for sleep when not required. It’s unwise and more difficult than he’d expected, as well, Lan Wangji's body yearning for sleep even as he forces himself to focus. He’s no closer than before to solving the mystery of the artefact the scouts had found at the manor, but whatever it is it had reacted strangely this afternoon to Wei Wuxian’s presence, and he wants — needs — to know why.

He feeds the carving a delicate thread of qi for the better part of a shichen, but it stays inert in his palm. He’s just standing to retreat behind his guqin to attempt to speak to it through Inquiry when he turns, Bichen flying to his hand before he’s even consciously aware of what’s disturbed him. The hilt collides with another sword with a muted clang, but before he can go any further to take advantage of the opening the clumsy defense has left for him, he realizes who’s decided to disturb him in his own tent.

“It’s Wuxian,” Jiang Wanyin says, his eyes so wide they’re ringed with white all the way around. “He’s asking for you, something’s wrong-”

“Go, I will follow.”

Jiang Wanyin darts back out as Lan Wangji turns to scoop his guqin into the qiankun pouch in his sleeve and then he’s out on the path and stepping onto Bichen, following the purple smudge through the darkened camp, through the white and blue tents of the Lan, the small cluster of gold before the straight neat rows of gray and green Nie. Jiang Wanyin slows somewhat when they reach the tiny knot of the Jiangs’ amethyst tents, many still glowing faintly from within as their owners move back and forth between the silk and their lanterns, but there are thankfully no late wanderers out roaming through the lanes of the camp to see them in their headlong flight.

Jiang Wanyin’s tent is, unsurprisingly, at the very center of the small Jiang encampment, though it’s no larger nor more intricate than those around it to avoid making it an obvious target for ambush. Lan Wangji steps off Bichen and strides into the structure, immediately struck by the overwhelming tang of blood in his nose and resentful energy rubbing up against his spiritual senses even before he orients himself enough to find Wei Wuxian in his tangled nest of blankets and discarded outer robes pulled haphazardly over himself for warmth.

He barely notices Jiang Wanyin’s tense, summer thunderhead presence, his entire being focused on Wei Wuxian looking as much like a corpse as any of the puppets he and Wen Ruohan command.

“Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying’s voice is barely more than a croak and yet still somehow holds an audible smile as he calls back, “Lan Zhan. You’re here.”

He doesn’t say ‘Of course’. He doesn’t say ‘I would come whenever you called’. He doesn’t say anything at all, as there are no words he knows small enough for comfort that are also large enough to encompass everything he’s feeling.

He goes to his knees beside Wei Wuxian and from so close the exhaustion etched into every line of his gaunt, handsome face is painfully clear. His hair is limp and stringy with sweat, his eyes so bloodshot as to appear red, his lips as white as bone. He has somehow still mustered up the energy to smile up at him, tremulous and almost too small to see, but it's there.

“You have something you shouldn’t, Lan Zhan,” he rasps. “Naughty, naughty. What are you walking around with a cursed amulet for, ah?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jiang Wanyin barks. “You can’t just accuse Hanguang-Jun-”

“How do you know?” Lan Wangji interrupts. He has little patience for Jiang Wanyin’s theatrics at the best of times, which this is very much not. “I did not know it’s cursed.”

Lan Wangji stays perfectly still as Wei Wuxian reaches out with one pale hand to brush a fingertip right over where the jade carving is tucked into the breast of his robes. “It’s talking to me,” he whispers, barely audible. He punctuates it with a grimace, and the flicker of his pained gaze towards Jiang Wanyin in the next moment feels like a signal.

“Leave us,” he says, implacable, and without taking his eyes off Wei Wuxian’s ghost of a relieved smile. “I will help him.”

“This is my tent, Lan Wangji!”

“And Wei Ying’s.”

“It’s okay Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian rasps, still smiling with pink teeth. Lan Wangji wonders how much blood he's lost on the battlefield that no one has thought to look for, as it doesn't come from the edge of a blade except for the one he turns on himself with his cultivation. “Lan Zhan’s here.”

Whatever Jiang Wanyin snarls in argument falls on deaf ears as Lan Wangji busies himself with looking Wei Wuxian over for injuries that would explain the reek of blood on him, and he notes it with only the smallest portion of his attention when Jiang Wanyin storms out of the tent in a flurry of anger that doesn’t hide his fear the way he likely hopes it does. On principle, Lan Wangji refuses to sympathize.

The moment they’re alone, Lan Wangji has to brace himself against the weight of Wei Wuxian clutching at the front of his robes to leverage himself up off his sleeping pallet, his breathing labored. Lan Wangji hurries to assist without worrying first that it would be as unwelcome as all his previous attempts to help, but thankfully Wei Wuxian says nothing at all in protest, and Lan Wangji is allowed to curl his hands under his knobby elbows and feel for the first time how truly skeletal he’s become.

“Can I hold it?” Wei Wuxian asks with a glance down at the spot where the amulet is sitting nestled between the layers of his robes. Lan Wangji nods and tries not to squirm as Wei Wuxian just reaches into his robes to grab it for himself, moving with a sort of contained desperation that ends the moment his fingers wrap around the unnaturally warm jade.

DEAD

Lan Wangji jolts, startled by the voice like a gong in his mind. Wei Wuxian stiffens as well, going perfectly still with his hand in Lan Wangji’s robes and his entire body trembling faintly with either cold or pained exhaustion, it’s difficult to tell.

“Wei Ying?”

“It’s cursed,” he mumbles, his blood-red eyes glassy and unfocused. “It’s going to make me…it’s like- like—“

SPEAK

This time Lan Wangji doesn’t jump but Wei Wuxian does, jerking in place like a slumped string puppet suddenly yanked upright. He moves as if to withdraw his hand, but he freezes in place before he can manage it, like something is ensuring he can’t.

“I’m dead, Lan Zhan.”

That isn’t true. Lan Wangji’s entire being balks at the mere idea of it, and not just because Wei Wuxian is sitting in front of him, touching him, talking to him. Wei Wuxian can’t die. Even now, in the throes of his demonic cultivation that’s clearly eating him alive to feed its own unnatural power, there isn’t a world Lan Wangji can imagine where Wei Wuxian’s presence isn’t a part of the very fabric of reality. He can’t die.

Ever.

“No.”

“Yes.” Wei Wuxian’s reply is smooth and even, nearly trance-like in its lack of feeling. “I died, and your voice raised me from the dead for my final purpose in this world.”

That can’t be true, it isn’t possible, but Lan Wangji knows the beloved infuriating shape of Wei Wuxian’s sense of humor.

He isn’t laughing now.

“I wanted revenge, Lan Zhan. I needed it, more than anything. I had it. It was my dying wish, fulfilled. It’s done, I can go-” 

Wei Wuxian is utterly emotionless as he says this; not even the cold calculation of when they’d found him hunting Wen Chao colors his voice. He sounds like- like-

DEPART

Wei Wuxian shudders, his hand clenching into a tighter fist around the amulet. With obvious effort he withdraws the jade, finally, from the folds of silk containing it, and Lan Wangji’s eyes fall to it clutched in Wei Wuxian’s straining grip.

“I’m not one of your ghosts,” he grits through his blood-pink teeth, some life returning to his voice as it returns to his gaze enough to glare down at the amulet to speak to it directly. “Foolish little Lan, I don’t banish so easily.”

It’s like Inquiry, Lan Wangji thinks in a sudden burst of clarity. Wei Ying sounded like those who speak to him through Wangji — toneless, dead voices converted to notes that only vaguely resemble music just enough so that he can understand their dying wishes…what it will take to send them on.

The spirit cursing the amulet must say something else as Wei Wuxian stiffens and grimaces a little harder, but now that the jade isn’t touching him Lan Wangji can no longer hear it to know what it is that’s made Wei Wuxian’s lip curl up in disgust. His knuckles have gone bone-white around the carving that is once again glowing with its own internal warmth, and before Lan Wangji can stop it the shadows of resentment twining like a dancer’s silk scarves around Wei Wuxian’s arms race down around his wrists, slither between his fingers, and disappear in lancing bolts of pure black into the little white carving. Between one breath and the next its internal light is snuffed out, and the jade shatters in the protective cup of Wei Wuxian’s hands.

The world seems to suddenly narrow down impossibly small around the two of them kneeling there together, and Lan Wangji’s voice echoes strangely in his own ears as he cries, “Wei Ying!”

–//–

“I loved her.”

Lan Wangji stays very, very still and stares hard at the stranger across from them, his heart caught in his throat. Wei Wuxian is standing straight and tall in front of him, though he doesn’t seem to realize that Lan Wangji is there. It’s uncomfortably reminiscent of laying on top of a rooftop next to Jiang Wanyin and peering down at the strange demon that Wei Wuxian had become, pale and cruel as he’d stalked Wen Chao across a barren room to finish the hunt he’d been dragging on for weeks — an apex predator playing with his food before the mercy kill.

He’s perfectly still now like he had been then, savoring the final torment without anything else to steal his attention.

A Lan cultivator is standing facing them, there-but-not in a way that makes Lan Wangji feel vaguely ill to look at. Concentrating on the figure feels like it takes a supreme amount of effort, but when he doesn’t focus the man’s face blurs and shifts, his entire body seeming formless beyond the vaguest impression of white cultivator robes. Lan Wangji’s head swims and his stomach churns, but the figure is still speaking so he tries his best to ignore the discomfort. 

“My sweet Zhou Xin…Her family was haunted. The household had suffered tragedy after tragedy, her parents were desperate for help, but they couldn’t afford to pay for a proper cultivator. I was the best they could afford, an outer disciple ready for his first solo nighthunt. I loved her from the moment I entered their home.”

Lan Wangji turns his attention to Wei Wuxian again rather than attempting to focus on the ghost of this cultivator, this Lan elder whose age he can’t begin to guess.

“There had been many deaths, so many petty jealousies that became a string of brutal murders among the servants. I fell in love with her at first sight, wanted nothing more than to help…but I knew within days that I would be overwhelmed before I could safely liberate or eliminate the angry spirits. I had to petition the sect for help.”

Wei Wuxian is still and silent, his hands loose at his sides and his head cocked ever so slightly to the right. He tilts it slowly to the left, but says nothing.

“I had brought with me a parting token from my parents, a carving they said would bring me luck and safety on my travels. Luck had brought me to her, the love of my life. Perhaps it would also keep her safe for me until I returned. ”

“It didn’t.”

In this strange nowhere place, Wei Wuxian’s voice is a tolling bell, the solemn ring of a gong through the mountains. Lan Wangji doesn’t flinch from it only because it’s Wei Wuxian who speaks. The spirit in front of them seems to shrink and flicker for a moment before he can reply.

“It did, for a time. She was safe, but I died on the road, I don’t know how or why. I never returned to Cloud Recesses, I never found help. As a spirit, I could only attach myself to my single earthly possession, in the hands of my love, and do what little I could to keep the angry spirits haunting her family away from her.”

Ah. Lan Wangji’s heart aches in his chest with a sympathetic understanding. He too would stand as a barrier between Wei Wuxian and everything that means to hurt him, if his zhiji would ever allow it. It explains why the carving behaves as it seems to as well, coaxing the dead into speaking the truth of their final moments and desires before attempting to liberate them — as all Lan are taught to do.

“She died some years later, alone in her home, driven mad by the spirits I could not suppress. She has entered the cycle without me. I cleansed the house over time, left alone with the ghosts. Others moved in, left again when their fortunes changed… on and on and on. I liberated all that I could.”

“You can’t liberate me.” This somehow rings even more loudly. Lan Wangji still doesn’t flinch.

“You are the most persistent,” the spirit says with some vague hint of something that may be amusement, or perhaps irritation. His more human emotions are too faint after so many years as a spirit for Lan Wangji to tell. “However, you have died, and to keep living is as unnatural as those you command. You must lie down and take your turn in the cycle.”

“Pretty rich, coming from a dead man.”

“Your desire to live for those you love is admirable. Your insistence on disobeying the laws of nature to accommodate your stolen core and continue to walk among the living is only hurting those you would wish to comfort.”

Stolen core?

All at once Wei Wuxian has gone completely stiff, his hands crooked into claws at his sides though he makes no move towards the spirit.

“What was given freely cannot be considered stolen, ah?” he snaps in the same tone he uses when Lan Wangji is attempting to talk to him about the exact same concerns. “I gave it away willingly, and now my cultivation protects them! You may be older but I have the weight of centuries of death and anger behind me. I won’t be moved.”

“I know, and to have angered the Demonic Grandmaster, with his armies of the restless damned, will of course be the end of me,” the spirit replies, implacable. For the first time since they entered this strange place he raises his gaze to look over Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, straight into the very core of Lan Wangji’s soul. “But your love deserved to know how you died before I could allow you to destroy me.”

Wei Wuxian whirls around, eyes wide, and Lan Wangji finds he can’t stand to meet his eyes and see the wild-eyed panic there. He drops his own gaze down to Wei Wuxian’s hands twitching at his side, an aborted motion towards his belt where he always keeps his new blackened flute that’s become the terror of so many on the battlefield.

“Wei Ying-”

Far from the tolling bell of Wei Wuxian’s voice, to his own ears Lan Wangji’s sounds soft as velvet, not in the least commanding or impressive. It doesn’t have to be; Wei Wuxian shudders from head to toe and drifts a few steps towards him. Not in the horrible, dragging way he’d come to him after the last battle, apparently drawn to him by the lure of the amulet, but turning towards him like a flower to the sun, bending and swaying closer as if he needs to to live.

Between one breath and the next, the sort of nowhere place disappears like it never was, and after the briefest sensation of falling Lan Wangji opens his eyes to find himself staring at Wei Wuxian kneeling across from him, slumped in a faint over his hands still cupping the shattered remains of the carving. He knows he should summon Wangji, play Rest, send the spirit haunting it on his way to hopefully get a chance to reunite with the woman who’d inspired so much devotion even after death.

Lan Wangji knows what he should do, but what he does is reach out with gentle, shaking hands to pull Wei Wuxian unresisting into his lap and hold him close.

“I died and your voice raised me-” Wei Wuxian had said. Lan Wangji’s bruised and aching heart clenches in his chest. He bundles Wei Wuxian closer, a limp collection of bony limbs tumbled together like bones in a shallow grave, and carefully brushes a limp lock of hair away from his cheek, his skin deathly pale.

“Wei Ying,” he says for Wei Wuxian’s ears alone, cracking and heartbroken.

What else is there to say?

Lan Wangji calls for him until Jiang Wanyin returns, a surprisingly silent specter at his side. He calls for Wei Wuxian until his voice goes hoarse, until his limbs have long gone numb under Wei Wuxian’s lax weight, until dawn lightens the strip of sky visible just beyond the imperfectly aligned walls of the tent. He calls for him over and over and over again and hopes for another miraculous return.

–//–

Sending Lan Zhan away from this nowhere place is painfully difficult; sending the spirit away is the work of a few viciously sharp whistles and the pure fury of the Burial Mounds and its wayward ghosts, distilled to its purest form here in this place without physical restraint.

He’s already metaphorically turning back towards the promise of Lan Zhan’s presence so close at hand — he can already feel him, his touch muted as if through a thick quilt but solidly there — when there’s a yank somewhere around his navel and he’s falling

falling

falling…

“One more,” he hears the spirit sigh, far closer at hand than he should be over Wei Wuxian's shoulder, a scant inch from his ear. “One more evil liberated-”

Wei Wuxian struggles against the pull, the grasping hands trying to force him to rest, trying to save the living from his profane touch. Wei Wuxian snarls and twists and bites and whistles banishing music harsh enough to rip the world around him into blackened shreds—

The hands release him and he’s left floating in the midst of…nothing. There’s nothing. No pain, no fear, no softness, no relief, no sorrow, no happiness, nothing at all.

Is that bliss?

Wei Wuxian pauses and wonders what he was fighting against in the first place. What was he fighting for? Something’s wrong, there was something there, there was someone—

“Wei Ying-”

Ah, of course. Nothing’s wrong. Lan Wangji is here. What could possibly be wrong?

Wei Wuxian opens his aching eyes, sensation flooding back into his body in the way he's already come back to life once before, and he smiles.

[ihuntvisualmentoo]

World of Magic✨✨

Shaun’s Route

(You’ve chosen his route)

Just like a would in an actual visual novel, you’ll be going through this but you will have a storyline with each character. The route will be separate from the other routes. So each of them won’t be connected at all.

Enjoy the piece of trash I’ve written, cause this gon’ be one long ass post.

\Again

He did it a-fucking -gain

Half naked on top of another random woman, and here you are standing at the front of his bedroom door with a bag of cookies made just for him. It's nothing new honestly. Just a repetitive loop that happens over and over again. The shock isn't even there to show on your face, instead a conniving smile stretches across your face, “Ah, it seems as though I'm interrupting a friendly moment here."

The red head snaps his attention to you, with the most 'worried' expression, “Y-y/n! It's not what it looks like! Honest!”

You give him a blank through your jeweled veil as he tries to take out another sad excuse in his book.

Oh this poor bumbling idiot, he hasn't realized that you're already sick of his shit. You raised a gloved hand at him as a sign to stop talking, at the same time the woman on his bed wraps her arms around his neck from behind pressing his breasts against his back

"Ian, what's wrong? Is she bothering you?" she said in a seductive voice. Red flushes across lan's cheeks, a reaction that used to be for you. The woman glances at you with a smirk. However you couldn't care less.

*You can have him, you thought, less work for me'

You set the cookies on a nearby small table, "I’Il just leave these here then." exiting the room.

"W-wait!" Ian pleaded wanting you to stay and listen, but you didn't live your whole life to put up with this. With a turn on your heel, you walk down the adorned hallways as the palace's maids and butlers slightly bow, not looking back.

Ian Duff, the crown prince bound to be next in line for the throne. And as his fiance you are the soon-to-be queen.

At first, you felt happy.

Happy because you would be with your 'lover' since childhood, and throughout the years were also the times that drifted you from each other. The times when he would shower me with affection, only for it to be for other women that jump into his sheets. While you just sit pretty as a doll that can't say anything about it. It just pisses you off!

You stop at an open window, admiring the royal garden, if you could, you would take off the jewels that covered your eyes but the nagging feeling of attendants nearby would gawk at the sudden sight.

You really needed air, and you're just taking the chance to clear your head. It's just... hard to always handle this problem Leaning at the edge of the window, eyes closed and rubbing your temples, the veil shifting slightly.

"Mew!"

A squeaky little meow makes you jolt. Opening your eyes, you see a gray tiny kitten peeking underneath the veil. She has a small purple envelope tied to her back. Readjusting yourself to look at her properly. You smiled as you curled a finger to scratch her chin. "Hey little Moonpie, got something for your aunty?"Moonpie purrs in response. Distracting the little messenger you take the note and read it.

"Heya kitty!

I got something cool I want you to see. Meet me in the woods tonight?”

You softly chuckle to yourself, “what a dork.”

At least he’s the only guy in your life

At the same time, Moonpie jumps off the window ledge and trots her way into the forest.

Well, looks like you gotta get ready.

_________________

The sound of leaves crunch underneath your boots. The change of attire suitable for exploring out in the woods, knee high boots, white shirt with a vest, a long cloak, and a bag filled with needed supplies. It's also perfect for when you need to blend into a crowd of commoners while out and about.

You scan the area of the meeting spot, you don't see him around. Maybe he's just late?

"Shaun?"

No response

"Shaun wher-"

A pair of large hands weigh on your shoulders, feeling your whole body go stiff.

"Guess who-"

A voice all too familiar to you. You look up to see a dark-skinned man's face looming over you with dreads dipped in blue dye wearing a beast skull on his head with black-purplish fur reaching his back to top it off. "C'mon, I told you to stop that!" you said swatting at him, Shaun avoids your mini assault stepping away from you.

"Hah! What makes you think I'll promise such a thing?" he puts a dramatic hand on his chest. "You're just breaking my heart. How else can I have your undying attention?"

You couldn't but roll your eyes at his little performance. "Ya know, if it wasn't for my little niece i wouldn't even be here." Shaun gives you a raised brow and a shit eating grin. "And you would've still seen me."

He ruffles your hair, "C'mon, we don't wanna be out for too long." suggesting while grabbing a hold of your wrist to guide you to a safe point.

_______________

We stop in front of a small cabin, a very charming in fact one belonging to no other person but Shaun's. The inside of the cabin has already been decorated to his taste. I set my bag at the table full of little projects he's made before as he also takes off the beat skull on his head, tattoos of deciphers on his back. "So what's it you have to show this time?" I asked

Shaun gives a wide grin all that you recognize. “My god, Shaun, I swear if it’s another-” however your words are interrupted. “Okay before you, finish. Lemme just show you.”

he pulls out of glass box in his hands revealing to what looks to be-

“… a… slime?” You tilt your head to the side. Sensing the confusion, Shaun explains.

“It’s an acidic slime! Perfect for this one practice I’m doing.”

“And is it safe?”

….

“….Shaun? It’s safe, right??”

……..

Beads of sweats from on his forehead, nervously shifting his eyes to a very nice wall.

“Shaun are you kidding me right now?!”

“Cmon, it’s not that bad! I made sure myself.” Narrowing his eyes, you move your attention to the slime. Its green color shines in the candle lights, and it’s …rather cute too. “Well if you say so, I trust your judgment.”

Shaun gives a shit eating grin in victory, “See? A professional you can rely on.”

Hmm, to think you became friends with a guy like him.

Thunk!

The sudden sound alerts the duo, and look in the glass box.

“Ahh, shit!!”

The slime melted through the glass and landed on the wooden floor sinking into it in the process. However, it stopped and looked at Shaun. “Uhh, it looks… angry?”

“Y/n, don’t. Move.” ….

The creature stretches into a lengthy height, over towering the idiot.

“Or start running!”

Shaun dodges the slime as it lunges at him. One attack after another items are getting destroyed and small animals running away from the little boxes they were being held in. “Professional my ass! You didn’t make sure it was in the right box!”

“I thought it was slime proof!”

You tried to dodge the next attack, but it grazed you left thigh. On the floor, you yelped in pain, it’s burned through your boot. You take it off as fast as you can before the acid could spread anymore.

Distracted, the slime rushes to the small woman to give one clean hit. Seeing the raised tentacles, you closed your eyes prepared.

….

The sound of a vortex is heard, lid slamming after. The sound of heavy breathing, the sound of heavy footsteps, to a pair of large hands cupping your face. “…You can open them now.”

With your vision returned, the feeling of your chest tightens.

Shaun is inches away from you, looking concerned. His eyes scan you until he spots the few on your leg. “Damn… it really got you bad.”

“What, happened?”

He says that he found another jar for emergencies in his projects. And this time, he made sure it was a very secure one. You let out a sigh of relief. “That’s good to know… although”

You sock him in the ribs

The impact made him cough, “Ack! Ow, okay, yeah I deserve that.”

Even though your lives were in danger, it stop you laughing in the aftermath. It was a hellish experience but it’ll be worth the tale later on in the future. “This is nice and all, but I really need some patching up here.”

Shaun nods and lifts you to your feet, he plops you on an untouched table.

The sight of the scar makes him wince. Med kit already in hand, he skillfully fixes the wound. “It’ll need to heal for a couple days,” he implied. “Right now, the slime only paralyzed your leg, it should be fine for you to walk around tomorrow.”

Oh

…

Oh!

That means you won’t be able to return to the palace tonight! If the servants notice you were absent, it’ll trigger a search.

….

At the same time though, you’re not really paid much attention to, the servants would probably not be bothered to report it. Huh? At least your reputation benefits you.

“Guess i’m sleeping over” you stretch out your arms to Shaun, with a tinge of red on his face, he lifts you and takes you around the house to assist with your night.

“…One bed?”

You turn to Shaun, already in sleepwear, he rubs the nape of his neck, trying to cool the blood rushing to his cheeks. “Yeah uh, if it makes you comfortable, I can just sleep on the floor”

You shake your head and disagreement, “No, no. It’s okay. I… honestly prefer that we share.”

A shy smile changes your lips. Repeating to yourself over and over that he’s just a friend.

…right?

*Holds out bowl* Tips and advice, please?

(Oh! Part 2??)

[dailyanarchistposts]

Fire

For the third time, I carry a smoldering branch from the cooking fire to the nest of dry kindling I’ve placed in the brush, and finally it catches, and the orange feathers flap and flutter like a bird stuck in a thorn bush. Despite all the anarchist romancing of fire, I’ve never before thought of arson like this.

Angelica and José have taken us to reclaimed land, a plot well suited for farming, where the hillside isn’t so steep. José is driving the team of oxen over the acre that was cleared last year, pulling a heavy iron plow through the earth to make furrows for sowing potato and onion. The adjacent acre has already been seeded with barley. Angelica, meanwhile, is tending the fire. One fire is patiently cooking our lunch, while its children are spreading through the brush to clear the earth for next year’s fields. And my friends and I are helping. Environmentalists starting forest fires, I snicker.

Of course, there’s been no forest here for decades. This was a pine plantation on stolen Mapuche lands, identical rows of genetically modified, non-native pine trees planted by Forestal Mininco, a company owned by one of the wealthiest families in Chile. Ten years ago, a number of hectares were taken over by community members. At first, only the most politically active members of the community dared to participate in the re-occupation, and some others would come out to cook or otherwise give support. When the courts found out that both the community and the timber company held titles to the same land, they declared they could take no action, and on the ground the community members have overwhelmed the forestry employees. Now, it’s basically a done deal, and the whole community comes out to farm the recovered land. Each family has its own plot of land that inheres to it individually. The recovered land, meanwhile, is communally owned and collectively maintained. One family will work a specific plot one year, but another family might work the same plot the next year. When needed, the whole community will get together to talk about how to use the land, but they seem to prefer to work things out on their own and informally, within the framework of common understandings of what’s proper.

Soon enough, we figure out how to work the wind and fuel, and here and there, flames leap twenty feet to the sky before calming down and slowly gnashing through the thorn bushes and old pine stumps. It’s a small section we clear, not even a quarter acre, but it’s not bad for a day’s work, and the watchword of the Mapuche I meet seems to be “poco a poco.” Little by little.

Angelica finds me an herb, sietevenas, for me to press against the thorn-cuts on my ash-black hands, and then I walk down to the lake, the Lleu Lleu, to cool off in its waters.

* * *

Mapuche land takeovers began in the early 1990s, after the end of the Pinochet dictatorship, with groups like Consejo de Todas las Tierras. They would take over plots of usurped Mapuche lands for one day, symbolically, to remind themselves and the world that it was their land. It was an important step forward, but like any step forward, it wasn’t enough. “It didn’t frighten the big companies.” Angelica tells me how subsequently, in 1998, the C.A.M. formed, Coordinadora de Arauca-Malleco. By developing the tactic of “productive recoveries,” the C.A.M. “enraged” the landlords. They recovered land for good, coming in with a group of thirty people to cut down the trees, turning timber plantations into gardens so Mapuche communities could feed themselves. Back in Temuco, when I asked about all the “C.A.M.”s I saw graffitied on the walls, José had joked that “C.A.M. was to the Chilean state what Al Qaida is to the U.S. government.”

Angelica tells us how both she and José had been members of C.A.M., and it too was an important step forward, but they left the organization when they realized it had a fundamentally leftist way of thinking, “not truly Mapuche. We’ve always survived because we have our own way of thinking. We can build solidarity with the Left but we can’t become part of it; that would be against who we are.”

I ask if the land recovery actions sometimes involve replanting native forests. Angelica says that some Mapuche are replanting native tree species, and perhaps it needs to happen more often, but for now they are focused on planting gardens so they can win the ability to feed themselves, and create their independence at an economic level.

Later, she tells us about living in clandestinity. “For one thing, you don’t have any peace of mind. On top of that, you can’t plan for the future or have any projectuality. While you’re eating breakfast, you’ll be keeping your eyes on the road outside, ready to run at any time.” One time, a caravan of 400 cops with buses, tanks, water cannons, and jeeps came to arrest them, a huge display of force to show the futility of resistance. But Angelica saw the caravan when it was still on the other side of the lake, and they ran for the hills. “The whole path was green” with uniformed police.

Angelica gave birth to their son while the two were underground. Eventually they were caught when a neighbor became an informant for 500,000 pesos (about a thousand dollars). Angelica spent 4 months in pretrial detention and went through three trials, but was ultimately acquitted of “illegal association” under the antiterrorist law. Before being accused she had almost completed university, everything except the final exams, but it was a Catholic school and they wouldn’t let her take the exams in jail so she never got her diploma. Now, in her community on the banks of the Lleu Lleu, she smiles at the thought of university.

On the way back from the fields, José has me help him return the oxen and the plow to the neighbors from whom he has borrowed them. He talks to the oxen in a special language or touches them on a shoulder with a long stick to guide them through the turns, and they need no more prompting than that. As we walk he tells me more about the Mapuche worldview. “Unlike Western society, the Mapuche don’t see humans as the center of the world. We don’t think humans are the perfect species that can dominate all the other species. We understand that we are just a part of the world.” In turn I tell him about debates anarchists have had, regarding animal liberation, ecocentrism, and veganism. When we reach the neighbors’ house, the oxen bow their heads so we can untie the yoke, and then they wander off in search of hay. We take a shortcut back to the house, following the path he and Angelica used to escape the police, a few years earlier.

[gayuu-the-necromancer]

William Rex Fervido: Fervently ~ Normal Story

 ｡⋆｡˚🦋˚｡⋆｡

Through the dense forest and across the drawbridge to the castle----

William led me by the hand past the entrance and around to the backyard.

(Woah....)

The garden is covered with mist and flowers are covered with drops of rain.

It was so beautiful, much more mysterious than on a clear day, and made me want to get lost in it.

(.......The garden in the rain is so beautiful)

As I admire it, William's fingertips gently brush my hair, wet from the rain and sticking to my cheeks, over my ear.

William: "How do you feel getting wet in the rain?"

Kate: ".....It was...."

I was trying to be aware of my heart.

It was still a little immoral to let the cold drops of rain hit my skin.

(I feel like I'm doing something wrong.....but....)

(The rain, which has become lukewarm from the heat of the body slides down the skin too)

(It's also the case that my fingertips get cold, and only where he touches, feels warm....)

(And also William's fingertips brushing my wet hair up to my ear.....)

Kate: ".......great."

To my own surprise, my heart was dancing.

(William's 'good' thing....I thought it felt good too)

Kate: "It feels good to get wet in the rain."

I answered clearly and cheerfully once again.

William: "....Fufu."

Kate: "Why are you laughing?"

William: "I just thought, your face looked nice."

William: "You really do have that look on your face, don't you?"

Kate: "Ehh....? Ah....."

-----FLASHBACK-----

William: "You are finally smiling."

Kate: ".....Was I not smiling that much?"

William: "Yeah, and even now, you're laughing to your heart's content only half of the time."

------FLASHBACK ENDS------

William: ".....It looks very beautiful, truly."

(......!)

Kate: "Don't say those things so easily....."

William: "Why not?"

Kate: ".......Because it's bad for my heart."

My heart is actually banging noisily.

It's like all the nerves have gathered there and I was distracted by the fingertips that are still entwined.

I felt that I would be in trouble if he kept asking me 'why', so I hurriedly looked for another topic of conversation.

Kate: "...I was wondering, why didn't we go in through the entrance?"

William: "Hm? Oh, that...."

William: "Maybe it's because I love the garden in the rain."

(You love.....?)

William, without any hesitation, speaks of liking as the reason for his actions.

If he loves something or someone, he will protect it. If he hates someone, he won't forgive and punish it.

He will not make excuses for anything other than his own desires.

(Like William......I wish I could pick something without hesitation and say, 'I like it, I want it' )

(If I could live like that.....would I like myself more?)

William: "Besides, I wasn't in the mood to flood the entrance and cause a ruckus at the castle."

Kate: "......Surely, if we go home looking like this, it would be a big deal"

If we had returned to the castle from the entrance, the servants would have rushed to us in panic.

(.....Thank god or I would have had to let go of this hand if we did)

(Is it because I'm embarrassed or........is there some other reason)

William: "I'll take you back to your room. It's gonna get colder the more we stay outside."

.......

The sound of rain dances, along with our wet footsteps that echoes in the empty corridor.

(....Soon, we'll reach my room)

At the thought, my legs suddenly felt heavy and my walking rhythm lagged behind.

William: ".....Kate?"

Kate: "Ah, sorry...."

I quickly walked forward to catch up to William, who had stopped a little ahead of me.

(We need to get back to our rooms, change and get warm or else both of us will catch a cold)

We stopped in front of the familiar door of my room.

William: "......"

(I have to leave his hands to open my door)

(.....I know, but why is my body so heavy?)

William: ".....Do you not want to go in?"

Kate: "No......"

(Oh, I haven't thanked you properly yet for what you did yesterday and today)

(That must be why it's so hard to say goodbye)

Kate: "Thank you for bringing me to my room."

Kate: "And thank you for taking me to the ward today and.....for what you said to me yesterday."

Kate: "And thank you for everything!"

William: "I did what I wanted. You don't owe me a thank you."

Kate: ".....Still, I want to thank you."

(You, at that time.....)

-----FLASHBACK-----

William: "Just because you couldn't save them, doesn't mean you have to kill yourself. Kate."

William: "Haven't you had enough of punishing yourself?"

-----FLASHBACK ENDS-----

(For giving me forgiveness that I don't have to kill my voice anymore)

(No. That's not all. Long before that....)

-----FLASHBACK-----

William: "You're the only one who can hear your heart and give it voice, Kate."

-----FLASHBACK ENDS------

(Because you kept listening to the voice in my heart that I was killing)

(My heart could start moving again)

Kate: "Because you made me....like myself a little bit more"

(No matter how dangerous or distant he may be......this fact remains)

William: "A little' you're being so humble."

William: "I like you very much now. You are much more attractive than when we first met."

Kate: ".....Mm."

(Neither the words 'attractive' nor 'I like you' means anything)

(Because I'm sure he says that..........to everyone......)

Kate: "......Thank you."

William: "You're welcome?"

He tilts his head in a funny way, and drops of rain trickle down from his silver hair to his cheeks.

My eyes follow his body, lured by the drops that trace the contours and slide down to his neck.

I had a feeling that some terrible urge was crawling up and I opened my mouth in a hurry.

Kate: "Well, I'll just...."

(Quick, let go of his hands!)

William: "Yeah. Make sure you don't catch a cold."

(Ah.....)

William's hand, which had been clasped, suddenly loosens.

Instantly, an impulse burned in my chest.

(I hate it)

(I still don't wanna let go)

His red eyes were so absorbing that my lips were laced with his.

Slight heat is generated from the cold overlapping lips.

Warm, soft, wet.

And also sweet.....

William: "..........Mm......"

(.......!?)

I came back to myself in a flash as my breath overflowed.

Kate: ".......Ah........"

William: "........"

Our gazes entwine at the closest distance we have ever been.

Immediately, my whole body became blisteringly hot.

Kate: "I-I...."

(Why did I kiss him all of a sudden.....?)

Kate: "Ah...I...that...! I didn't ....."

When I tried to back away, my legs got tangled and I stumbled but something held me up.

I realized after a beat that it was William's hand around my waist.

(Ah.....?)

The numbness that ran through my legs was so sweet that I felt the strength drain from my legs.

Kate: "I-I'm so sorry...."

William: "......What for?"

Kate: "Because I....because I...."

William: "You don't want to?"

Kate: "Ah....."

His fingertips trace the contours of my confused face.

As if inviting, at a distance that seems to touch but doesn't.

(Why are you asking me that?)

(You said it before)

(Kissing someone without consent.....is an unforgivable sin)

Willaim: "............"

His gaze expects an answer from 'me.'

He's asking me if I really know what I'm doing and if I'm really making the 'right' choice.

(I don't know)

(I don't know I don't know)

Kate: "I.....I can't be myself....when I'm around you...."

He pours in something that could neither be medicine nor poison.

It's like it melts into my body and before I knew it, it had remade me.

It brings out desires I didn't even know I had.

Kate: "I'm not the kind of person.....who would do something like this....."

William: "........Is it a 'good' thing or 'bad' thing?"

William gives me another testing look and asks me.

He is waiting for me to answer and for me to pick and choose.

Kate: "......I don't know."

William: "Hmmm?"

Kate: "That's why....."

-----FLASHBACK-----

William: "You can learn what's good for you and what's not....you just have to remember with your body."

-----FLASHBACK ENDS-----

Kate: "I don't know yet...."

Kate: '.....So please teach me."

William: ".......Mmhm, sure."

I took his smiling lips, this time of my own volition.

I am sure he saw right through me from the beginning.

(William is dangerous)

(But I am.....so drawn to him)

(I'm so afraid of getting lost and losing my way back)

(From the moment we met, all the way through)

Chapter 11