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cauliflowercounty · 7 months

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Knives Dance (Part I)

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

After years of writing *literally nothing,* I never expected bald Austin Butler to inspire me again :)

Life does wonderful things sometimes. Feyd Rautha is a fucking snack. And whoops it looks like I invented a planet and a culture :/

Summary: You're the daughter of the Duke of the House of Ronen, and your father and Vladimir Harkonnen have arranged a marriage between you and Feyd-Rautha to join your two houses. When the House of Harkonnen pays a visit to your planet, Feyd discovers something unforeseen within himself during an assassination attempt…

Reader: she/her pronouns

Warnings: innuendo/suggestive content, attempted assassination, blood, violence, multiple murders

Word Count: 4.2k

Part I | Part II | Part III

The hydraulics whirr as the black metal ramp of the Harkonnen vessel opens downward onto the stone landing pad on planet Youra and hits the ground with a low thunk. Feyd follows his uncle as he floats out of the vessel toward the doors of the Youran citadel, which is nestled in the center of a towering mountain covered in dense forest. Through the canopy, he sees the flickering lights from within the treehouses that adorn the forest cover.

The fortress itself is bathed in a warm, yellow glow from the round floating lanterns that surround it. As they hover, they seem to spiral upwards in a concentric spiral and extend their reach up into the night sky. A line of Youran soldiers flank the walkway, dressed in ceremonial garb of earthy, brown leathers with teal accents and intricate geometric patterns. As the Harkonnens pass, the soldiers bow their heads to them, allowing the carved silver helmets to shine in the evening light.

The environment here could not be further from that of Giedi Prime with its cold, industrial landscape devoid of color and the stench of sulfur and gas. The jungle air here is saccharine and floral on Feyd’s tongue. He feels the brush of the evening breeze flowing past him out toward the sea from the surrounding jungle. As he breathes in, he notices the richness of the air, imbued with the essence of all the flora that have made Youra a treasure trove for natural resources and experimental medicines, reminding him why he and his uncle have arrived on this planet.

The endeavor to secure spice on Arrakis had not gone as smoothly as the Harkonnens had hoped, especially with constant Fremen attacks sabotaging their forces and Rabban’s pitiful attempt at countermeasures. The current state of their operation and the number of soldiers they were losing daily called for acquiring a new tactical advantage. As much as they hated to admit it, they would have been foolish not to seek one out.

The advantage lay on Youra, the planet of island rainforests and the home of the minor House of Ronen, where an uncountable number of plant and animal species flourished, supplying the population with life-saving natural compounds the renowned scientists had been extracting from nature and developing for centuries. Through this arranged marriage, the wealth of chemical knowledge and access to the raw materials would become House Harkonnen’s. Feyd could begin to taste his ascension to power. This was simply the next step necessary to turn the tides of this conflict on Arrakis, which would inevitably end in him assuming the title of Baron if not Emperor.

With a low rumble, the double doors in front of Feyd open to reveal your father and yourself. Laying eyes on you for the first time, Feyd stops in place, his heavy black boots almost stuck on the ground. When the conversation of an arranged marriage came up with his uncle, he was beyond apathetic, knowing that this would be a political move in which he had no obligation to have any investment. The woman would become his wife only by title. To his astonishment, he is entranced by your beauty, to the point of speechlessness. He almost completely ignores your father’s greeting and speech about the union of your two houses. You are radiant with your skin that glows in the light, unlike that of the Harkonnen women he is used to seeing. You look into his eyes, and he feels almost locked in, the rest of the world fading until all he sees is you.

“Welcome to our home, na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen,” you say to him, not breaking eye contact from underneath your headdress. Your striking eyes bore deep into his soul. It’s almost as if they’re calling to him. What’s most interesting to Feyd is that they don’t seem to contain a hint of fear or apprehension. He is used to making those around him crumple under the weight of their own terror with his mere presence so he can exploit those emotions and manipulate them as his own personal playthings. In defiance of his reputation, you seem undeterred by him staring straight at you. As your eyes glimmer in the lamplight, he feels his breath almost catch as they taunt him, draw him. Snapping himself out of the trance, a smirk forms on his lips, remembering how his uncle taught him to behave. He forces himself to relish the thought of toying with your apparent resolve.

As he looks down, he eyes your lavish, floor-length regalia. The same deep brown and teal that your father and the soldiers wear decorates the patterns on your cloak. He notices lines of gold thread woven into your hair, an appropriate show of the natural resources of your planet.

Strange, he thinks. The cloak is rather large and heavy. Despite matching the designs of the other Youran garb, it seems out of place to be a traditional outfit for the aristocracy of a rainforest civilization where the warm and humid conditions should prove inhospitable for cloaks of this nature.

The delicate, meek flower he was expecting to relish picking apart with ease you are not. He’s figured out you're a woman with something you’re intent on hiding from him. You’ve put on this front either bravely or stupidly, and Feyd-Rautha will peel back every layer one calculated move at a time until you are finally entirely his.

He steps forward and reaches down to take your hand in his. “My betrothed…” he whispers to you, his voice low and gravelly. “We finally meet, Little One. I must say you look exquisite. I expected nothing less.” He brings your fingers up to his lips and brushes his lips across them before pressing firm a kiss on the back of your hand His uncle seems most disgusted by Feyd’s tenderness, but Feyd keeps his gaze on you through hooded eyes, knowing that the first move in any game is imperative to the success of his endeavor. He sees yours flicker for a moment as your body tenses listening to his praise. He’s got you right where he wants you.

–

Dinner is filled with monotonous diplomacy, tiresome pleasantries, and planning of the wedding to take place on Giedi Prime, but Feyd hasn’t let his attention break from you. It’s as if the kiss he planted on your hand was the catalyst for the first crack in the wall you’ve put up, and now he’s waiting for the perfect moment to make his next move.

All of dinner he’s watched as you attentively listened to his uncle and your father exchange words and eat your dinner. He hasn’t failed to notice how your eyes dart over to look at him through your lashes. With every gesture you make and every word you say, he feels unequivocally enraptured. As much as he’s tried to suppress his emotions and stay faithful to his uncle’s teachings, grounded in violence and viciousness, his mind starts to wander.

He wonders what must it be like to have your touch flutter across his chest when he watches you delicately grasp your water goblet. When you fold your lips around your cup to drink, he imagines what they must feel like on his skin if you were to drag them down his neck tantalizingly slow. What if you were close enough to him to have your breath fan out across his skin as your lips caressed his? What must it be like to hold your softness in his hands? The very idea makes his breath hitch.

Of the many thoughts he has as he watches you, many of them becoming increasingly lewd as dinner continues, one remains in his head: if he is this captured by just your face and gaze, basking in the light of what you’re concealing under your cloak, must be heaven adjacent.

His desire to use you and leverage your own will against you is being chipped away little by little. Feyd’s hardened persona that his uncle helped construct is withering with every second he spends in your presence. The notion is nearly frightening to Feyd, but with every single glance and gesture, his heart, which may have turned to stone long ago, is beginning to accept it.

Feyd rips his attention away from you as your father stands to thank the Harkonnens once again for coming. “I shall have my servants show you where you shall be staying,” your father announces as he rises from his seat. “I have arranged for our head researchers to show you what progress we have had in our synthetic undertakings as of late. I guarantee you will be very interested in what they have to offer.”

As you stand, he notices how your hands pull together the front seam of your cloak, preventing it from opening. Curious.

You bid him goodnight and turn away to head to your quarters as a Youran servant beckons him to the guest wing. That night, Feyd cannot rest as he lays awake in bed in the opulent guest suite, images of you running through his head, and he almost smiles thinking about when you say his name so sweetly.

“Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.”

–

The next day, Feyd sees little of you. In the morning, he makes his way to your quarters only to be informed by a servant at your door that you have already departed for the day. When he asks where you have gone, the servant provides a murky response about your duties as Lady of the House and wedding preparations, which he as her betrothed would “surely understand.” Just as he decides he will find you himself, he is seized by his uncle as to meet the Youran ministers of culture, science, and development to learn about their acquisition.

Feyd cannot deny that your homeworld is impressive. It’s steeped in centuries of exploration and inquiry with unmatched record-keeping of not only science but tradition, too. The ceilings are vaulted and adorned with gold. The walls of the citadel are covered in elaborate murals painted on with vibrant colors or carved into the surfaces. Some depict traditional folktales, gods, and ceremonies while those opposite them describe the evolutionary lines of species, a true testament to Youra’s modernity and dedication to preserving your peoples’ history in living memory. If only he knew which mural decorates the wall concealing you.

As the picture of your world’s history becomes clearer, the air of mystery surrounding you only grows. Not once has he heard talk of you after his interaction with that servant, but throughout the day he has sensed hushed whispers that are almost certainly about him instead. As he passes soldiers, some of them almost seem to leer at his presence.

A few times, he thinks he can almost see the hem of your cape disappear around corners, but when he goes to investigate, there is nobody there. The anger he expected to have inside him due to your avoidance is nowhere to be seen, and only a burning intrigue remains.

“What a little enigma my wife is,” he thinks to himself when he enters the banquet hall for dinner as the last ray of sunlight fades from the windows as the sun dips below the horizon.

Almost on cue, the doors to the hall open again and to his gratification, it is you. He stands up from his seat and walks over to you. He cannot deny his own inclination when you smile at him softly, putting him at ease.

“Good evening, Na-Baron,” you greet as he stops in front of you. Your dulcet tones go straight to his heart, causing it to skip a beat. “I hope I’ve not kept you waiting long.”

“Not at all.” He takes your hands in his once again, running his thumb along the back of them and savoring the feeling of your soft skin. This time when his heart swells, he lets it happen, surrendering himself to your charm. “I would wait an eternity for you,” he says, realizing you enjoy it when he romances you.

“You don’t strike me as a man who likes to be kept waiting,” you reply, looking up into his eyes. “I am surprised you are not frustrated with me.”

“I make exceptions,” he replies, noticing how your lips curl into a small smile. “… for when it truly matters. Since you’ve been absent all day, tell me, Little One, what have you been doing while you were hiding from me all day?”

You let out a gentle exhale. “I assumed you might be curious about that,” you say to him, as you clasp his hands in yours, beginning to tug him backwards to the doors. “Would you join me outside before we eat, Na-Baron? I have something I want to show you that I’ve been working on in preparation for our marriage.”

Allowing you to lead him, he follows you as you pull him through the halls of the fortress. He senses the answers to the questions he’s been asking himself are within his grasp. You both head outdoors and descend a grand staircase toward a courtyard nestled in the center of the fortress that overlooks the ocean that is now a murky midnight blue.

The nighttime lanterns light the way once again, and you both continue into the courtyard which is unlike anything he’s ever seen before. The ground seems to be a single sheet of rust colored stone that is marbled with shards shimmery metals. The slab has massive circles cut into it spaced in a perfect grid. Inside the circle is a golden pool of luminescent water. Tall, half moon shaped walls cradle each pool with glyphs and carvings etched into them.

“What is this place?” he asks you, basking in the light emanating from all of the pools that surround the both of you as you continue down the center aisle.

“This is my favorite place in the castle,” you explain. “It’s where we keep one of every species our researchers are currently studying. The rock wall above the pools describes each evolutionary line and the discoveries about it we’ve made. There’s one I want to show you if you would allow me.”

He nods as you bring him to a pool whose accompanying slab remains blank. Looking down into the water, he spots a single indigo fish with long, delicate fins that trail behind it in the water. He watches as it circles the pool. It slows and shudders momentarily. A single incandescent scale breaks off and floats to the bottom of the pool. You kneel to gather the scale from the bottom, holding it so that he can see how the light flickers off its surface.

“Does it intrigue you?” he hears you ask, and he nods in return as something he thought he lost long ago begins to emerge inside of him: his sense of wonder.

“I have never seen such a creature. Would you tell me about it?”

“It would be my pleasure,” you grin. “This fish was discovered on an archipelago on the other side of the planet. I’ve been studying this fish with our most expert researchers. The pools it lives in almost disappear during the dry season, but we’ve found that they survive to the wet season because of their scales somehow. My father doesn’t know any of this. He still thinks we know nothing of this creature.”

“It’s marvelous,” he whispers to you, eyeing the small bubbles floating to the top of the water from the fish’s gills.

“I wanted to show you this fish because this is at the heart of our culture on Youra. Our people are on a constant mission to learn and discover, so we can help and care for those we hold dearest. With our marriage, the House of Harkonnen will be a part of that endeavor. I’m showing you this fish because when the fish shed their scales at the beginning of the wet season, they contain a high concentration of a novel compound that allows living things to retain water.”

He sees you fidget with your own hands as you explain. You’re nervous, he realizes.

“We have been able to extract it from the scales they drop,” you say with a slight waiver in your voice. Here you are bearing your hard work and dedication, your soul to him. Your vulnerability is evident. Before you were so confident with your gaze and now your eyes never stay on him for more than a fraction of a moment. If you were anyone else, he would have taken full advantage the opportunity to leverage your weakness, but he cannot bring himself to do so. “This knowledge is my gift to you na-Baron. I have been aware of your endeavors on Arrakis. I realize you may not be as invested in this arrangement as we are, but I wanted to give you this to mark the beginning of what is to come… I don’t expect you to do anything in return. Only wanted to communicate my intentions.”

His heart quivers as his mind darts back to the countless times his uncle has “gifted” things to him as rewards for doing his bidding. The concubines, armor, and weapons all fall to the wayside; now they’re all tainted in Feyd's mind by his uncle's conniving ways. They were never gifts in earnest, always being transactional or part of another of his uncle’s Machiavellian schemes. Never in his life had he been given something so thoughtful, something intended to truly protect him. The previous notions he had before of possessing you are bitter on his tongue. Now, he could never and the shame he feels for maybe the first time in years begins to burn into his psyche.

“Na-Baron,” you plead, bringing him out of his own thoughts. “Say something, please.”

“Thank you,” he finally says, taking your hands in his and giving them a squeeze. “I am grateful for your generosity, my little flower.”

Your eyes well up with tears and you let out a relieved sigh before your emotions bubble out of you. “You cannot fathom how happy I am to hear you say those words,” you say, bringing your hands to his again. “I was so worried about showing you this!”

Right when he opens his mouth to respond, his instincts as a warrior kick in as he hears the soft whistle of something flying through the air towards the both of you. In a flash, he’s grabbed you by your shoulder to force you to your knees as you let out a bewildered yelp. The sound lights his veins on fire and fills him with rage.

Against the blank stone slab of the fish’s pool he sees it: a green splatter of a sinister substance that drips down the stone in long tendrils. Below, the shattered remains of a poisoned dart sinking into the water. You’ve seen it, too. He swivels himself around in the direction the arrow came from. A hooded figure is emerging from behind another one of the stone walls, a serrated dagger in hand, poised to strike you down. Feyd reprimands himself for leaving his weapons behind in his room in the name of diplomacy, but he’s prepared to fight empty handed to protect you and punish your assailant.

Before he realizes, you’ve shed your cloak, allowing it to drop to the floor behind you and Feyd can finally see what you’ve been hiding. You’re wearing a sage green dress with a bodice plated in iron that’s been secured to in place with intricate leather straps and golden loops that wrap deliciously around your figure. The symmetric slits in your dress that extend almost to your hips reveal your garters where two silver daggers that curve into formidable hooks are secured to your outer thighs.

As soon as he realizes you’re armed, you’ve already grasped the leather wrapped handles of your weapons and drawn them from your thighs with a flourish, launching yourself at your attacker. The ground reverberates with your power, and your blades ring out as they clash with your opponent’s. The man grunts upon impact and with a vigorous push, you knock his weapon upwards and away from you as you swipe at his face with the other hand. When he stumbles backwards, his face covering is swept to the side.

“Ozran!” you growl as the man regains his composure. “What is the meaning of this? Traitor!”

“I could say the same for you, Lady Ronen, revealing our secrets to that Harkonnen!” Ozran snarls at you, his eyes wild as he begins swiping sloppily at your head, which you dodge with ease. Feyd knows the man is getting desperate. Ozran is quickly realizing running away would have been the best option after his poisoned arrow missed.

Ozran attempts to shake off his regret by hurling himself at you, trying to recover the situation now that he’s committed to one-on-one combat with you. “I will not stand by and have the rewards of our peoples’ work reaped by them. Without a daughter to marry off, our intelligence will remain ours, and I will protect it to the end, even if that means killing you.”

Feyd hears you tisk at his pitiful attempt at your life as your heel makes contact with his nose. Blood gushes from his nostrils and drips down his chin in thick droplets. He staggers back and loses his footing as you drive your blades into him, your footsteps smearing his blood on the floor as you move. Ozran’s hope drains from his eyes, and he coughs as you pull your knives back, his blood spilling onto the stone floor from the gaping hole in his body. He drops his weapon and it clatters on the ground beside him.

“Too bad you couldn’t get close enough to actually do any damage,” you say sweetly to him as he wheezes. “You were never a man worthy of battle. I’m surprised you even worked up the courage to merely attempt to kill me.”

“D-don’t worry, dear Lady,” he sneers as his knees hit the floor. “There are more of us who don’t appreciate our leaders betraying our ideals. They will avenge me, and you will join me in death.” With that, his body crumples in the pool of his own blood. Drawing his last breath, Feyd sees Ozran’s consciousness fade. From the shadows and behind the other stone walls, he senses more figures lurking.

“Na-Baron!” you call, as you throw Feyd your second knife, which he catches with a flick of his wrist as you pick up Ozran’s weapon. Your dagger is robust and extraordinarily crafted, truly a weapon worthy of your status Feyd thinks. With that, he joins you in battle when Ozran’s allies pounce, eager to avenge their fallen comrade. One by one, he cuts the treasonous soldiers down with you by his side, slashing their throats, stabbing them in their backs, hearing their bones break, and tendons tear. It’s exhilarating, fighting not just for you, but with you in perfect synchronization.

When the last one falls, their mangled bodies are piled around you. He looks at you with complete admiration in his eyes. Without a second thought, he pulls you close with desperation. Cradling your face in his free hand, he kisses you roughly and swipes his tongue across your bottom lip, tasting the familiar tang of iron. As you kiss him back with a fervor that makes his senses sing, he uses his other arm to pull you close, if he’s worried that you will join the souls of the dead around you and leave this world, something he can’t bear to think of now.

Reluctantly, you both break away from the kiss, resting your foreheads against one another. Your breaths are thick and heaving. You look down at his dominant hand, which still holds your second dagger.

“Are you going to kill me now, Na-Baron?” you ask as you look up at him, and he instinctively throws the knife away, letting it clatter on the floor. He shakes his head.

“I never anticipated my betrothed to have such prowess in battle,” he whispers lowly, returning his hand to your body. He drags his fingers across the places where the straps of your dress make indentations in your skin, making you shiver at his touch. His grip on your waist tightens when he palms your supple skin. You hum a sigh of satisfaction that is almost music to Feyd’s ears, and he could listen to it all day. “Watching you cut down each of them… What a lovely surprise it was… You are truly an unexpected paragon, my dear.”

“Unexpected…” you chuckle, blushing at his flattery. “May I ask another question of you?”

“Of course,” he replies, peering down at you with an ardent stare.

“Before coming here, were you aware there are many dangerous things in the rainforest, Na-Baron?” He nods. “Then why would you assume I am not one of them?”

“Clever girl,” he grins, pressing another kiss on your forehead.

“From now on, my blades will fight for you, Feyd-Rautha.”

“And mine for you, my love,” he replies as he dips his lips back down to yours. What a fool he was before, anticipating so little from his future wife. Now he knows better. He realizes who you really are, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough.

Thank you for reading!

Knives Dance Part II OUT NOW!

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yoonia · 2 months

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the bedroom hymns ● chapter xx

⟶ Chapter summary | Once the gate of secrets about your mother has been opened, it seems that magic is slowly guiding you to follow the traces your mother’s left behind in this realm. As if her shadows still remain, and you are now tasked to find every piece of her still left behind.

Author's note | I never expected that the break I took between this chapter and the last would go so long. I'm so sorry for the long wait. I hope the longer chapter makes up for the lack of update

chapter xx. traces

The scent of the forest hangs heavily in the air—the remnants of rain, the rich fragrance of earth, and the slightly humid, yet strongly pine-scented breeze.

As you walk between the trees, a thick white mist rises from the ground around you, making it somewhat hard to look at what you are stepping on or where you are going. This place is dark, even if there are still some streaks of light visibly falling from the sky. But those lights don’t seem strong enough to pierce through the thick foliage, nor can they penetrate through the dense fog moving together with you. Not enough to illuminate your surroundings so you can see better. Only enough to show you the unmoving shadows that are present around you and helping to stop you from crashing into trees or stumbling against a boulder hiding beneath the undergrowth.

Still, the darkness cannot stop you from searching through the woods to find out where you are.

You hadn’t exactly expected to be in the depths of a forest like this when you first stepped through the magic door. Perhaps you should have expected that your secret exploit would be a peculiar one tonight, given the circumstances leading you here.

The silver door that you had chosen for this evening’s adventure was completely different from the ones you went through before, after all.

Hidden at the end of the hallway where the treasure rooms are located, the door looked more like a sculpted wall ornament, sunk deeply into the stone walls with nothing more but a small alcove marking its existence and floral embellishments carved on its surface. You may have walked past it many times before, yet never once had you ever paid much attention to it, thinking that it was merely a decorated wall to grace the treasure rooms’ hall.

It wasn’t until early this evening that things ended differently—when you walked past the hall after leaving the library much later than usual. You were carrying with you the book which had caught your interest while spending your free time reading in the library—the Encyclopaedia of Ancient Monsters and Magic Beasts—barely even thinking of anything other than to quickly bring it back to your bedchamber so you could continue reading through the pages. You had every intention to later compare everything you learned from that book with the texts written in the ancient spell book you acquired during your trip to the Mage City of Aeris. What better way to do so than to be in your private quarters, lest to have your tutors questioning your new book had they saw it in the library.

You had your arms wrapped around the book when you turned the corner where the magic door was hidden, clutching it against your chest while picturing the images you saw from it. You were so lost in your thoughts that you almost believed you were imagining things when the plain embellishments on the wall suddenly began shimmering.

As if the carvings on the wall were reacting to your presence.

Perhaps something else had caused it? Something that had been in your possession for the first time as you travelled down that hall this time, maybe?

You cannot help but wonder as you reach down, gently tapping the sling bag hanging to your side where the book is now being kept secure. Thinking about it now, you remember that the glimmer of light coming from the carvings had not been all that had drawn you toward the hidden door.

While you were still struggling to make sense of what was happening, your necklace was also beginning to show a reaction. It felt subtle at first, yet the warmth pressing on your skin from the back of your ruby amulet was hard to ignore. It reminded you of how your necklace showed some peculiar reactions during your last trip, when it seemed to respond to the magic found in Aeris.

As you came to a halt, the warmth coming from the gemstone started growing stronger. Your eyes flew to the alcove as the magic essence of the portal began to emerge, revealing to you that the sculpted embellishments had been something more than just a wall ornament.

The whisperings of the magic came to you next, enchanting you to come closer, compelling you to reach into your pocket and pull out the silver key. At first, you weren’t quite sure what you were supposed to do. Looking at the carved wall in front of you, there was no possible guide telling you how you were going to use your magic key on a piece of carved ornament.

But then the carvings on the wall began to change form. The plain grey shades painted on the carvings slowly turned into silver plates right before your eyes. The linings beneath the alcove shifted into what appeared to be a doorframe, and then a keyhole emerged between the carvings of a pair of wings on the side which you have never noticed before.

A baffled laughter climbed up your throat as you watched in disbelief. “A door? This was a door this whole time?” you wondered loudly as the silver door took its final form right at the center of the dark wall.

You could barely process what was happening even as the scene was unfolding right before your eyes. The door seemed to have enchanted you with its charm, drawing you closer towards it as the silver carvings magically glimmered brightly like the moonlight.

Reaching deep into your pocket, you keep your eyes on the door as you pull out the magic key. Your heartbeat skipped a beat as you carefully inserted the key and turned until a resounding click echoed through the empty hall. There was no handle emerging from the door, yet it opened on its own, bringing in a strong cold breeze that felt nothing like anything you ever had encountered before as it slowly widened right in front of you.

Another peculiarity happened as the magic portal was activated. As you pushed the door wider, the usual sight of the dark blue void wasn’t what appeared in the opened doorway. Instead, you saw the sight of a dark forest, as if it had been hidden right on the other side of the wall instead of across the realm—wherever your new destination might be.

To be able to see the new world that you were about to step into was a new experience. You wondered if you should be wary about stepping in. But this was unlike your previous excursions, where you had to go blindly into the portal without having any clue where you were going to end up next. What laid before you seemed like a challenge, and at the same time, a promise.

A promise of a new and exciting adventure that you would regret never getting into. A new world to learn.

So you gathered yourself together, not even bothering to think about how you were going to miss supper by stepping out of the castle so late. After quickly grabbing your coat and a sling bag to carry your magic books along with you, you stepped through the door and began your journey across the realm.

So far, everything about this new adventure of yours has been out of the ordinary, just as much as how it began.

As if the events leading you to open the portal hadn’t been peculiar enough, the magic portal had sent you emerging at the center of a dark forest. The portal, which had appeared as a part of an alcove which was built into a wall, opened up on what seemed to be the mouth of a small cave once you got to the other side of it.

“Magic is a very peculiar thing,” was the only thing you could say as you looked back at the portal which had manifested between the alcove forming the cavern’s entrance. Unlike the other portals, you were able to see the dark hallway that you had just stepped out of. Only you were made to feel as if you were looking at it through a tinted-blue glass as the void manifested around the opening like a protective shield.

It still baffles you even now to think about it, as you are trudging through the thick woods, continuing your journey without even knowing if you are going in the right direction.

Only fates know how long it has been since you came to this place. With nothing but the night sky above and trees in a myriad of shapes and sizes surrounding you, it is hard to tell how much time has passed.

The white mist keeps growing thicker as you keep going, covering the ground beneath. You can barely see your own legs as every step you take going forward seems to be engulfed in the peculiar mist as you get deeper into the forest. This has been going on for a while, and you are beginning to wonder if you will ever find a way to get out of these thickets.

At least you have reached the part of the forest where the trees are no longer as dense as before. Yet, despite being no longer close-packed together, their sizes seem to grow significantly larger that they still fill the forest with their presence. Their thick boughs spread wider here to make up for the thinning foliage above, leaving nothing more but fractured streaks of moonlight streaming down from the night sky. Still, it barely helps you see your way through, as the white mist continues to gather thickly around your legs and is slowly climbing higher, as high as your elbows.

The forest is also quiet.

The sound of gravel, fallen branches, and dry leaves crunching beneath your boots becomes your only company. Thick bushes and tall wildflowers growing as far up to your waist are spread between the thick trees. One too many times, the tips of your boots would get tangled in them, if not coming in contact with sharp rocks that are hidden under the mist.

While none of these obstacles would be enough to tip you over, they are still enough to make you grow more cautious. To be wary of where you are stepping your foot next.

The shadows around you are still, adding the eeriness which makes you feel as if you are being swallowed by the darkness around you. The temperature is slightly colder than the darkest hallways of Stargrave. Colder than the damp alleyways of the slum area back in Smotia.

But the air also feels like a comforting embrace here that you barely feel the urge to tighten your cloak to protect yourself. How odd, indeed, you wonder to yourself as you continue to walk deeper into the forest while feeling like you are walking in a dream.

A dream that is more peculiar than the one that you have been getting lately.

Even the trees growing around you appear like parts of an eerie dream as you look closer. The trunks are thick and massive, twisted and bent in sinister shapes and appear as if they are decaying as they grow in various shades of grey. The same thing appears on the sweeping branches that seem to grow out of those giant trunks like twisted hands reaching into the darkness.

Yet those limbs don’t appear bare. Not all of them. Some of the thicker ones are full of leaves, growing in dark teal that appear almost black, yet are glowing like jewels under the night sky. The ones that are bare without leaves almost look like giant fingers, pointing out through the darkness as if they are trying to reach out to you as you walk underneath them.

Below, the undergrowth begins to grow denser. With more bushes and rough hedges thickly covering the ground, high grass reaching almost to your knees and small tree buds popping from between the giant ones. The flower beds grow more scarce around here that the forest now appears to your eyes in monochrome colours of grey and deep teal.

A rustling sound coming from somewhere nearby catches your attention—sounding almost like a clear snap against the silence that has befriended you—and you come to a sudden halt. The sudden shift of movements brings your sling bag swinging forward, knocking against the back of your calves. The weight of the books inside the bag adds an extra punch as it swings along your body, while the weight of your cloak tries to drag you sideways with it when it falls around you.

“Ouch,” you hiss at the sudden impact while adjusting your sling bag and straightening up before gravity has the chance to bring you down.

The rustling sound continues, causing you to grow more alert this time. Spinning, you search for the sound. Scanning through the trees around you isn’t helping much, however. The foliage is still too dense, the space around you is still too dark, and it is making it hard for you to determine where the sound is coming from. So you wait, all while doing your best to grasp the change in the air and force yourself to listen to any other noises that may follow.

A gust of wind bursting through the foliage makes you realise that the sounds may not be coming from anywhere around you. Nowhere close, for sure, as you see no movement in the dark even when the wind breezes across once more.

It’s coming from above.

The thought soon registers in your mind just as a blip of darkness steals away the barely-there moonlight penetrating through the thick foliage from above. You look up, drawn by your curiosity when another rustle of leaves, followed by a burst of cold breeze, lures your attention to the night sky.

And that is when you see it as it happens right before your eyes.

Beyond the top of the trees reaching so far up high to the night sky, something massive passes above you. Flapping its giant wings with leisure, it glides across the starry sky, covering the ground below with its shadow before it disappears from sight as it continues its journey.

It isn’t until another passes by with the same motion, and then another, drifting in the air so gracefully that it almost feels like you are still dreaming when you begin to understand what you are seeing.

Dragons.

A wave of cold shivers runs through your body. Before you realise what you are doing, you are already moving. Your legs are unsteady, yet they still carry you forward, even if your steps may be a little too haste. Navigating through the thick woods will surely be a hassle, particularly in this unfamiliar darkness and while you are trying to catch up with the movements of the dragons flying above.

But you refuse to give up.

You refuse to let go of any chance to get a better look at these magnificent beasts that you had only seen pictures of in the books you have read—more significantly, in the book that you are carrying now inside your bag—and you wish to see more of the place where these giant beasts truly exist.

With one hand clutching tightly on the sling of your bag and the other wrapped firmly around the handle of the golden dagger that you keep hanging on your hip, you march forward, following the cold trail of wind left behind by the flying dragons.

You keep your gaze forward, with only short glances to the sky above to look as a few more dragons come flying by. Some are much smaller than the ones you saw before, a few more that look to be average in size, and then the last and largest one glides across the sky, shaking the trees around you with each flap of its giant wings.

So you begin to run.

Racing through the twisted and bent trees, you try to keep up with those dragons before you lose sight of them The snapping sounds of your rapid footsteps crossing through the undergrowth coming in your way follow you, yet they are barely noticeable when the air is filled with the sounds of their flights—the flaps of their wings, the gentle swish of their tails, and their staggering roars and high-pitched calls as they get further away from the woods.

You ignore the slight pain you feel as bare, low-hanging branches reach out to you like bony fingers—snagging your cloak and hair, snapping and nicking at your skin. Yet not once do you falter, not even allowing yourself to slow down when running out of breath. And you continue to run until you finally reach the end of the woods.

The trees open up to a spread of high grass which ends with a wall of low boulders merely several feet away, right where the levelled land ends before it drops into what appears to be a ravine.

You look up, following the movements of the last dragons as they glide above the wide length of the chasm, heading towards the tall mountain on the other end. Right atop that mountain, you see the sight of an old castle appearing in the darkness, its walls rising in dark stones that glimmer under the stars and the moonlight shining from above. Built to look like it serves as the crown of the mountain, the castle seems to blend into the rocky cliff below.

Much like the Stargrave Castle.

The only difference is that your new home doesn’t have giant dragons of all sizes, shapes, and colours flying around it in a circular motion as if they are worshipping it. As if they are protecting their home.

Gaping at the astonishing sight before you, your breath is caught. You can hear the sound of your heartbeat getting louder as you watch the last dragon you followed joining the others circling the castle on the rocky mountain. The sounds of their calls echo through the night. Like a birdsong.

Speechless, you can only admire this sight in silence with goosebumps rising on your skin. You simply cannot believe it.

You know exactly where you are.

E'l Alora.

The dragons’ lair.

The place that you had just learned and read about from the book that is now weighing down your sling bag—the Encyclopaedia of Ancient Monsters and Magic Beasts. The book which tells you about the monsters of the night that you are now seeing right before your eyes.

This place is real, you muse, finding yourself moving forward before realising it as if you are drawn by the sight of dragons—real dragons—flying so elegantly in the dark sky.

You stop by the boulders, and a cold shiver rushes through your body as you get a closer look at the ravine before you. The widespread of chasm that looks like a dark void, separating you from the mountain and its glimmering black castle standing on its crown.

But as you lean forward to take a good look down below, you are caught by surprise at what you find hidden down there. Instead of seeing a massive fall of rocky walls ending into an abyss, you can see that there is life. Life other than the dragons.

A civilization growing on the walls.

Houses and buildings are built into the rocky mountain wall, levelling from the highest part of the wall to the lowest section down below, with long-winding streets and ramps connecting one to the other. A shadow of a bridge appears in the darkest part of the ravine, crossing between the town on the wall to the foot of the cliff far beneath the dragons’ castle.

And just like how the rocky mountain across the ravine is now lively with those giant dragons floating in the sky, the town below you is wide awake. There are lights everywhere, illuminating the town as they are set alight from the buildings and homes, and there are streetlights standing on the edge of the road, allowing you to see everything from up high.

You can see the people from the town moving in and out of those buildings, strolling up and down the streets, with carriages and carts led by massive horses driving on the streets like what you see in any regular towns. And they all seem to be going about their evening as if it is just any normal night.

As if having giant dragons flying in the sky is a normal occurrence to have in their everyday lives.

Drawn by your curiosity, you follow the path from the top of the hill which you are stranded in that leads you towards the bustling town below. With the hood of your cloak pulled up neatly back in place, your hands clutching the sling of your bag and your dagger sheathed nicely against your hip, you ready yourself to continue your adventure.

To get a closer look at this odd town, to meet the residents you see finishing their nightly activities, and hopefully, learn more about how they are able to live peacefully alongside the magnificent beasts gathering close by, with nothing more but the deep chasm separating them from one another.

The human town of E’l Alora was already a breathtaking sight to look at from the top of the cliff. But nothing beats being at the center of it where you can have a closer look at everything.

Houses, apartments, shops, and other buildings built with dark-coloured stones reflecting the moonlight seem to be blending into the rocky walls. They appear as if they manifested from the cliff walls on the side of the ravine instead of being built against it. Some buildings are several stories high, with open staircases and balconies made up of muted grey-coloured stones, allowing the darker facade of the building to stand out more. Some houses are built low enough that they seem to sink into the rocky walls, with rocks carved in slates to form structures and roofs framing each house.

The stone-covered road looks sturdy, smoothed nicely to follow each dent and curve of the ravine walls as it connects each house and building. As you walk down the road and finally get a good look at it from up close, you notice that some of the stones seem to sparkle and glitter, as if there are broken pieces of diamonds or gemstones implanted into the stones.

Being in the town means you are not only getting the first look at the townspeople—most of whom are still doing their routines and working even as the night is growing late and the sky darker—but you are also getting a closer look at the flying dragons above. You can even feel the hard whoosh coming down between the draft of wind each time a dragon flaps its giant wing.

It amazes you to see that while you are marvelling at this new experience with wonder, the townspeople you come across seem to be more nonchalant about the presence of these giant beasts. Even when the dragons are so close, flying right above their town, sometimes gliding lower than the others as if to have a closer look at the town and their neighbours.

Strange how they can simply carry on with their evening, with only a small few of them who would occasionally glance up with fond smiles on their faces as they watch the dragons gliding closer.

To say that you are completely stunned to be able to witness this seems like an understatement. A glorious shudder runs through you when you realise how privileged you are to be experiencing something like this.

Something that you would have never come across had you not been gifted the chance through your father’s magic.

Sighing deeply, you lean back in your seat, your eyes never wandering away from the open window beside you as you continue to look out and enjoy the scenery. You had continued walking until you reached the town square before you finally stumbled into this place; a three-story building divided into three different functions—a small tavern on the ground level, rented rooms on the second floor, and a private apartment on the top floor.

You have found the tavern as the perfect place to find shelter, while earning you the front seat of what is currently unfolding in this town. This part of the town is built on a section of the wall which extends toward the center of the ravine, getting you a bit closer to the foot of the mountain where the castle is built.

Staring out at the dark castle standing atop the mountain, with your book about dragons lying on your lap, your mind wanders to the one person you cannot help but wish to accompany you right now.

You wonder what it would have been like if only Yoongi had been here, sitting in this dimly lit room together with you, his sharp eyes watching every movement coming from the dragons. You wonder what kind of stories he would be sharing with you, or what type of jokes he would be throwing at you had he seen you looking flabbergasted the first time you arrived in this place.

It is really hard not to think about Yoongi at times like this, although you cannot say that you understand the reason why. It’s not like you have known him for your entire life and so deeply that he would be the first to come to your mind while you are travelling across realms.

Yet he haunts your mind in every second that you breathe. Always coming into your thoughts either when you are feeling lonely or when you find yourself lost in a strange place.

The way Yoongi constantly preoccupies your mind makes you believe that you are seeing his shadows everywhere you look. Never missing the trails left behind to show you that he may have stepped foot in the places that you are visiting.

It happened to you back in Aeris, when you saw the crest of The Brotherhood of Jorn stamped in various places you came across—on the bulletin boards, on the streetlight poles, and some on the walls of the back alleys. You have been seeing the same thing here ever since you first entered the human town of E’l Alora, when you caught sight of the same crest stamped and painted on the gates and announcement boards that the townspeople use to put up the local news, even on the walls of a few of the establishments that you walked pass by while heading to this place.

Even here, right in this tavern, you can see the same crest marked on the wall across the room, where a long table is set as if it was prepared specifically to hold a group meeting.

“We leave our crests in places where we often use as our rendezvous spots. Places for us to recoup, gather information, find work, or have a little downtime between our expeditions. The crest is a mark of our trail, showing our gratitude for the people who welcome us, and the people that we owe our strength to. It also lets them know that they can rely on the brotherhood whenever they need us.”

Yoongi shared this when you talked about seeing his crest everywhere you went. You can almost picture it now in your head, the mercenaries wearing various armours and disguises gathering on that same table, Yoongi amongst them, boasting about their journeys while sharing drinks and hot meals as they gather at that long table.

As always, thinking of Yoongi makes you smile. Even better when you imagine listening to him speak. You love how deeply he often speaks about the things that he brings up in your conversations, even when he is discussing something as benign as the weather. Often with a smug smile on his face when he talks about all the things you have no knowledge of.

You wonder what he would say if you had the chance to share the things that you have been learning for the past week—how much you have advanced in controlling your energy and mana and making use of it in exchange for your locked magic. You wonder how he would react if you share with him what you have recently learned from Lord Gordan—about the true nature of your skills that you may have inherited from your mother.

Would he somehow recognise the skill, or maybe he would be able to reveal who you are based on this peculiar skill alone?

Knowing how knowledgeable he is about magic and everything else related to this realm, you wouldn’t be too surprised if he ever learned about your mother. There is a sense of unease when you think about it, however, to think of the possibility that he may know more about your mother and your heritage than you do.

Thinking of Yoongi takes you back to the day before, when you came to the city of Aeris. Your findings of the Mage City and its spectacular perks seem to be pushed to the sidelines whenever the cloaked figure you saw that day comes to mind.

Looking back, you wonder if your desire to see Yoongi again has grown so strong that it is taking over your sanity. You were quite sure that the figure had spent a brief moment standing right outside of the magic shop. His presence a lurking shadow in the bright city, watching your movements while you were in the shop.

Chasing him was an instinct that you couldn’t resist to follow. Drawn entirely by your curiosity, and perhaps the dire need to see if it had been the one you desired to see the most, only to be led into a futile chase through the city.

Regret still follows you to this day, only because losing his trail in the bustling city square had left you with no answer. Nothing to stop you from wondering why that figure had felt so familiar to your eyes.

At least your trip hadn’t ended with you coming home from the Mage City completely empty-handed.

The shopkeeper of l'Équinoxe had been kind enough to wait for your return. She asked no questions when you came back to the shop, simply welcoming you back with a smile before helping you purchase the spell book which she had gone to fetch for you. The same spell book which had later taken away a few hours you had late in the night as you spent it reading the pages.

Cold breeze flows through the open window, pulling your wandering mind back to present. It pushes against the void that has been growing in your chest from Yoongi’s absence, causing your entire body to tremble.

As you reach out to grab your discarded cloak to find some semblance of warmth, a large cup of hot steaming drink manifests in front of your eyes. It lands with a soft thud when placed on the table before you. The scent of fresh herbs mixed with spice and rum fills your senses, warming your chest before you even have a taste.

“Here you go. This should help warm you up. It’s a specialty of ours in this town,” says the tavern keeper as he stands to the side of your table.

Lord Merryl—as he introduced himself to you earlier when he first approached you to offer you shelter—is a tall and built man who is only slightly taller than Lord Gordan, with greying hair that grows as long as his shoulders and a thin dark beard dusted in grey covering his sharp jaw.

Thinking about how you met previously warms your cheeks. You must have seemed like a lost puppy when you walked past the tavern earlier, your eyes wandering around as you tried to take everything in while figuring out where to go. When Lord Merryl first came to you and invited you into his establishment, he did so in the most gentle way that one would do to offer a safe shelter for a stray getting lost in a strange town.

Looking back at it now, you realise that he wasn’t the only one who had given you a friendly welcome.

When you first walked into the town, you had expected that the magic inside your necklace would take effect, shielding you from others. Yet, aside from the soft hum still following you through the vibrating ruby amulet, nothing else happened. Bereft of the usual warmth of its protective spell, it simply clung onto you with its lightweight pressing on your skin.

It didn’t seem to matter, however, when instead of gaining accusing stares and cold shoulders from the townspeople that you met, you only received warm smiles and kind greetings. There were even some who came up to you, giving you directions and showing you where to go, until you finally reached the town square where Lord Merryl found you.

It makes you smile just thinking about it. To realise how good it feels not to be invisible.

Murmuring your gratitude, you pick up the cup and take a dainty sip. A voluntary hum slips out of you as the warmth spreads through your body, instantly calming your senses and washing away your weariness. “This is lovely.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Lord Merryl’s lips rise to a smile of pride. “I meant it when I said I would have the perfect ale to soothe your mind.”

You cannot help but laugh as you recall him saying those words when he first came to you earlier. “Yes,” you nod, “I suppose you’ve only proven your words to be true.”

Releasing a deep sigh, you embrace the warmth now coursing through your body. Turning back to look out the window, you can feel your body relaxing as you continue taking in the view and doing some more people—and dragon—watching.

The town indeed feels lively with the townspeople walking up and down the street, some lingering in the town square to enjoy their downtime while others are still working in their shops and the open establishments that are visible from where you are sitting. The sounds of their muted chatters and faint laughter fill the night as they greet each other upon passing by. You can see small groups of people sharing friendly conversations on the side of the street, and there is a faint sound of musical strings echoing from somewhere down the road.

Street musicians, you wonder with a smile. A town really couldn’t go without one present.

At one glance, this place does seem like any other town you’ve been to. And it would’ve been that way if not for the fact that there are dozens or more dragons flying above their heads right now, their high trills and calls echoing through the ravine, causing your chest to tremble along with the noises they are making.

“Quite a remarkable view to see, isn’t it? Sometimes one can forget how uncommon our lives are because we’ve gotten so used to this, until we remember that not all in this realm can experience living in a place like our home,” Lord Merryl muses as he notices how you keep following the dragons’ movements with your gaze.

You simply cannot help it, after all. Unable to look away from the mythical beings that you have always believed to be a part of a myth, or Ancient creatures that should no longer exist in this more modern time.

And they are quite a sight to look at.

Most of the dragons have stopped circling around the dark castle a while ago, leaving only a couple of the larger ones flying up there as if keeping a close watch of their territory. You can see the shadows of the ones who are now perched on the towers and the rise of the wall around the castle from afar, while you see some of the smaller ones now flying close to the human town, floating in and out of the ravine, allowing you to have a clearer view whenever they glide right over the town square.

You are beginning to understand the reason why Lord Merryl had given you the seat by the window when you first came in. The place in his establishment which allows you to have the perfect view of the town and its special perks. He must have noticed how mesmerised you were with the sight of the dragons, unable to resist glancing back up at them while you were walking down the street, making you look vulnerable, lost, and—quite understandably—disoriented.

“I’ve learned quite a bit about E’l Alora and its dragons, yet the book that I’ve read so far had insinuated that this place was a sacred land which only existed in Ancient times. So please excuse my disbelief and ignorance which you may have seen for yourself when I first arrived here,” you share with him while pasting a smile, leaving out the fact that you have only been reading the book today.

It wouldn’t matter if you had spent all afternoon studying all the facts and myths about this place from your book, getting lost in the tales and the history of dragons. You had only stopped when the untranslated texts at the end pages caught your eyes, leading you to carry the book out of the library to study them more despite having been forbidden to do so.

What little information written in the textbook about this place hadn’t been enough to prepare you for what you have found so far. Which means that there are bound to be more secrets about this place waiting to be unveiled.

“It was already a pleasant surprise to find that this place exists, much less to find out that even the dragons still live here, right where their home castle still stands. Still so marvellous and grand.” Your body shivers, feeling the excitement building up as you think about what other things you may find simply by being here.

“But what’s more surprising for me to find is that there are mortals living here, in a town that looks like it had manifested from the mountain, and that there is a peaceful life shared here between the mortals and these magnificent dragons.”

There is a pride smile on the tavern keeper’s face when you look at him again. “This is the life that we’ve all known for centuries,” Lord Merryl claims as he takes the seat at the table, right across from you. “The dragons protect us, and we protect the dragons.”

Eyes widening, you straighten up in your seat, intrigued to hear more. Seeing firsthand the way the townspeople and dragons together has already shown you how special and different E’l Alora is compared to many other places you have been to. But to hear about how directly connected they truly are as they share the same land to live in is quite an intriguing fact for you to learn.

“Most of the people who live in this town are miners and artisans, but there are also knights and fighters—” He stops and looks over his shoulder as a small dragon floats by. You can see through the window the people who stop on the street to wave. At first glance, you think for a moment that they are waving at the midnight-coloured dragon who seems to be making a show as it circles back and makes another pass, until you see a shadow riding on its back, just as Lord Merryl gently adds, “—and riders.”

You take a double look at the dragon as it shoots back up, flying higher up the mountain, carrying the rider—wearing all black from head to toe—along with it. “You—ride those dragons?” you ask with a soft gasp, which has the Lord chuckling softly.

“Only the chosen ones do,” he says with a grin. “Every mortal living in this town, men and women, train their whole lives to ride and fight alongside the dragons to protect this land. When they officially come of age, those who are trained will be tested, and those who pass the test will be bonded with the dragon so they can become the dragons’ riders.”

“Tested? By whom?”

Lord Merryl’s eyes crease a little on each corner when he smiles. “The dragons themselves, of course. They choose their riders.”

“H-how? How do the dragons choose their partners?”

“The Dragon King and his court rule the land to this day, and they set up the rules which made bonding between a human and dragon possible to happen. The Dragon King rules from his home castle. Together with his court, he leads the ceremony where a rider is chosen by inviting the chosen ones to the King’s castle,” he explains with a slight nod towards the castle above.

Tilting your head, you try to picture a whole court testing out the chosen townspeople to find the right person to ride a certain dragon. Throwing a quick glance at the dark castle above, you are beginning to understand why the dragons seem to consider the property as their home.

“When a dragon requires a rider, whether it is because the dragon itself has come to age or if their previous rider has passed their time—be it from old age or if they have passed on—the King’s court will summon a few selected candidates for a new rider and have them tested, both physically and mentally, in front of the court and the dragon that is to become their partner.”

Leaning back, you can feel your jaw setting into a hard line, something that you have to do to keep your mouth from gaping in awe. “Sounds like a rigorous process. And you said that the riders have many years of training?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Lord Merryl nods again. “You are correct. Becoming a rider of the dragons is an important task for us. It gives us a purpose in life and a privilege to care for our land.”

You cannot help but smile, because it does sound like a privilege to bond with these Ancient beings. To be trusted enough to work alongside them.

“And what happens when one isn’t chosen? Or does that not happen, since you said everyone had to be prepared for it?”

“The rest of us run the town,” he says, nodding out the window where you can see the people lounging around the small patch of garden at the center of the town square. You only notice now upon closer observation that each person wears proper attire showing their roles in this town—shopkeepers, waitresses, and a few people who look like physicians and scholars.

“Sometimes, we even get work in the castle to serve the Dragon King as he is very, very old,” he says with his grin deepening when he takes in your reaction, “or they can serve the Ancient Gods and the Moon as the priests and priestesses, even though not many of us pray at the temples nowadays.”

“What about you? Are you also a rider?”

“I used to,” he answers with a gentle voice. The pride you see in his eyes seems genuine. Only this time, there is a hint of longing in them. A reminiscence of the past that he misses the most. “I was for a long time, and then I retired once I was too old to be up there in the sky, and Alastair, my dragon, chose my oldest son to replace me.”

Unable to hide your astonishment, you let your smile grow as you picture him up there, flying with his dragon. “Does that happen a lot—to have someone who is your kin to replace your position?”

“Only with the ones who are deeply bonded with their riders, and I’ve become bonded with Alastair after riding with him for a long time. I was only eighteen when I was chosen, so it felt like I grew into adulthood with him by my side.” He briefly looks out the window with a faraway look in his eyes, as if he is looking into the past that has been engraved in his memory.

“But it didn’t mean that my son had it easy,” he continues with a chuckle. “He still had to go through the same tests to earn Alastair’s trust. Alastair is quite an old dragon himself. Winning his trust was a hard feat and my son had to prove his worth in front of the court until Alastair was pleased enough to bond with him.”

Just then, two dragons glide across the ravine. One has scales in the shade of purplish-black and the other dark tan. The latter looks slightly smaller than the other. Neither has a rider on them, yet the bigger one has something similar to a horse saddle attached on its back, almost blending into their scales.

Another question sparks through your mind as your curiosity grows. “But where do you ride these dragons to?”

“The knights will journey with the dragons to patrol around the mountains, keeping this place and its castle safe from harm. Some will go flying across the nearby lands that are still under E’l Alora’s territory in search of resources, while others fly with them down there,” Lord Merryl replies, tilting his head towards the ravine.

Your brows immediately rise. “What—down into the ravine?”

Lord Merryl seems to enjoy seeing your expression when you are left in shock and he chuckles deeply. “Inside that dark ravine are mines—lots of them. Most of the ones who are chosen to ride the dragons are miners, while some others become knights who serve to protect our land and its people,” he explains.

”The dragons who work alongside the miners will fly us down there and lend us their powers to open up the mines, dig through the rough terrains, fly our workers into the deep to gain the resources found deep within the mountains, and then bring our quarries back to the surface.”

While your mouth drops open, he continues, “These mines were discovered many centuries ago by our ancestors—mages and elves who built their homes here in the mountains. The same ancestors who first built a deep connection with the dragons. They taught us how to maintain the mines without ruining the mountains and communicate with the dragons so we can nurture this land and the mountains together for both our gains.”

“Mines?” You try to picture it in your mind, an elaborate mining system hidden in the depth of the chasm. Something which your book has failed to mention. “And what do you gain from these mines?

Lord Merryl leans forward onto the table just then, waving out the window as an open carriage passes by down the street. Its driver, sitting on the front bunk with his hands on the horse’s rein waves back. His gloves are tainted in black—a similar shade to the pile of minerals filling the back of the carriage to the brim.

“Minerals, like iron ores and other metals that are then made into weapons and armours. Stones to build our homes and the streets we have here in town. And various kinds of gemstones.” He settles back in his seat, his gaze falling onto the ruby amulet hanging from your neck. “Just like the one you are wearing now.”

Startled, your hand comes up to your necklace. The ruby amulet hasn’t been giving you any obvious reaction since you got into town, yet it seems to shimmer under the soft lights illuminating the tavern.

“These mines are the reason why this town exists. It shapes the lives of the people here. Those not chosen as riders will also work to develop the quarries we gain from the mines and make a business out of selling the raw materials and the goods that come out of them. We have blacksmiths working on the iron and metals, builders processing the stones, and artisans working on the gemstones. We often trade goods with other cities, so that might be where you had gotten your stone from.”

Your mind travels back to Aeris, remembering how you have found different kinds of goods which were made of materials that you have never seen before. Weapons and armouries made of irons that are unbreakable and highly resistant to flame and magic attacks. Leather goods which appeared almost as if they were made of materials similar to the skin of the flying dragons. Amulets made with gemstones and metals that the shopkeepers claimed to have been ‘acquired from esteemed sources’ which would be able to be imbued with any kind of magic and spells.

Running the tips of your fingers across your necklace, your mind travels back to the shopkeeper of l'Équinoxe, reminding you of what she said to you about the necklace.

“Seems like your necklace was crafted many years ago, and the ruby is a specific kind of gemstone that is rarely found nowadays in modern cities like ours.”

Clearing your throat, you cannot help but ask, “How old do these dragons get, if I may ask?”

“They live a very long age. The Dragon King has lived almost as old as the Ancient beings you read in your books. Alastair was born around the same time my great-great-grandfather came to this world,” he fondly speaks about his former partner. “There are older dragons that are still around, and young ones—as young as my youngest. More dragons are still being born in the present day, even though they are born a few years or decades in between.”

It would have been hard to imagine if you hadn’t seen them with your own eyes—the different sizes that the dragons appear in seem to determine their ages, which are also so clearly discernible from the lines and ridges of the skin and the sizes of their horns.

“That’s truly remarkable.”

Your gaze meets with one of the locals who is walking past by the window looking in. Wearing a thin, dark-coloured chest armour marks him as one of the knights that Lord Merryl had mentioned. He greets you with a short nod which you return with a smile.

“You said that you haven’t gotten a lot of visitors lately. Don’t travellers often come by here?” you ask Lord Merryl, even if deep down, you can already guess what his answer would be.

It would have been hard for a place like E’l Alora to be kept secret, forgotten, except for the stories and myths that have been written in the books. Not when they are still producing matters and goods that are spread within this realm. “What happens when you need to trade your goods? Your products? How do you provide for the people?”

Lord Merryl grows silent, but it appears that your question had amused him dearly, judging from the glint you see in your eyes. “I’ve had a feeling that you aren’t just any regular traveller,” he surmises with a smile. “You seem to know more about what it takes to manage your people.”

This is quite unexpected. It’s not often that you are made to feel like you are being stripped down, of being forced to reveal the truth behind your disguise as an anonymous traveller. The only times you ever felt this way were during those moments you came face to face with Yoongi, when he seemed to be able to look through your facade. For him to look deep enough that you felt seen.

“Sometimes one can learn so much through the experiences and the people they encounter in their journey,” you find yourself answering.

Which isn’t a complete lie. Throughout the weeks you spent exploring new places through the portals, you have learned much more than what you are taught under your tutors’ guidance.

“That is the reason why I travel to different places in the first place,” you continue to admit, both to yourself and your kind host, “You can say that I’ve been going to places in search of knowledge. Anything that I can bring home and make use to guide me through life.”

“Speaking like a true intellectual.” Lord Merryl lets out a deep chuckle. “You have earned my most respect, young, mysterious scholar.”

Having no idea what to say to that, you simply laugh it off.

“It has been long since outsiders come to visit us. For leisure, that is,” Lord Merryl continues after a beat of silence passes. “A long, long time ago, this used to be a prosperous land. E’l Alora was highly regarded not only as the dragons’ lair, but a small kingdom ruled by the Dragon King, notorious for his powers, magic, and old wisdom left behind by the Ancient beings who created the realm. His knowledge, together with the treasures hidden in the mountains, were all parts of the legacy left behind by our ancestors.”

“What happened?”

Lord Merryl lets out a sigh. “Have you learned about the war?”

Your back stiffens as your mind works hard to file through everything you have learned so far.

It wouldn’t be wrong for you to assume that he is talking about a war happening in this fairy-tale realm, a topic that you are still learning from your tutors. But for some reason, those lessons aren’t the ones running through your thoughts right now. What comes to mind instead is the only story of the war that you spent your entire teenage years learning back at the Citadel.

The history behind the rise of Nythelean Empire.

You recall the story which spoke of how your father survived the fall of his previous empire, how he managed to move his family, his army, and his people to safety. How he found shelter beyond the Elcester Forest—which you have learned to be one of the few hidden passageways connecting both realms—and under the protection of Mount Orrum, to later use the rough terrain of the mountains to defeat his enemies.

A narrow victory which left a deep wound in your father’s soul as it came with a price—losing his home and the one person he loved the most.

You are beginning to suspect that the old war may have something to do with this magical place, knowing what you know now, that Stargrave is still a part of Nythelean’s territory. There are still so many things that you have yet to learn, so many to unravel if you truly want to know more about your true home and your legacy, but so little time has been given for you to catch up with what you have missed.

“Not much of what was left from the old times, I’m afraid,” you admit while wondering inwardly, especially nothing about the wars happening in this realm. “Nothing more than what I’ve read in the books, which I’m sure has been made distorted enough through the years that followed.”

A nod. He doesn’t question you further before finally sharing his story. A small part of history still unbeknownst to you.

“It was many decades ago when the war erupted in this part of the realm, affecting only the sacred lands and kingdoms that worshipped the moon and its magic. The war was known to be the Great Siege, when a small kingdom suddenly grew strong enough to rise into an empire, and challenged other—older—empires to kneel before them. They came to siege many sacred lands, places built by the Ancient beings that we all know to be our ancestors, to take and conquer as much land as they could.”

Lord Merryl’s eyes are filled with grief and sorrow that you feel guilty for making him talk about the past. But at the same time, you want to take this chance to learn more about this place. And perhaps, you can learn more about the history that you have never studied before.

“Must I assume the war reached this land also?”

Lord Merryl nods. “Indeed,” he says. “At first, we had no reason to join the war, as we never had any direct connection or alliance with other kingdoms, until they came pushing at our borders, demanding us to submit to their king.” He grits his jaw tightly with anger as he speaks of their old enemy, and you can feel the pure rage coming out of him.

“The Dragon King refused to stand down, and neither did the people living here, so we defended our land the best we could. Many dragons had fallen during that war, so did the humans who fought alongside the dragons to protect this land.”

Just then, his expression seems to shift. The deep, sorrowful grief is still there, but there is a hint of pride and longing in his eyes as he talks about those moments during the war. You had seen this same look before, when your father talked about your mother and the old days he spent together with you and your mother when life was peaceful and free.

“We fought our best, and while we didn’t come out as victors, once the war ceased, any direct connection we had with the outer world was severed at the hands of the Dragon King and his court,” Lord Merryl continues, “it was his way of protecting his homeland, what was left of his kingdom, and the dragons and the people surviving the war.”

As you continue to listen, something about what he just said tickles your brain, making you wonder what it is about his story which puts you in such unease. Something about it felt quite familiar, yet you cannot seem to put your finger to remember how.

“Ever since then, E’l Alora became nothing more but a myth. The dragons who fought the war and the surviving ones you see now are known as mythical beasts that only exist in your history books and old scriptures, believed to have been extinct after the war.”

Just like how it was portrayed in the book, you bitterly wonder, as your fingers curl around the hardcover of the book that you have on your lap, while Lord Merryl’s eyes glimmer in anguish. “When in reality, they still exist, surviving, protecting their home and their people, keeping themselves in this dark, secluded place for as long as they need to be.”

His voice then shifts into a more hopeful tone as he carries on. “We do whatever we can to survive through the shift of time, just as you expected we would, for us to sustain our way of living,” Lord Merryl says with a teasing tone, drawing a smile to your face. “Our farms aren’t as vast or as prosperous as others, but we make what we do with the limited resources that are hidden beyond these mountains.”

As Lord Merryl nods towards the rocky mountains across the ravine, you finally understand what he meant earlier when he spoke about the dragons and their riders going around the land beyond the mountains. You picture them exploring beyond those rocky peaks to a land of green that is hidden from view, filled with crops and other sustenance for the townspeople of E’l Alora.

“We also have our local merchants who would travel in and out of the territory through a hidden route that only the townspeople know about as they make trades of our products with goods from other places beyond the borders. Most of our remaining neighbours and alliances are loyal when it comes to keeping us hidden, making sure our trade wouldn’t risk our secret from spreading out. That is how we are surviving today.”

With another nod, he points at the crest that you kept on looking at earlier. The insignia left behind by The Brotherhood of Jorn. “The only outsiders that we have ever welcomed so far are the mercenaries. We have some of our former knights and dragon-riders-to-be who decided to join the mercenary army to travel to different places while helping us to keep up with what has been going on in the realm. They also act as the middlemen between us and the outer world, allowing us to keep our home hidden from any sort of threat from outside our borders.”

Looking at the crest, you are beginning to see them in a new light. The stories and rumours that you have once heard from your father’s men continue to echo through your head whenever you look at them. But now, it feels like you are looking at a different side of the mercenary group which many others may not have been able to see.

“Aside from these trusted people, the townspeople aren’t exactly easy to trust strangers. Even those who knew anything about this place and dared enough to travel this far wouldn’t be so bold to enter a territory filled with cautious townspeople, much less living dragons.”

“I—but I didn’t see all of that when I first got here,” you admit to him as you recall the way they had all treated you when you first entered the town. “The townspeople I’ve come across with have been quite friendly. Even though I did catch some who seemed wary of my presence and kept their distance, there weren’t so many that would have made me feel unsafe or uncomfortable.”

Chuckling softly, the man nods his head. “That’s just how our people are, perhaps. Most of us still retain the same hospitality we had in the past, or perhaps the long period of time we spent living in solitude has made us long to have a connection to the outer world which we’ve lost.”

In a way, you can see it. Your own experience of living in constant hiding, years spent in a life similar to being hidden in a shroud, has made you long for something similar. Had that been the reason why you felt so connected with Yoongi since the first time you met him? Because you were so lonely that his presence instantly filled the void that you harboured inside?

“But most of us are adequate judges of characters. So do the dragons, in fact. If anyone sensed that you came bringing danger with you, then you wouldn’t have been welcomed with such hospitality.” A pause, and his gaze suddenly drifts down, stopping at your necklace. “Your necklace may have also turned to your favour in finding your way to our homeland. Just as I mentioned, the gemstone looks like one acquired from our mines. For us, it would be easy to recognise something that was obtained from our land.”

On instinct, your hand moves to grab onto your amulet. Its glow reflecting on Lord Merryl’s face, which seems to be the reason why his attention keeps being drawn to it. “You think that the necklace guided me here?”

He slowly nods. “I’d like to believe that there may be forces leading you to find a way to this place. For what reason, that is yet to be determined,” he says with a gentle smile, while your mind wanders back to how you found the magic door the first time.

Looking back to it now, you realise that there is no such thing as a coincidence that the door revealed its true form when you passed by the hall earlier. You wonder what kind of force played a hand in you finding this place, to be following the trail that leads you to where your magic necklace seems to have come from.

The same way you did when you found your way to Aeris.

Lord Merryl’s gaze lingers on your necklace while you are in deep thought. His voice draws you back to him when he muses, “That necklace—must have been something special for you.”

Twisting the ruby amulet between your fingers, a tiny wave of grief washes over you. “It’s—it was handed down to me by my mother.” The only thing of hers that you get to keep, you realise as sadness fills the cavity in your chest. “I was made to promise to keep it in my person every time I am to leave home. It was said that the necklace is meant to protect me.”

Looking up, you are surprised to see a slight change happening in Lord Merryl’s gaze. There is something there for a moment. A look which reminds you of the way Lord Gordan looked the last time you talked to him about your mother—recognition, longing, mixed with a hint of sorrow.

“Perhaps protection isn’t the only thing that has been ingrained in your necklace,” he says, just as that ineffable look in his eyes fades before you get to find the meaning behind it. “Some amulets can serve as a guide, showing you which directions to take and helping you to find what it is that you are searching for in need be.”

“That is possible,” you whisper. “That’s right. In this realm, anything is possible.”

Even the impossible, you wonder, as you marvel at how peculiar your life has been ever since you crossed the realm.

Silence falls between you for a brief moment, until a movement catches your attention and your eyes drift towards the open window again. Just as the old, largest dragon that had guided you here earlier suddenly appears, gliding gracefully across the chasm at a slow, leisurely pace.

From this close distance, you get to see the details of its midnight-black scale and the row of pointed horns framing its head, going back to its spine and then disappearing across its long swishing tail. Its crimson eyes are widely opened, almost as if it has sensed your presence and is now trying to find you among the mortals living in this town.

But when the dragon circles back and slows down almost to a halt right in front of the tavern, its gaze flickering to where Lord Merryl is sitting, your lips tip up to a smile.

“Alastair?”

Lord Merryl chuckles softly as he nods, greeting the giant dragon who responds to his former rider with a deep, long trill before he then takes flight. The flap of his wings sends a wave of thick dust across the town square and onto the tavern’s walls, drawing a series of laughter from the people who are lounging outside.

“He got curious and came by to say hello,” Lord Merryl says with a deep chuckle while sounding like he is talking about an old friend that he dearly respects and cares for the most. His smile widens when you softly laugh along with him. It makes you feel giddy on the inside, completely amused that the mighty dragon has chosen to acknowledge your presence in his home.

Last night, your dream brought you to a different place.

Instead of finding yourself standing on the top of a cliff, looking down at a thriving land of greens with crystal-like rivers and posh structures in white, you saw yourself walking up a hill covered with a widespread of green grass.

Perched gracefully atop the verdant hill is a temple that appeared almost twice as high as the local churches you had often seen in the capital city of Smotia. With structures built from bone-coloured stones, the temple appeared like a sculpture of light under the cerulean sky.

In your dream, you were as barefoot as always as you walked the winding path leading towards the entrance of the temple. Flanked by whispering trees and blooming wildflowers, their vibrant hues appeared as muted as the sunlight warming your skin.

Approaching the temple, you were greeted by the grand staircase covered in the same bone-coloured stones which formed the temple’s structure. Each step of stairs felt both cold and smooth under your feet as you slowly made your way up. As you came to the entrance foyer, you were welcomed by majestic columns of white lining up the halls, rising to support the roof that seemed to touch the heavens. The massive entrance door stood at the center of a stone wall adorned with intricate carvings depicting scenes from myth and legends—most of them you have seen depicted in your history books.

Upon entering through the threshold, you were greeted by the cool, tranquil interior and a faint scent of waning incense. The temple was empty, aside from the flickering candlelights that aligned the low dais built on each side of the walls within the grand hall.

It felt like you were drawn by an unseen force as you walked toward the center of the hall, stopping where lights filtered through from above. Looking up, you caught the sight of the dome ceiling above, made up of a thick glass that looked more like clear crystal, it allowed some sunlight to penetrate into the grand hall.

At the heart of the temple stood a grand altar draped in a layer of golden silk and adorned with garlands of fresh flowers. A marble statue of an Ancient stood at the center, surrounded by unlit candles, golden bowls filled with red wine, and golden plates filled with offerings of fruit, bread, and fragrant oils that were laid at its feet.

The walls at the far back of the hall were just as pale as the rest, yet the entire surface was covered in tapestries. Banners made of silk in pale ivory colours, each one with the symbol of the moon painted in gold in the center, insinuating that this place was where worshippers come to pray to the moon.

You tried to take another step forward, wishing to have a good look at the Ancient standing at the altar—a tall figure with long silky hair wearing the attire of a hunter, with swords attached onto either side of its hips and a set of bow and arrows hanging on its back—when a strong breeze came rushing in. It came so suddenly that you were forced to close your eyes, shutting you off from this peculiar place until the breeze faded.

Barely a minute passed as you kept your eyes closed, yet you could feel it when the world you saw slowly began to shift.

The temperature rapidly dipped. The cold breeze carried with it the same menacing scent of decay which always followed you each time these dreams ended, causing your blood to run winter-cold which had you refraining from opening your eyes.

But you rarely ever had any control of yourself—of anything at all—while you were in a dream. There was nothing stopping you from opening your eyes, to witness what had unfolded in the mere seconds that passed.

Everything that you saw previously—all the vibrant colours, the elegance that was part of this temple, and the alluring beauty which captivated you—had withered. The temple was no longer whole.

The stone pillars were now damaged and fractured in places. So did the artistic stone walls which were now filled with splinters and covered in soot. Parts of the roof were now gone, with the crystal dome partly shattered, leaving not much barrier between you and the dull-grey sky above.

The floor that had been clear and bright-coloured was now covered with dirt and dried blood, with a thin layer of fog crawling around your feet. The grandeur you saw at the altar had wilted to ruins—the flowers had dried out, the draperies and banners were charred and singed, candles were fully burned and melted, and the offerings all scattered and spilled on the floor, the bowls and plates all toppled and broken in pieces around the broken statue. The striking figure of the Ancient depicted by the statue had become shapeless, with its face chipped in multiple places and gaping fractures soiling its upper body to leave it almost completely disjointed.

Once again, you were made to witness how quick and easy it was for life to wither and wane, the unseen beauty of this unknown world fading right before your eyes, merely moments before you were pulled away to wake.

Sleep felt like nothing more but broken fragments as exhaustion weighed on you all morning since you woke up.

Not even your busy, daily routine could help get your mind out of your eerie dream when it kept returning to you whenever your mind was idle.

Fragments of last night’s dream kept coming back while Lady Laurel had you reading different passages of the books that were part of her lesson—Ancestors Of Magic, Languages Of The East, Ancients And Emperors—that would have usually piqued your interest.

Not even the etiquette and ballroom dance lessons with Lady Abigail could do much to distract you from the grim visuals of the broken temple. As someone who has known you her whole life, she didn’t miss the lack of focus that you put in her lesson that she finally gave in and sent you back to your bedchamber with her scolding,

“Rest and clear your idle mind before you hurt yourself.”

And when Lord Gordan wasn’t there for your afternoon lesson to help take your mind off of the haunting shadows of your dream, you chose not to remain in your bedchamber as advised by your governess. Instead, you stripped out of your day dress and slipped into a different attire—a pair of dark breeches and boots, with a loose tunic as your top to make it easier to move around—and marched towards the royal courtyard with your shortsword in hand, searching for a way to keep your mind from becoming idle.

Anything to keep your body and mind busy. To get the images out of your head and tire yourself out just enough so you wouldn’t dream again in the night.

Even if it meant challenging a knight or a royal guard in the middle of their sword training to have a spar with.

“You have quite an outstanding form, Your Highness,” Sir Stephan, the tan-skinned royal guard who had volunteered to be your sparring partner exclaims as he watches you return to your position after blocking his strike. “That wasn’t an easy feat to follow.”

“I told you to not underestimate me, knight,” you retort back with a smile, enjoying the adrenaline rushing through your body. It has been a while since you felt so alive, to be able to move this freely and use your entire body to its full potential the way you did when you had to practice your sword fighting with your father and his knights.

Amused, the guard’s lips twist to a smirk. “I must do well to remember not to show you such disrespect,” he says as he swings his sword back into position, showing you that he is serious.

Not that he has been taking things easy from the start.

While your arrival at the south courtyard earlier had sparked confusion and shock from the royal guards, he was the only one who didn’t look at you as if you were completely out of your mind. He was also the first to step up and volunteer when you openly asked to have a sparring session.

“I wouldn’t dare shame the royal knighthood nor Her Highness by not doing this seriously,” was his promise when you told him not to hold back, and it pleases you to see him making good on his words to you. For you to not be treated like you were made out of glass, like how other royal guards have been treating you.

Through your sparring, getting a closer look at your opponent, it didn’t take much to understand why.

At first, you recognised him as one of the royal guards who has specifically been assigned to guard you during your evening routines. With a closer look at his face and the way he swings his broadsword against your shorter one, you finally remember him as one of the guards escorting you the night you departed from the Citadel.

The same guard who slipped away from the line of escorts to fight off the unidentified figures pursuing your carriage into the Elcester Forest that night.

Your fight continues, and as he still keeps the same fortitude as he would had he been sparring against his fellow guards, you return it with all that you have.

His strikes are strong, with each clash and contact making it obvious that your sword is much lighter than the one he uses. But it doesn’t mean that you are going to make it easy for him to bring you down.

The hilt of the shortsword feels good in your hand. There is a welcomed weight in your hold as you swing it against your opponent. A presence that you hadn’t expected to be something that you have been missing the most. When you strike, your eyes are focused and your hand is firm, and you catch him by surprise when you make a quick work on your feet and make a clean swipe against him, coming close to nicking at his sharp chin before he deflects your attack with one quick swing of his sword.

A series of cheers echo from all around you as the guards witness him stumbling back. Only slightly, but enough to show that your attack is enough to rattle him.

You can tell that your sparring has gained some more audience, with the guards putting their training on hold to watch you fight one of their strongest fighters. Their voices are loud across the courtyard as they encourage the fight while taunting their comrade. It should make you feel self-conscious if only you are not too immersed in giving a good fight against the guard.

“Be careful, Stevie. Don’t want to see you lose a chance for promotion if you hurt the Princess,” you hear the captain of the guards speak from the side.

“I have a feeling that I should be the one to worry about getting hurt,” Sir Stephan jokes back to his comrade between each strike of his sword, his voice drowning under the loud clangs of the swords coming upon contact as you keep blocking his attacks.

As he slows down while responding to his comrades’ taunting laughter, you take the chance to make another move. Taking advantage of his lack of focus, you thrust your sword toward him. He blocks you with one swing and you shoot forward, spinning on your heel and swinging your hand back, slamming the hilt of your sword against his stomach. Sir Stephan recoils with a grunt upon impact.

“Oh, Fates,” he curses with a cough. A rough chuckle comes from his lips as he recovers to shout at his friends laughing at him, “Told ya.”

You quickly step away from him while everyone whistles, cheering for your move. “Stay focused, Sir Stephan. Don’t want you to actually get hurt,” you playfully taunt him as you move into position, ready to continue.

Seeing this prompts Stephan to strike first, swinging his broadsword down to your side, which you block using the back of your sword. The sound of the deep grunt escaping his lips draws more taunting from the other guards.

“Already getting tired, Stevie?”

Letting out a heavy laugh, your opponent cleverly responds without missing a beat. “I think the Princess is just a bit too tough for me to handle, that’s what.”

“Good thing you volunteered in our place since if you lose this fight, there’s no way any of us could defeat Her Highness.”

“Maybe we should recommend your early retirement, old man. Her Highness can always take your place.”

“Right on. The Princess isn’t even sweating and yet there you are trembling. Even your form isn’t right.”

Their compliments please you, even if some of it is far from the truth. You can feel sweat coming down between your brows and in between your breasts. Your breath is growing shallow, and if only any of the guards weren’t so preoccupied with keeping a close watch on each strike of sword clashing through the sparring, they would have noticed the way your legs are beginning to quiver as you block another strike from Sir Stephan’s broadsword.

As your exhaustion sinks in, what comes into your nearly idle mind is not a part of the dream that you wished so badly to forget, but the words of a wise man who has followed you home ever since your visit to E’l Alora.

“Before you go, I must be honest and admit something. Lest I regret it in case we never meet again,” was what Lord Merryl said to you last night before you left E’l Alora to return home. The look that he was giving you then stayed in your mind until you came back to the castle. “You remind me of someone.”

“Someone you knew?”

His lips twitched to a soft smile. “Long ago, before the war, before this land became as secluded as the way it is now, we used to have travellers coming through our town, often staying with us for a time to experience life here as our guests. There was one who Alastair and I had the privilege to get acquainted with during that time. A female traveller who claimed to be a scholar and was travelling through sacred lands in search of knowledge about the Ancients, much like you.” Once again, you saw a glimpse of longing in his eyes as he spoke. “She looked quite like you, and I am quite sure she was around your age when she frequently came to visit us.”

Then his longing gaze fell on your necklace for one last time. “And she was wearing a necklace similar to yours.”

Sir Stephan’s sudden strike snaps you back to the present. His move isn’t as fast as his previous offences, but the blow of his sword rattles your entire arm the moment it makes contact with yours. You barely manage to deflect his attack, the clash between swords and the force that he uses pushing you back a step. Yet you are still capable of cutting his blow, even if it comes with a cost.

Your knees buckle as you pull your sword back. Snapping your sword down, you stab its tip onto the ground to keep you from falling on your knees.

“Your Highness, is everything all right?” Sir Stephan calls out gently, sounding concerned. Yet he makes no move to approach you, something which you respect coming from him.

Laughing nervously, you straighten up and shake your head. “Seems like I was right all along. I’m quite out of practice.”

The guard looks relieved to hear this. His lips twist into something which resembles a pride smile. “For the record, you are still much better than some of the guards here,” he compliments you as he slowly lowers his sword. “And in a much better shape as well, seeing that you are still standing on your two feet.”

“I take it as a compliment.” Sheathing your sword, you bow your head slightly towards him. “Thank you for lending me your time. We should do this again next time.”

Lifting his sword and crossing it against his chest, Sir Stephan greets you with a formal bow. “I’ll be ready to spar with you again, Your Highness. If ever you need to.”

You turn to greet the other guards with a slight bow before turning away to leave. Behind you, the captain of the royal guards begins rounding up his men to resume their sword training. The sounds of them shuffling back into their position and the clanging of swords follow your departure.

Except for Sir Stephan.

Even without looking over your shoulder, you can feel the heat of his gaze pressing on your back. It shouldn’t bother you so much to have him watching you go, as he is simply doing his duty as your guard ever since the Citadel. Yet it suddenly feels unsettling how familiar his presence feels for you, even as you put distance between you.

He reminds you of someone. Of a moment in time that is lost in your memory. Yet your mind is too exhausted and you are too weary to figure out how.

You try not to dwell on it as you make your way around the small rising leading to the West Tower. Avoiding the side corridor where the entrance of the tower is located, you choose to walk a bit further towards the door hidden behind the hill.

At this time of the day, this side of the tower is quiet. Only the palace maids use this access door, yet you have learned enough to know that none would be passing here during the time they are finishing most of their late afternoon duties.

Crossing the threshold, you arrive in a small hall connected to the long winding stairwell going up to the upper floors. Amongst them is the corridor leading towards your bedchamber, where you can finally rest—both your mind and body—for the day.

Your mind is once again idle as you begin to ascend the stairs. Idle due to exhaustion, yet still enough to silence all thoughts and wonders.

For a moment, you feel hopeful about dragging yourself towards your bed, even if your legs still tremble while you climb up the stairs. The shortsword feels as if it has gained weight as it keeps bumping against your thigh in your journey back to your quarters.

Yet in that comforting silence, your senses are on high alert. Sharpened enough to feel a peculiar sensation rising within that stairwell.

A feeling that is quite similar to what you have often felt whenever you come across any silver doors hiding your father’s magic portals.

Curious, you begin to proceed cautiously. The logical part of your mind is telling you that it might just be in your head. There is nothing up there other than the long corridors of the west wing of Stargrave, where your bedchamber is placed.

As you continue going up the stairs, there is really no mistaking it—the soft hum of magic reverberating through the air, beckoning you to come close.

With one hand wrapped around the hilt of your sword, and the other reaching up to touch the silver key hanging on your necklace—placed together alongside your ruby amulet to make sure that you would keep it close to you at all times—you continue to proceed.

Right before you reach the floor connecting you to your private quarters, you arrive at a landing.

There, right to your left, appears a small archway that seems to have been built into the wall. Similar to the door which took you to E’l Alora, it appears like nothing more but a wall ornament. It seems impossible for it to serve as a door. Not at this part of the tower, when the small windows placed on either side of it are showing you a massive fall towards the shoreline below.

At the center of the archway, what seems to be a carved wall ornament appears to be a plate made up of old wood. It has silver hinges on one side—the only sign allowing you to identify it as a door—and floral embellishments pressed across the surface. The silver embellishments are marred by patches of reddish-brown rust, hiding the silver shine under the uneven, flaky crust spreading on its surface.

Standing before it, you realise that the humming spell is more muted here compared to the ones you have heard and felt from the other magic doors. Yet the sensation you feel all through your body is just the same.

Your racing heartbeat. The pulse of warmth surging through your skin. Even the way your necklace is vibrating against your skin feels just the same.

Cautiously, you slip the key off of your necklace. With a deep breath, and your curiosity rising, you silently pray that the door truly opens to another magic portal instead of sending you plunging into the rough sea below.

The key fits perfectly in the keyhole and it opens with one click, immediately opening as if there is an unseen force helping you to reveal what is hidden beneath. The ripple of magic which appear in the form of a blue mirror manifests right before your eyes, opening the way for your next adventure.

“I suppose there is no rest for today”—you sigh—“yet. Here we go.”

The flow of magic engulfs you as you take a step into the portal. It clings onto your body like a cold glove, causing tingles on your skin while your heart palpitates as your own mana reacts to it. This time, the humming spell sounds more like chants of prayers. Still spoken in a language that you are unable to comprehend.

Your journey across lasts only for a blink of an eye before the heels of your boots land on solid ground. A cold breeze washes over you, filled with the scents of moss and petrichor. Not in the kind which you would often find in the countryside, but more at places that are mostly deserted—like castle ruins or abandoned churches, perhaps unexplored caves in the wild.

Releasing a deep exhale of breath, you open your eyes, only to have the rest of it getting knocked right out of your chest. As if reality comes crashing on you with a hard punch as you realise where you are.

You have emerged right in the heart of an old temple.

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fanfics4world · 21 days

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Chapter 3 - Tea and confessions

Daniel, the White Knight, was returning to the castle after a long mission. His armour glittered in the moonlight, and his white cloak billowed with every firm step he took.

As he reached the castle gates, Daniel noticed unusual activity. The guards seemed more tense than usual, and the atmosphere was charged with a palpable unease.

As he rounded the corner, he found two guards guarding the kitchen door; he knew it was Skye, for the kitchen was one of the few places where the princess found peace and calm in the palace. Their stances were rigid, and their gazes watchful. Daniel stopped in front of them, his presence imposing and his gaze steady.

"Good evening, knights. You can retire to rest. I'll take it from here"

The guards exchanged glances, hesitating for a moment.

"Sire, the Queen has ordered us to watch the princess wherever she goes"

Daniel nodded, understanding the situation. "I understand, but I'll take care of it. The princess is safe with me"

The guards finally relented, bowing their heads in respect before retreating. Daniel watched them walk away, making sure no one else was left in the hallway. Then he walked over to the kitchen door and carefully opened it.

The kitchen of the White Kingdom was a place of breathtaking beauty and elegance. The walls were lined with white marble, with grey veins that seemed to dance in the light of the crystal chandeliers. The floor, also of marble, reflected the light of the chandeliers, creating a luminous and serene atmosphere. The countertops were of an even purer marble, immaculate and gleaming, as if they had never been touched by human hands.

Cabinets, white wood carved with intricate floral designs, lined the walls, providing a delicate contrast to the marble. The cabinet handles were silver, polished to shine like little mirrors. In the centre of the kitchen, a large marble island served as a workspace, surrounded by high stools with white velvet cushions.

The air was permeated with the scent of fresh herbs and spices, stored in glass jars lined up on open shelves. Copper and stainless steel cooking utensils hung neatly from hooks on the wall, ready for use. The kitchen was a place of constant activity, but at the moment, it was silent except for the soft crackle of the fire in the fireplace.

Skye was sitting at one of the tables, her head resting on her hands. The calm of the kitchen was a haven for her, a place where she could escape the stresses of the palace. But her peace was interrupted when she heard the door open.

"I strictly asked not to be disturbed"

"You don't even want to greet your knight?"

Skye lifted her head, and upon seeing Daniel, a smile tugged at her lips. "Daniel, you're back" she said, but Daniel immediately noticed the mark on her cheek, a sign of the recent altercation with her mother. His expression hardened.

Everyone in the palace had witnessed, at one time or another, the White Queen's treatment to her daughter. Servants whispered in the corridors, and guards exchanged sympathetic glances when they saw Skye. The pressure of being the perfect heiress had scarred her soul, and at times, her body as well.

Daniel approached her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "What happened?"

Skye averted her gaze, trying to hide her pain. "It's nothing, Daniel. Just another argument"

Daniel vividly remembered the day the Queen knighted him as Skye's knight. At first, the princess barely spoke to him, keeping a cool, reserved distance. Over time, however, Daniel managed to break through that barrier, showing Skye that he didn't care about the perfection everyone expected of her. In him, Skye found a friend, someone who accepted her imperfections and valued her for who she really was.

Now, Daniel felt caught in a whirlwind of helplessness. His mission as a knight was to protect Skye at all costs, but how could he protect her from the same person to whom he had sworn loyalty?

The next day, Bridget's mind couldn't stop flashing back to her nighttime encounter with Skye.

How they danced to the music, how their bodies seemed to coordinate in a magical way, and how they were about to share their first kiss.

In that instant, Bridget let herself be carried away by the impulse, by that invisible thread that pulled her lips to Skye's, who didn't seem to dislike the idea either. And then the Cheshire cat appeared, Bridget couldn't help but smile at the look on Skye's face, clearly disappointed by the interruption.

And then came the promise of a second meeting, at the place where they first met, which made Bridget excited.

What are you planning Skye?

"What gardens is your mind stuck in, sweetheart?"

Bridget snapped out of her thoughts at her mother's question, blushing. "Nothing I was just thinking about the dance yesterday mum," Bridget replied. Her mother smiled.

"I guess it all went well in the end," said her mother and a big smile formed on Bridget's face. "It was amazing! You should have seen her mum, she looked spectacular, everything was just spectacular" Bridget replied excitedly, which warmed her mother's heart.

"Well, you'll have to introduce me to that secret date you're so excited about, it would be a pleasure to meet her," Bridget's smile faltered for a moment, she looked at her mother, whose gaze reflected something Bridget couldn't quite identify, as if she already knew about Skye. No, Bridget shook her head dismissing the thought, it wasn't possible.

"Yeah... I'm sure you'll love it..." Bridget replied, trying to sound as normal as possible. Her mother wanted to meet her date, she wanted to meet Skye. There was no possible way this was going to end well, what was she supposed to say to her when they saw her, it was clear that Skye's appearance, her pale skin, her white hair, did not belong to a citizen of the Kingdom of Hearts.

"Mom this is Skye, the daughter of the White Queen, your greatest enemy, I met her in the forest near the border, as she likes to cross the wall and enter our kingdom" and also, "I invited her to your ball and we danced in front of the pond, she sneaked into the castle avoiding the guards and tomorrow I'm meeting her again"

There was no possible way Bridget would dare tell her mother the truth about Skye's identity.

"That's why I wanted to ask your permission, to meet her tomorrow, and I would like to well, be able to be with her without the guards" she said, Bridget didn't dare sneak out of the castle, she would rather risk asking her mother for the favour of leaving the castle unescorted.

Her mother frowned, she clearly didn't like her daughter's request, but she seemed to be mulling over her decision. "I don't know sweetheart, I don't like the idea of you leaving the castle unguarded, it could be dangerous" replied her mother, Bridget pouted.

"Please mum" Bridget pleaded. "We can't both be comfortable if I have guards following us, I want us both to be able to spend time alone"

Her mother watched her carefully, her eyes reflecting a mixture of concern and understanding. She already knew the truth, she had stepped out into the garden for a moment to get some fresh air, when she saw her daughter dancing with a young girl.

She watched from a distance, hidden in the shadows. Her gaze hardened as she recognised Skye White, the daughter of her enemy, in her castle, in her kingdom. The initial impulse was to call the guards and have her caught immediately. But something stopped her.

As the two young women danced, her mother noticed the way they looked at each other, how their bodies moved in perfect synchronicity, as if they were made for each other. The hardness in her heart began to soften as she saw the glint of love in her daughter's eyes. As much hatred and resentment as she held for the White Queen, she could not ignore the happiness that radiated from Bridget in that moment.

Her mother knew she could not blame Skye for her mother's actions. She decided, in that instant, to prioritize her daughter's happiness over her own bitterness. However, she promised herself that if Skye hurt Bridget, she would not hesitate to act.

"All right, you have my permission, but I want you back at the palace by dinnertime"

Bridget's face lit up. She stood up, rounded the dining room table and hugged her mother tightly. "Thank you!" she said before letting go of her mother and running to her room, as her mother smiled warmly.

I hope for your sake Skye that you know how to appreciate my daughter.

After the conversation with her mother, time seemed to pass faster for Bridget, so much so that night had already fallen over Wonderland.

Bridget was about to crawl into bed when she heard three knocks on the balcony door of her room, confused, she approached the glass door, only to discover that on the other side was a floating envelope.

Bridget opened the door and the envelope came into the room.

"Special delivery for the princess," Bridget was surprised when the Cheshire cat appeared in front of her, holding the envelope.

"It's you," Bridget said, the cat's smile grew bigger, which made Bridget's skin crawl for a second.

"I'm Chessur, but you can call me Chess. Skye asked me to deliver this letter to you," he said, Bridget took the envelope, and in a second, Chessur disappeared, leaving a faint trail of smoke.

Bridget sat down on her bed and looked at the letter, it looked like a normal envelope, except that it was stamped with a seal with the initials SW. Bridget opened the envelope and read the contents of the letter.

Princess,

I hope Chess didn't disturb you too much by delivering this letter, I would have liked to tell you in person, but my mother has me under the watchful eye of her guards, and I couldn't risk crossing the border.

About our meeting tomorrow, meet me half an hour before the clock strikes teatime.

I want to see you again already.

Skye.

"I realise you love adventure and danger, but this is too much, even for you Skye"

Skye couldn't help but roll her eyes at Tarrant's response. She doesn't even know why for a moment she trusted Chess not to say anything, but he did, and as a result, she was now being sermonised by the Mad Hatter.

She and Daniel had gone to visit him at his home, Tarrant lived on the outskirts of town, far from the people and the perfection the queen demanded. That was one of the many reasons he quickly became friends with the rebellious princess, they both defied the written rules, but Skye was happy that her mother allowed Tarrant to be outside of her perfection, even if she sometimes envied it.

Tarrant's workshop was filled with hats of all shapes and sizes, and the air smelled of tea and madness.

Not a minute had passed since the tea had been served that he began to sermonise to her. Skye took a sip of her tea before looking out the window at the 5 chess soldiers keeping watch outside the workshop.

"First of all, keep your voice down please. If they hear you, my mother will find out and I may as well be dead, Tarrant. You don't understand what this means to me," he said. Tarrant stopped his frantic pacing and sat down in his usual chair next to Skye.

"You're okay with this?", Tarrant looked at Daniel, who remained standing next to Skye despite attempts to get him to sit down to make himself more comfortable.

Daniel sighed. When Skye filled him in on the latest events in her life, he didn't even know why he was surprised. He knew Skye too well to know that despite her constant pursuit of danger, she wouldn't go into such danger if she didn't think it was worth it. To him Skye's happiness was above any oath or duty as a knight, and he knew Skye would not find happiness in the White Kingdom.

"Even if I didn't agree, Hatter. Do you think even I could do anything to stop it?" he replied, which made Skye smile innocently, as if it wasn't her life at stake.

"Skye, I know living here is complicated, especially with your mother and her rules, but seriously. Of all the people you could date, the princess of hearts? It's bad enough that I have to have your back on your escapades across the border," she said, picking up her teacup, which was shaking from her nerves. Skye sighed.

"You can't tell anyone Tarrant, it's bad enough I have to let Chess know" Skye asked, Tarrant watched her, hesitating about what to do.

"Skye, this is very serious, much more serious than crossing the border"

Tarrant looked at her with concern. "I should warn your mother. She needs to know"

Skye could feel Daniel tense beside her, even he was unable to imagine what the queen would do to Skye if she discovered the truth, and if to protect her she had to.... Well, eliminate some trouble. He wouldn't hesitate to do so.

"No, Tarrant. If my mother finds out, it's all over. She'll never let me leave the castle again"

Tarrant frowned, clearly conflicted. "Why is it so important to you, Skye?"

"What I feel with Bridget is nothing I've ever felt before. It's something real. I feel like I'm finally in control of something in my life. I can't lose this, Tarrant"

He watched her silently, seeing the sincerity in her eyes. Finally, he sighed and nodded. "All right, Skye. I'll keep your secret, but if this is serious, you'd better start thinking about how you're going to tell your mother that her daughter's mother-in-law is the Queen of Hearts"

Skye couldn't help but laugh, no doubt that wouldn't be easy, but she was content to keep it a secret for the time being. "Thank you, Tarrant. You'll meet her tomorrow. I'll bring her over so we can all have tea together"

Tarrant smiled, though his concern did not entirely disappear. "I hope you know what you're doing, Skye"

Skye nodded, determined. "I know, Tarrant. I know"

Bridget walked briskly through the forest near the border, her heart pounding. The afternoon sun filtered through the leaves of the trees, creating a play of light and shadow on the stone path. The place where she had met Skye was just around the corner, and the princess couldn't help but smile at the thought of seeing her again.

The scent of spring flowers filled the air, and Bridget paused for a moment to inhale deeply. She remembered every detail of that encounter: Skye's laughter, her gaze shining, and the way her words had made the world seem brighter. She hadn't stopped thinking about her since.

When she arrived, however, she didn't find Skye alone. Beside her, a majestic white horse glistened in the sun, its silver armour glinting like stars in the night.

Bridget stared at the horse in awe. She had never seen such an imposing and beautiful creature. The combination of the armour and the purity of the white coat seemed like magic. Skye, with her mischievous smile, approached Bridget.

Bridget felt a knot in her stomach at the sight of the reddish mark on Skye's cheek. The princess of the White Kingdom, always so strong and confident, now showed a vulnerability Bridget had never seen before. Who could be capable of hurting Skye?

Bridget felt a surge of protectiveness and affection for her. She wanted to hold her, to comfort her, and to make sure she never had to suffer again. The mark on Skye's cheek was a painful reminder that even the strongest people could be hurt, and Bridget was determined to stand by her side, no matter what.

"If I'd known Star would steal all your attention, I'd have thought twice about bringing her along," Skye said, a spark of amusement in her eyes. Bridget couldn't help but smile.

The horse whinnied softly, as if it, too, recognised Bridget. The princess reached out to stroke its soft mane. "I never imagined I'd find something so beautiful here," she murmured.

Skye moved even closer, her hand brushing Bridget's. "Sometimes the most beautiful things are right in front of us," Skye said, which made Bridget blush. "Ready for a new adventure?"

Skye mounted the horse, waiting for Bridget. "The truth is...I don't know how to ride," Bridget confessed.

Skye smiled, holding out her hand to Bridget. "Don't worry," she whispered. "I won't let you fall" Bridget nodded, feeling the warmth of the promise in the palm of her hand.

Carefully, Skye helped Bridget onto the horse, placing her in front of her. The animal's white fur was soft under her trembling fingers. "Ready?" asked Skye.

Bridget nodded. The wind rustled through the leaves of the trees as the horse began to move.

"Now you must close your eyes, cupcake," said Skye, "otherwise the surprise will be spoiled"

Bridget obeyed. The world faded away, and only the sensation of the horse moving beneath her remained. Skye guided her expertly, and Bridget held on to her promise.

The horse galloped into the hollow of the border, and Bridget smiled, allowing herself to relax and rest her back against Skye's chest, noticing how she smelled of vanilla and mint, an intoxicating mixture.

Time in the dark stretched like a silken thread, and Bridget felt uncertainty curl in her chest. The air grew colder, and the muffled sound of the horse's hooves echoed in her ears; they were picking up speed.

Then Skye's voice broke the silence. "You can open your eyes now, princess"

Bridget blinked, her heart pounding. When her eyes met the light, her breath caught for the third time that week.

The path of white roses stretched out before Bridget like a dreamy path. On either side, fields of white roses spread out as far as the eye could see.

The flowers, like snowflakes, rise on slender stems. Their soft, snowy petals catch the sunlight, creating an ethereal glow. Each rose seems a small universe unto itself: delicate, yet resilient. The intoxicating scent floats in the air, enveloping Bridget like a warm embrace.

The path meanders, inviting her to explore further. The roses intertwine, forming a white tapestry that seems to merge with the sky. Some are in full bloom, while others are still shyly awakening. The wind whispers secrets among the petals, and Bridget feels she has crossed into a kingdom where time fades.

"Welcome to the White Kingdom," Skye said, her voice soft as a caress.

Bridget could barely articulate words. "It's... it's beautiful," she whispered.

The white horse, guided by Skye, turned off the rose path and into a dense forest. The trees seemed to whisper ancient secrets, and sunlight filtered through the leaves, creating a play of shadows on the ground.

The air grew cooler, and the sense of the unknown filled her with anticipation.

Finally, they emerged from the trees Before her stood a house shaped like a top hat, like something out of a twisted fairy tale. The roof was pitched, the windows of different sizes and shapes.

A place where time bent and normal rules didn't apply. The walls were painted in vibrant colours, and in the garden, a large table held teapots and singing cups. The scent of tea and madness hung in the air.

"I hope you don't mind if we have tea with some friends of mine before I show you my second surprise," said Skye getting off her horse. She held out her hand to help Bridget down. ""It would be my pleasure,"" she replied before taking Skye's hand and getting off the horse.

Skye led Bridget to the table, where Chessur, Tarrant and Daniel were waiting for her. Skye found the scene quite funny, Chessur was over Daniel's head, obviously trying to annoy him, Daniel had a look of wanting to make the cat disappear while Tarrant was busy making tea.

"Can't you even behave for a moment, Chess?" Skye said smirking. All three boys raised their heads to look at them.

"Guys, this is Bridget. Bridget, this is Daniel, my knight, Tarrant, the mad hatter, and well, you know Chess," said Skye. Bridget raised a shy smile. Tarrant rose from the table, and removing his top hat, did a graceful curtsy. "A pleasure to meet you, your highness," he said. Bridget smiled, "No need for formalities, just Bridget," she said.

Tarrant nodded before going back to preparing the tea. "I hope you like mint tea, well, it's not like there are any other kinds of tea here either," Tarrant said before pouring the tea into five cups.

Skye guided Bridget to a white wooden chair next to hers. Daniel sat across from them, and as always, Tarrant presided over the table.

Daniel watched Bridget with a mixture of distrust and curiosity. He had heard a lot about her, but seeing her in person was different. There was something about her presence that unsettled him, though he couldn't identify exactly what it was. However, he remembered Skye's words: Bridget was not a danger, and if she made her happy, he could only accept that.

Despite his reservations, Daniel decided to trust Skye's judgment. If she believed in Bridget, so should he. He watched as the two princesses interacted, noting the genuine connection between them. Though he still felt a slight mistrust, Daniel realized that his loyalty to Skye meant accepting Bridget into his life. And if that meant protecting her as well, he was willing to do that.

"Don't let Daniel intimidate you, despite his tough looks and that armor that shines too bright, he's a softie," Skye said, which made Bridget laugh. Daniel rolled his eyes.

"You Bridget, don't let Skye confuse you, despite looking tough on the outside, she's a softie" said Daniel, Skye smiled.

"We'll see if you say the same to my sword" challenged Skye.

"Anytime princess"

"Well, before this turns into a battlefield, let's have tea before it gets cold," said Tarrant.

The afternoon passed in a dreamy atmosphere in the Mad Hatter's House. The scent of freshly brewed tea filled the air, mingling with the sweet perfume of the white roses that surrounded the place.

Tarrant, with his trademark hat and mischievous smile, began to tell stories of Skye's childhood. "Did you know that Skye used to hide in the cupboards to avoid her lessons in manners?" he said, winking at Bridget. "Once, we found her asleep in the coats""

Bridget laughed, imagining a young Skye rebelling against the strict palace rules. Skye, her cheeks flushed, tried to defend herself. "That was a long time ago! And besides, the lessons were boring"

"What about the time you tried to ride Star and ended up in the pond?" continued Tarrant, laughing. "I've never seen someone so soaked and so happy at the same time"

Bridget couldn't contain her laughter. Each story revealed a more human and charming side of Skye, and her heart filled with warmth. Every second she spent with Skye, she felt her affection for her grow deeper and deeper.

After tea, Skye and Daniel decided to engage in a friendly sword duel. Bridget watched with interest as the two prepared. Daniel, with his firm stance and focused gaze, seemed a formidable opponent. But Skye, with her grace and agility, was no slouch.

The duel began, and the swords clashed with a metallic clang. Skye moved with impressive dexterity, dodging Daniel's attacks and striking back with precision. Bridget watched, marvelling at Skye's skill. Each move was graceful and calculated, and it soon became clear that Skye had the advantage.

Finally, with a quick twist, Skye disarmed Daniel, sending his sword crashing to the ground. "Admit I'm a better knight than you," Skye said, smiling triumphantly.

Daniel, though defeated, smiled respectfully. "You're the better knight"

Bridget felt a surge of admiration and love for Skye. Seeing her in action, so strong and confident, only reinforced her feelings. She wished these moments of happiness together with Skye would never end. In that instant, she knew she was falling in love with her, and that she would do anything to protect and be by her side.

Skye helped Tarrant and Chessur carry the cups and plates into the house. "I'll be back in a moment, cupcake," she said, winking at Bridget before disappearing behind the door.

Bridget was left alone with Daniel, feeling a slight discomfort in the air. Daniel watched her for a moment, his eyes serious but kind. Finally, he broke the silence.

"Do you love her?"

Bridget's face flushed instantly. She hadn't expected such a direct question. She looked down, fiddling nervously with her hands. "Yes," she admitted quietly, "I love her"

Daniel smiled, and the tension in the air seemed to dissipate. "I'm glad to hear that," he said. "Skye's life hasn't been easy in the White Kingdom. She's had to face a lot of hardships, but knowing she has someone like you by her side, someone who loves and supports her, gives me peace of mind"

Bridget looked up, meeting Daniel's eyes. In his expression, she saw a mixture of approval and relief. "I'll do everything I can to stand by her side and protect her," Bridget promised.

Daniel nodded, satisfied with her answer. "That's all I can ask. Skye deserves to be happy, and if you can give her that, then you have my support"

At that moment, Bridget felt a deeper connection with Daniel. She knew that, although he was protective and distrustful by nature, he also wanted what was best for Skye. And that united them in a common purpose: the happiness and well-being of the princess of the White Kingdom.

The white horse galloped gently, leading Skye and Bridget towards an unknown destination. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, tinting the sky with warm, golden hues. Bridget clung to the horse's mane, feeling the excitement and anticipation in her chest.

"Where are you taking me?" asked Bridget curiously.

Skye smiled, her eyes sparkling with mystery. "To a place where the roses touch the sky at sunset," she replied. "It's one of my favorite places in the whole kingdom"

Bridget nodded, feeling lucky to be there. The landscape changed as they went on: the trees became more spaced out, and the breeze carried with it the sweet scent of flowers. Finally, they reached the hill.

Before them lay a sea of white roses. Bridget climbed down from the horse, her feet sinking into the soft grass. Skye followed, and together they walked into the field of roses.

The sun was setting behind the mountains, painting the sky with shades of pink.

Skye sat down on the grass and then reached out her hand to Bridget. "Come here," she said. Bridget sat down next to her, resting her head in her lap. Skye stroked her hair, and Bridget closed her eyes, feeling at peace.

The world came down to the two of them. Bridget wished this moment would never end. Skye's closeness, the scent of flowers, and the softness of her caress enveloped her like a spell.

"What will be the first thing you do when you become queen?" asked Skye, Bridget paused for a moment to think.

"I would like to unify the kingdoms"

Skye looked at Bridget with a mixture of surprise and amusement. "Unify both kingdoms?" she repeated, as if considering the idea.

Bridget nodded, feeling a little braver. "The Kingdom of Hearts and the White Kingdom could be stronger together instead of apart"

Skye smiled, and her gaze grew more intense. "You know, Bridget," she said quietly. "To unify the kingdoms you would have to marry me"

Bridget felt her heart pounding. "And where would the problem be?" she asked, with a bravery she didn't know she had.

Skye looked at Bridget with a mixture of surprise and sadness. "Bridget," she said quietly, "you deserve someone better than me. Someone without so many scars"

Bridget felt as if her heart was in a fist. "No," she replied bravely, "I want you Skye. Scars and all. I don't care what baggage you bring. I'm willing to carry it with you, to face any challenge. Because what I feel for you is stronger than anything"

Skye was surprised, her eyes widening at Bridget's words. "I'm broken, I'm a lost cause. How could someone like you love someone like me?" she muttered, as if she couldn't believe it.

Bridget stepped a little closer, her determination shining in her eyes. "You're not a lost cause, Skye," she said softly. "If you're broken, I'll help fix you"

Skye looked up at her, her eyes full of emotion. "What if I can't offer you the happiness you deserve?"

Bridget smiled, leaning a little closer. "Then together we will find happiness, Skye. Because what we have is real, and I'm willing to fight for it"

And in that moment, surrounded by white roses and with the sunset painting the sky, Skye leaned into Bridget and their lips met in a sweet, promising kiss.

The world seemed to stand still as thousands of white butterflies, formed from the petals of the roses, flew into the evening sky. It was as if the magic of their love manifested itself in that instant.

As they parted, Bridget was amazed at what she saw. White butterflies danced in the air, creating a magical atmosphere. "It's beautiful," she whispered.

Skye smiled and asked, "Have you even looked in the mirror, princess?"

The blush on Bridget's cheeks intensified, and in that moment, she knew she had found something more precious than any kingdom or crown: true love.

Masterlist

#descendants the rise of red #bridget descendants #bridget #princess red #descendantsriseofred #descendants #queen of hearts #bridget x oc #cinderella #wlw #glg #disney #alternative history #original character #time travel #fluff #angst

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merakiui · 2 years

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i realized we have yet to discuss alpha rollo on the blog, so allow me to provide some thoughts.

(cw: yandere, nsfw, omegaverse/abo, kidnapping/captivity, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, non-con)

alpha rollo who has the most fluffy scent. he smells of bouquets and sweet breads, of homemade pastries and floral teas. you wouldn’t expect he’s an alpha based off of his scent alone, but if you spend enough time beside him you’ll realize he is so overbearing. his very stature demands respect and there’s an almost regal air to his hardened, cold expressions.

alpha rollo who has a soft spot for omegas. he’s especially kind to you and always greets you in a polite and friendly manner when you pass one another in the halls of noble bell academy. he helps you acquire scent blockers and heat suppressants if you can’t afford them or are in need of them. he tells you to look out for yourself and to be cognizant of what your scent does to other alphas.

alpha rollo who guides you away from the crowds when you go into heat, wrapping a strong (though faltering) arm around you to keep you upright as you stumble, your breaths coming in soft, little whimpers. he’s just barely holding onto sanity when he gets you back to your lodging and you grab at his sleeve, begging him to stay. he feels terrible about leaving you to your own devices, but he knows that if he stays any longer he’ll succumb to temptation and he may not be able to restrain himself.

alpha rollo who has begun to obsess over you. he invites you into the city, where he buys you candy from an old-fashioned shop and matching silver bracelets with imprints of moon phases and constellations. the two of you share macarons of all flavors while you walk side by side, admiring the storefronts. he tells you you’re welcome to anything that catches your fancy. when he goes on these outings with you, it really feels like you’re a pair. like he’s your alpha and you’re his omega. the fantasy disperses once the two of you are back at nba and you go your separate ways. he hates watching you leave because not only is your presence gone your scent is as well. and that really carves a gaping hole in his heart.

alpha rollo who is shocked when you turn his next invitation down. going to the city has always been a friendly routine, so what changed? why have you declined him? he’s trying to court you, though you fail to see it, and he fears the worst when he catches a new scent on you. the scent of another alpha. an alpha who isn’t him.

alpha rollo who can’t stand the thought of another alpha caring for you, helping you through your heats, kissing every inch of your warm skin. it should be he who spends private sessions in the dimness of a bedroom, pressing his body against yours and connecting like lovers. how dare you allow another alpha into your life when he’s done so much for you? when he’s been so good to you? so immensely patient and sweet! can’t you see he cares for you?

alpha rollo who confines you in his dormitory. his bedroom is expansively luxurious, with a king-sized canopy bed that’s all fluffy bedsheets and pillows. you’re horrified when rollo walks through the door and smiles at you. he kneels at the bedside and confesses his adoration for you. it’s very saccharine; he’s loved you for so long now. you were too oblivious to notice any of his courting gestures, but that’s okay. he’ll be more direct, as an alpha should be, and you’ll learn that he wants to be your alpha.

alpha rollo whose loving expression darkens when you tell him you don’t see him in that way and after this you’ll never see him in that way. you tell him you’ve already found an alpha and that rollo’s just a friend. rollo does not take that admission well.

alpha rollo who’s quick to pin you to the bed, his once sweet scent choking and cloying. your omega instincts tell you to back down, to stop challenging him with harsh words and a fierce scowl, and when he tugs the collar of your shirt down to inspect whether or not you’ve been marked with little love bites your back arches involuntarily. the reaction does not go unnoticed by rollo.

alpha rollo who cuts into you with a cruel scolding. have you been allowing every alpha to toy with you in this way? is that why you’re so receptive to his touch? if you can spread your legs for any alpha, why did you keep them shut every time he attempted to pass the threshold of friendship into romance? perhaps that alpha he smelled on you wasn’t the same as the alpha he smelled last week. perhaps you’ve let the students at this prestigious academy sully you, a pure, sweet omega who was meant to be his from the moment he laid eyes on you.

alpha rollo who, in that moment, can no longer hold himself back. you’re not in heat, so the stretch pains you. you’re begging him to stop, trying to push him off with trembling fists, but your every instinct is weak to the presence of an alpha and it’s slowly starting to crumble. you’ll accept him soon enough; it’s in your nature to be submissive to him.

alpha rollo whose expression is frigid when he looks down at you and says, “this is what every alpha’s done to you, so why are you rejecting me? surely i’m no different from every other fool you’ve charmed.”

alpha rollo who tells you you’ll take his knot like you’ve taken so many others in past salacious trysts, and you're unable to protest when his lips capture yours.

alpha rollo who finally makes you his omega in the moonlit confines of his bedroom, his scent mixing with your sweetness until the space smells pleasantly of the comforts of a pâtisserie.

#meraki thirsts #yandere rollo flamme #yandere rollo flamm #tw: abo #tw: omegaverse #n/sfw #tw: noncon #i'm so in love with him orz

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wildlyglittering · 10 months

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Silver In Her Eyes - Chapter One

Chapter One is up!

Please show it some love either on Ao3 here or on Tumblr itself.

Part one may feel very 'Nesta light' but believe me - this is her story.

Silver In Her Eyes

Feyre’s stomach swelled to the point where her pregnancy could no longer be disguised; not that she wished it to be. She was ready to stand on top of the House of Wind itself and shout the news from joyous lungs.

Her present state was less lofty, seated on a soft velveteen chaise lounge in the River House, a hand resting on her belly while she whispered stories to her baby.

How did Nesta’s old tales begin? Once upon a time...

Feyre spoke them with her voice low and soft as she gazed at the sky beyond the window, her head empty of daydreams because what did she want for now? What could she imagine she needed when she had all she wanted?

Her son, as confirmed by Madja, fluttered and spun inside her and Feyre wondered what he dreamt, if he somehow sensed the stars.

She paused in the telling of a story, stumbling over a word. She had told herself a lie. She needed to understand what was worrying Rhys. Something shifted in him since they last saw the healer, his face slipping into a frown when he thought Feyre wasn’t looking, his hands twisted into fists.

When asked he would say, ‘nothing my darling’ and kiss her forehead, coaxing her back to her contented state with sugared creams and cashmere blankets draped over her shoulders.

Those frowns were infectious. First Rhys, then Amren. Mor, Cassian, and Azriel soon followed.

Only the Archeron sisters were unbothered by the burden of the Inner Circle. Elain drifted through the halls of the River House as she always had done since she lived with them, muttering to the rose stems she crushed between her fingers or wailing into the night sky.

Feyre found that she missed her eldest sister but wasn't too sure why. Perhaps she had been too spoilt by Rhys to cope with Elain's distress, or possibly there was part of herself which wanted Nesta to use her sharp words and quiet ferocity to amend what Feyre couldn't.

When Nesta made the rare appearance, she was always at the side of Cassian. Nesta was re-shaping herself into something new whilst retaining the steel beneath. Unbending, unbroken, and to Rhys’ irritation, un-bowing.

Nesta’s scent was no longer her own. Winter rose and jasmine still adorned her but underneath was the patchouli aroma of Cassian. When Feyre inhaled next to him, she was unsurprised to smell florals, almost like he had bathed in Nesta, rubbing her skin against his like it was perfume.

Maybe he had, flesh to flesh. That was what Feyre had hoped for after all. Even if they stood apart in public, Feyre wasn’t fooled. Not when they were both so deliciously fragranced, she could eat them up, just like she was doing now with the sweets from her gold-plated bowl.

***

“You fool,” Amren hissed at him, “you stupid, senseless fool.”

Rhys clenched his jaw, the back of his teeth grinding together as a muscle in his cheek twitched. His eyes glanced towards the study door, as though Feyre or Elain, somewhere in the depths of the house would hear Amren and throw it open, demanding to understand what they’d just heard.

Rhys quelled his fear. Feyre would never intrude and Elain was too feeble, too addled by the noise in her mind. He’d expect insolence and intrusion from the other one but she was caged up in the House of Wind learning to be a citizen of the Night Court.

Rhys stared at Amren, her hands clenched on the arms of the chair as she sat opposite, her grey eyes boring into his. Her words meant nothing. Not when Madja’s from days before had sunk into his skin and through muscle, carving themselves onto his bones.

Feyre will die, she had said. The infant has Illyrian wings. She will birth the baby but it will come at a great cost – her life for her son’s but I cannot even guarantee that he will live. I am sorry.

The joy in Rhys’ heart, so elevated it was as though it soared above the mountains, was ripped from the sky. His mate would die, his son may follow. So would Rhys himself, the vow they made to each other would hold. If Rhys couldn’t promise Feyre her immortal life, then he would join her in eternal death.

Amren thought different.

“If we leave the Night Court without a leader or heir, do you have any understanding what abyss would open? Of who would try and fill it? All your people would be at the mercy of the likes of Keir. Velaris would become the Hewn Court. Do you acknowledge this? Do you?”

Of course, he did. However much Amren hissed at him, he wasn’t a fool and he would agree it again. He and Feyre were bound by the thread of fate, stronger than any tie he had to his people.

“I’ll consult all sources,” Amren said, “even the old magic, the forbidden tomes.” Her voice had quavered, the old magic would be wanting to extract its unknown price and now she was no longer immortal the payment would be costly. “There must be a way to break this promise so if Feyre dies you won’t go with her.

“I want to go with her,” Rhys said. “I would follow Feyre into oblivion if I had to.”

Amren’s eyes flashed. “Your people,” she hissed again, “think about your people.”

“I’m thinking about my mate,” he snapped back. “If you sever this vow and she dies and I live, then the Night Court can rot under Keir’s rulership for all I care.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What will you do then, while Feyre sits in ignorance and the rest of us live in fear?”

Rhys sat back in his chair, his fingers lacing over his knee. “I’ll find a way to save Feyre and then, oh ancient one, your efforts will have been for nothing and both you and I will be glad for it.

“And you think you’ll find a way?”

“I’m sure of it.”

Amren leant forward over his desk, trying to close the space he had increased. “By the Mother I want you to be right.” Her fingers clenched and unclenched onto the wooden arm of the chair, her nails leaving crescent marks. “How can you be confident you’ll save Feyre?”

Rhys smiled. Joy was no longer in his heart but certainty was. “Because Amren, you are not me.”

***

Rhys refused to name an heir other than the son in his wife’s belly.

Two months after he’d received the unfortunate news, he publicly announced Feyre’s pregnancy and decreed his unborn son, Nyx as sole heir to the Night Court.

Time had passed fast.

While his mate slept, Rhys woke in the night and flew to the library in the House of Wind to pour over books or to consult with whichever mage had been dragged from the depths of their slumber.

No solution had been forthcoming but Rhys wanted to weave it into the stars that Nyx would take up the throne centuries from now, either upon Rhys’ death or departure at a time of his choosing.

The news echoed from the House of Wind into Velaris and travelled from the Night Court into the vast landscape of Prythian.

Lesser fae went about their business while High Lords raised their goblets in salutations or beat their fists against the hardened bark of Spring trees.

Rhys had been challenged. Amren alone and then Cassian and Azriel together.

“You shouldn’t announce the news,” Cassian had said, pacing the floor of the study as Azriel stood by the wall. “Mor has gone to the continent; Az and I are flying into the furthest reaches of Illyria and Cauldron knows where Amren is.” He stopped before Rhys. “We haven’t found anything.”

“Yet.”

Cassian nodded. “Yes, yet but announcing Feyre’s pregnancy while we haven’t a solution or plan-”

“A plan for what?”

Cassian’s face twisted in pain. “In case the worst should occur and we lose you all. Personal grief aside, what would become to the Court with no High Lord or Lady?”

“That won’t be an issue,” Rhys said, waving his hand. “I’ll find a way to save Feyre.”

“If you don’t?” Az asked from the corner. “What then?”

Rhys paused, his blood bubbling in his veins as though suddenly on fire. Audacity. There would never would be a ‘what then’ and the question from the lips of a male he called his brother was a poison being dripped into the room.

He curled back his lips, baring his teeth as the black mist swirled from him skin, brushing against the Illyrians, kissing their wings which twitched away. “I will. Bring this topic up again and I will make life uncomfortable for the females in your lives. Do you understand?”

They froze at his words. Azriel’s eyes darting to the ceiling, likely envisioning Elain in her room several floors above. Cassian’s jaw tensed, his clenched fists straining the tendons while the syphons on his armour shone as bright as fresh blood.

The scent of earth and flowers drifted from him to where Rhys sat.

A scarred hand landed on Cassian’s shoulder as Azriel stepped forward, his eyes meeting Rhys’. “Yes, my High Lord,” he said before turning to Cassian. “Come,” he said with a softer voice. “We’re not wanted.”

So, they had left and Rhys made his announcement, no one else visiting him until Amren returned from overseas.

“Name another,” she’d pleaded. “You don’t have to renounce what you have declared, just an additional fae to a Court of trusted High Lords. If Nyx lives than appoint a regent for him until he’s of age.”

Rhys' laugh was brittle. “Do you want that someone to be you? Exactly how hard are you trying to break the vow?”

His words were as though he’d slapped her, Amren’s head lurching backwards as her hands dropped to her sides. It was a mere trick of the light but for a moment Rhys saw unshed tears in her eyes.

“I want you on the throne,” she said, “and when the time is right – your son. But if we can’t have you and Nyx is too young, what will we get?”

“I will save Feyre,” Rhys said, his skin heating. His patience with their impatience was quickening his blood once more. “There will be no more discussion on this matter.”

“It’s been months...”

“We are done.”

Amren’s mouth closed into a tight line and she nodded but when she reached the door of his study she paused, turning to him. “I understand you’re refusing to see Azriel since his last visit but despite your fury, he’s still your spymaster and you need to listen to what he has to say. You should turn toward the Hewn City.”

After she left, Rhys stood from behind his desk and walked to the map of Prythian constructed to the side. The mountains peaked and the valleys dipped, the castles of all the Courts carved before him.

His eyes drifted to the seat of the Hewn City, perfect in its miniature copy. He’d been unfair with his words towards Amren. Silver streaks now appeared in her jet-black hair and stress lines burrowed their way onto her face. She’d travelled to wherever she could travel, consulted with whomever held ancient knowledge and the price was already being paid.

It hadn’t escaped his attention that she’d lost a finger. Who or what wanted that he didn’t ask.

Rhys had long decided that the doubt which tried to grow in him about his actions wouldn’t take root. He pulled it out like a weed each time it made an appearance. There was no time for second guessing, not when he’d scoured every avenue and was coming up short.

Rhys had visited Madja once more.

“My Lord,”she had greeted him with a bow.

“Tell me again what you told me those months ago.”

Madja twisted her gnarled fingers into the cloth of her dress. “If the High Lady shifts into Illyrian form and gives birth in that shape, then all might be well.”

“Might.” Rhys paced the length of Madja’s quarters. “Will the shift harm the baby? Will it harm my son.”

“Possibly.” She’d adverted her eyes. “I can't guarantee her body won't expel him under the trauma.”

Rhys now closed his eyes to the map of Prythian, instead imagining his son, small and perfect with tiny fingers and toes, lying on the ground, grey and lifeless. Rhys envisioned those perfectly formed wings, the source of all the trouble wrapped around his fragile form, trying to protect himself from the elements of a world thrust upon him too soon.

There would be no breath and no heartbeat. Only the agonised screams of Feyre as she sobbed over the body of her baby. This would not be a grief Rhys could soothe. Feyre would spend centuries of her eternal life in anguish as a piece of her floated away with Nyx’s soul. Son and mate both dead in their own differing ways.

No. Feyre was in the nursery of the River House, painting murals and singing lullabies. He wouldn’t burden her with this, he would find a way and Feyre would be none the wiser of any of it.

Rhys wouldn’t name any other as heir, temporarily or as Regent. He refused to bait the Cauldron and by naming another he was placing an option into the world, one that may be seen and accepted in lieu. This was not his wager to lose.

***

How strange it was to Keir that the High Lord of Night’s joyous public declaration of an impending son didn’t meet his eyes. How Mor, his traitor of a daughter, stood behind her cousin with a smile on her face which screamed of fakery.

He knew them well, as both would not want to admit - but refusing to believe something was true didn’t make it false. The other members of Rhys’ precious Inner Circle were distracted or absent and Keir felt it was time to unearth a few secrets.

Whispers found a way through cracks. Especially if you set to create those cracks

What crawled out from under the rock was that the life of the sweet, naïve Feyre Cursebreaker was in danger as was that of the baby inside her. The infant had a glimmer of hope, the mother did not.

The shimmering jewel in the crown was that Feyre’s life was tied to Rhys’ and Rhys had arrogantly named no other successor than said son and no Regent in his stead.

The branch of that tree was withering away. Keir on his dais in the Hewn City could have wept tears of glory. A chasm was opening, one which could be filled by someone strong enough to claim it. It was natural for Keir to reach out his hand and take what should now be his.

If the boy survived, well then, he would need guidance towards the right path. Who would fight Keir in this respect? The bastard Illyrian? The quiet one? His own traitorous daughter?

Blood and lineage would out. A misfortune of birth order was the only reason Keir wasn’t already ensconced in the House of Wind and he had plenty of loyalists to the Hewn City who would don armour for his name.

Still, whispers which drifted their way through cracks and into the ears of those who listened also drifted away. Of course, Rhys would have spies in the Hewn City, perhaps some of the lengthening shadows were not simple shadows at all

News of Keir’s plans reached Velaris and now he and Rhys placed a game. Both pretending that they didn’t have knowledge on the other but both moving their pieces. Keir sent his advisors outward as Rhys did the same with his band of idiot friends. But for every ally Keir gained, it seemed Rhys added onto his own.

Rumours were that Rhys was sending the bastard to Illyria to rally troops and so that was the first location Keir turned. Unlike Rhys who deemed Illyria a place beneath his High Lord boots, Keir made his visits personal.

To Keir, the Illyrians could die like the dogs they were for all he cared but they were an invaluable asset he couldn’t afford to lose.

Hounds they may be, his advisors told him, but make them your hounds. There are those who want Rhysand gone as you do. Allow them their freedoms to do what they want in their own country and they will back you.

Keir selected his camps carefully. Even if some didn’t declare for Rhys, it didn’t mean they would declare for him. The name of Rhys’ dog Cassian, was uttered across the land with a degree of reverence more than Keir would have liked.

At least Kallon, one of the camp Lords was ripe with rage. They sat opposite each other in Kallon’s tent, the heat trapped within the canvas causing sweat to drip down Keir’s back as he made his promises.

“Others are declaring for that bastard,” Kallon said, his knife carving a deeper groove into the wood of his desk. “Enalius re-born they say, like any Illyrian birthed from a laundry whore would be destined for a path of greatness.”

Kallon’s laugh was brittle, his lips curled into a sneer over bared teeth. Feral, Keir thought. They are all feral pups. Still, an opportunity was an opportunity.

“When I rule the Night Court, you will be destined for your own path of greatness. I won’t demand anything for it other than your fealty. Clip whoever you want, raid whatever you want. By the Cauldron, you can have Velaris if you want.”

Kallon looked at him, his dark eyes glinting. “I can have the city?”

Yes, thought Keir. Greed is good. Greed meant a price existed and a price meant someone could be bought.

“Have it,” Keir had said. “Do to it and its inhabitants what you will.”

They shook hands and signed parchments before Keir moved south to the Autumn Court.

Autumn was bronze and copper and gold and Keir had barely seen any of it before he was swept into the labyrinthian halls and deeper under the soil than he wanted. The inhabitants could leave you in their palace and not even servants born there centuries before would find you.

Unease prickled his skin but he pushed it down as he walked corridors with thick tree roots lining the walls.

Beron had Keir bought to a secret office, one which he entered through two unwinding branches, and he forced himself to not look back upon them as they wound back together. The High Lord of Autumn sat behind a mahogany desk, brown hair falling forward as he scribbled away.

“My Lord,” Keir began, eyes adjusting to the gloom. “How is your dear lady wife?”

The scratch of the quill on parchment paused but Beron didn’t look up. “Past breeding age but she lives, which is more than she deserves most days.”

Keir nodded though Beron couldn’t see. He’d made a calculated decision when choosing the High Lords to visit. Beron was a comfortable selection. “And your eldest son, Eris?”

Beron stopped scribbling and looked up, his mouth in a sneer. “Why?” he spat, “were you wanting him instead? Are you here to stick the knife in my back while he twists? He gets to be High Lord when I’m dead and I plan to disappoint him by living forever.”

The underground cavernous study, tucked away and guarded by trees loyal to the appointed High Lord of Autumn made sense.

“And your other sons?”

Beron’s laugh was as rough as tree bark. “Lucien is no seed of mine. The rest? Rotting in their tombs. At least they had the decency to die before me.”

Keir moved forward with renewed certainty, settling himself uninvited into a chair. “My Lord,” he began, “speaking of dead sons....”

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pushpa-exports · 11 months

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Floral Carving Silver Door with Wood Polish

Elevate your space with the exquisite charm of our Floral Carving Silver Door with Wood Polish. A true masterpiece of artistry and craftsmanship, this door boasts intricate floral carvings on a shimmering silver surface. The wood polish adds a warm, natural touch, blending opulence with earthly beauty. The harmonious fusion of silver and wood creates a timeless aesthetic, telling a story of elegance and tradition. This door is more than an entrance; it's a gateway to a world where art and nature unite. Open it to enrich your space with opulent serenity and the cultural richness of floral motifs.

#Floral Carving Silver Door with Wood Polish #natural touch #SilverFloralCarvingDoor #Artistry #WoodenElegance #OpulentDesign #CulturalHeritage #TimelessCharm #NaturalBeauty #EntranceElegance #ArtisticFusion #interiorinspiration

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womansfire · 11 months

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world building , ( one : safe houses / properties . )

palazzo serenzo , via degli archi , 12 florence , italy . occupying the two upper floors , this apartment has 4 bedrooms + 2.5 baths . the roof has an outdoor seating area , nice for little outdoor dinners .

intro : palazzo serenzo is a historical and land marked building from the 15th century . the di conti family were a prestigious and one of the most prominent noble families in florence , and also allies to the medici family . the di conti's head : alessandro di coni commissioned the architect leonardo de'amici to build them a home that inspired the citizen's of florence . much is a mystery about the family since , not much is known about them . they however used their amassed wealth and title to serve as a symbol and for the overall well being of the city and her people .

their family can be traced back to wealthy merchants who amassed great wealth and power through their successful trading ventures . with their wealth , the di conti family became influential in the arts , education , politics , banking and then some . the matriarch isabella di conti was a poet and dedicated to italy's rich history and artistic expression . she loved to host salons and invited some of the most influential guests .

thus making their home a hub for intellectual and artistic exchange . the family supported many renowned artists , architects , and scholars at the time .

they were known for the passion for collecting rare artifacts ( some of which are said to be hidden within the palazzo , kept in a secret wing from prying eyes . ) most of their collections from paintings to manuscripts are in mia's possession today .

as one approaches the palazzo , their eyes are drawn to it's entrance . framed by intricately carved stone arches which are adorned with delicate floral motifs . the heavy wooden doors were crafted from oak and fitted with brass handles and hinges . stained glass windows are attached to the doors which filter rays of colors into the atrium . at the far end of the atrium is an imposing statue of diana the huntress . the staircase leading to the upper floors , the balustrades crafted with intricate scroll work that seems to intertwine like delicate vines . each step is a testament to the masterful craftsmanship , with the polished marble or white and red , gleam from the natural light through the windows .

the di conti family played a pivotal part in the political landscape of florence , often holding positions of influence and participating in key decision - making processes . alessandro was such a diplomat and politician , and his first born son : marco would follow in his father's footsteps and also become a influential politician . they were esteemed for their diplomatic skills , strategic alliances , and their commitment to preserving the city's cultural heritage . there was an attempt on alessandro's life during the conspiracy to assassinate the important men in the medici family . what also is a bit of a conspiracy is that he was also hiding a very important artifact that contained a supernatural magic that could give the handler wealth , unbeatable strength and power . but of course ... that's nothing but a conspiracy .

the family's crest is a shield that is dividend into four sections . the upper left and lower right sections showcase a deep royal blue color , while the upper right and lower sections are adorned with a rich emerald green . the upper left section has a golden lion : representing courage , strength , and leadership . the lower right section features a silver crescent moon : symbolizing wisdom , enlightenment and the pursuit of knowledge . the upper right section , there is a stylized golden olive tree : representing peace , abundance , and prosperity . lastly the lower left section showcases a silver key : symbolizing guardianship , authority , and preservation of family secrets and legacies . above the shield there is a regal golden crown which is obvious , representing the families noble status and heritage . supporting the shield on each side , there are two majestic silver griffins : representing courage , protection and watchfulness . below the shielf there is a flowing ribbon that has the family's motto in latin : vigilans et fortis ... vigilant and strong .

mia's residency in the ancestral palazzo of the di conti family represents a continuation of their legacy , as she finds herself surrounded and enamored by the remnants of the bygone era .

the apartment : mia bought the upper two floors of palazzo serenzo , and more of a recent purchase since returning to public life . it was during this time that she was working as a fixer , and fully taking on the persona . the apartment contains four bedrooms and 2.5 bathrooms , her master bedroom being on the top floor facing the east . the apartment has a large eat - in kitchen ( obviously a more modern kitchen considering most kitchens in the 15th century would have been on the bottom floor . ) a separate and formal dining room with a large farmhouse table , a library that adorns hundreds of books adorning the bookcases . an official office and a room where mia holds her weapons and work related items . like mia's brooklyn warehouse , the apartment ( and ultimately the entire palazzo ) has been fixed with the top tech and security systems available . making the palazzo safe and secure for anyone who has malicious intent . the armory is more traditional , housing some 13th - 15th century military artifacts and then some . with the captivating blend of historical charm and timeless elegance .

the apartment begins at the entrance , with the heavy wooden double door , leading to a long hallway that showcases the first fresco ( a celestial panorama , one with a rich night sky , adorned with twinkling stars and constellations . with a radiant full moon and surrounding it with some etherial figures of mythological creatures . ) another fun fact about the di conti family is that they were catholic but also believed in science too . some believe the patriarch of the family was also an astronomer .

the hallway holds many artifacts and paintings from the di conti family personal archives , and some that she has bought and collected over the years . tall windows with dark wooden panels invoke natural light into the rooms , because their open most of the year when she's there . the living room is further down the hall and to the right , though the room doesn't have any frescoes . the real focal point is to the grand fireplace that is still in use to this day during the cold winter nights . the walls are left natural , with the only painting done for the renovations and upkeep of the original state of the apartment . there are exposed beams through out the apartment , though in some rooms the ceilings opt for a more traditional italian look with the original woodwork and floral etchings into the wood . the floor is mostly terracotta and tile , therefore mia opts for many persian and turkish rugs to cover the floor .

she has a vanity table on the opposite side of the room , a large walk - in closet and her master bathroom just through that . there within she has a extra large ornate gilded mirror , which is mostly made of brass .

** below mia , an elderly couple lives in the ground apartment and who also have the old kitchen of the palazzo . luciano and maria amato : a retired professor of literature and a traditional housewife respectively . they both are warm , friendly , charming and most definitely consider mia one of their children . they offer wisdom and humor in her life ... absolutely nothing will harm them for as long as she's there . **

#world : headcanon #headcanon //

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irithnova · 2 years

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@hwsasiaweek

Mongolia: Music+Instruments/"These ghosts of old desire".

Also on AO3!

I attempted to mix the two prompts together lol idk how well it turned out though.

He fastened the final clasp of his ceremonial deel, stepping back slightly to get a better look of his full appearance. The fluttering chatter of the excited guests from outside fell flat against the door, leaving Mongolia in almost perfect solitude in the dimly lit, but homely dressing room.

Gingerly adjusting his fur hat, his vision was glittered with the brilliant colours of his garment. The light - though subtle, captured the delicate glimmer of the golden thread against the sheeny blue silk. It cast an intricate floral design, meticulously and expertly woven, reminiscent of the yellow poppies that would sprout upwards towards the blue sky during the height of his country's summer.

A black velvet trim - though a stark contrast, complemented the regal outfit, and Mongolia himself was in awe of the beauty of the fabric. He turned his body every so often to observe how the dainty patterns and colours seemingly glowed when they caught the light.

He finally shifted his gaze. The Mongol swiftly walked over to where he propped his morin khuur, lacquered and lustrous, and tenderly traced his finger against the curvature of the carved horse head, trailing it down to feel the angular outline of the carved ulzii symbol against his flesh.

It's been a while since he's given a performance like this. But he had no qualms about his ability.

This is an art that he's perfected.

There was one thing though. One thing - one song, that caused a twinge of apprehension to ache in the depths of his stomach when he thought about it. An old tune…

Ah.

He glanced at the clock. It was time.

Picking up his instrument, he made a tentative tread towards the door, as if not wanting to disturb the stillness of the room, and walked out.

________________________________________

The chatter dampened as Mongolia made his way on stage, the audience's eyes now planted on him in eager anticipation.

He caught a glimpse of a few of the nations who were peppered throughout the crowd, all of them on a diplomatic visit. Upon seeing South Korea's wide grin, he fought the urge to smile back. Instead, he turned to face behind himself, giving a small nod and smile to the musicians who already took their places.

All of them were clothed in a sumptuous, silky white. The headpieces that were sat on top of the woman performers framed their faces prettily, strings of pearls hanging like decorative curtains past their cheekbones. They were all seated with their respective instruments, broad yatga with its silver strings beneath one, the slim, elongated flute of the tsuur in the hands of another. It was all coming together.

Mongolia perched himself upon the chair placed for him in front of the other performers. His morin khuur sat comfortably in his lap as he dragged his bow against the string, his cured fingers fluently finding their rightful positions against it as he began his first song, purely in the kargyraa register. For now.

The air was filled with the sound of his deep, guttural voice. It was almost as if he was growling. The Mongol could feel the deep vibrations oscillating intensely through his throat and chest, and noticed how the sheer volume of his voice caught some people off-guard.

Of course, throat singing is ideally performed amongst the wide open plains, with nothing acting as an obstacle to the sound for miles. It sounded a hell of a lot louder when performed indoors, even if it was in a hall.

Song after song came, diverse in their sounds and topics but all as equally as mesmerising as the other. However, he did not just sing in kargyraa. But khoomei and sygyt too, khoomei being slightly softer compared to kargyraa. He relaxed his abdomen as he sang, lessening the tension in his larynx, mouth contorting itself in every which way to manipulate the melodies that danced from his throat.

The way the sound whirled throughout the great hall was evocative of how the wind passes through cobbles of large stone on the steppe, the sounds not dissimilar. After all, the original intent of throat singing was to imitate nature.

His sygyt, though, was truly something to behold.

He manipulated the shape of his mouth once more, sealing his tongue around his gums, behind the teeth, leaving a small opening near the right side of his molars. His mouth positioned itself effortlessly to accommodate this style. The tension built and fell in his throat as he fluidly switched from khoomei to sygyt and back again, the vibrations even reaching his sinuses when he'd switch to sygyt.

The audience sat firmly in their seats, utterly enchanted by the alien whistling noise being emitted from the man's mouth. They watched intently at the way he'd hold a linear sygyt note with ease, eyes scrunched shut and brows knitted together. They listened in astonishment at how he could rapidly ripple his voice, matching the quickened speed of which he played his morin khuur, imitating the steady rhythm of a horse on a speedy trot.

Like the sound of a family of birds gliding freely across the blue sky, his harmonious voice, too, travelled freely throughout the hall. The shrill but soft sound fell gracefully against the ears of the audience.

After finishing the penultimate song, he turned his head to catch his breath, the audience's boisterous applause dimmed by the sick feeling in his stomach he felt before he came on stage.

He silently cursed himself for choosing this song to be his final - Ertnii Saikhan. A tune that - though cheerful, caused his heart to ache and swell with bitter, painful nostalgia.

At the time, it felt like a good idea. Surely he was over it by now, right? Plus it couldn't all just be throat singing, the Mongolian long song is also a beautiful art. Ertnii Saikhan seemed like a great choice at the time, but now, he wasn't so sure.

As he opened his mouth to give his final performance, his piercing voice ringing throughout the hall, he remembered a time, long ago. A time when this powerful song was just a gentle, muted hum, lulling a squirming child to sleep.

He remembered how small he used to be, how he was weightless in the cradle of his arms. The way his fragile fingers peaked curiously from beneath the layers of fur, instinctually finding something to grab on to. He remembered how the gentle, glowing light from the sun fell through the tonoo of his ger, casting its pleasant warmth across the child's face, his dark eyes shifting to a subtle, golden hue.

He was a glowfly amongst the vastness of the forest, a star amongst the boundless black sky.

His son.

He gave a final drag of his bow against his fiddle, executing the last note as his voice fizzled out, drowned by the loud praise of the crowd. He didn't realise it at first, but his eyes were glassy with warm wetness, gravity threatening it's fall.

Turning away from the crowd, he stood up and gave a meek bow before gesturing for the other musicians to stand and receive their praise.

He swiftly made his way off of the stage, eyes downcast, unable to deal with being haunted by the ghosts of old desire.

End notes:

Deel - (From UNESCO) Deel is traditional Mongol clothing consisting of a caftan-like long garment, sash, belt, hat and boots. Every ethnic group has created and developed its own unique style, design and decorations, embodying specific features of their culture, origins and historic background.

Morin Khuur - Mongolian horse head fiddle

Ulzii/Ulzii symbol - Buddhist endless knot symbol that's widely used in Mongolia

Yatga - (Wikipedia) traditional plucked zither of Mongolia

Tsuur - (Wikipedia) end-blown flute of varying lengths that is common among Inner Asian pastoralists

Kargyraa, Khoomei and sygyt are different registers of throat signing, kargyraa being the lowest and sygyt being the highest, khoomei being kind of a middle ground. Khoomei is also used as a generic word to describe throat singing amongst Mongolians. Honestly go and check it out for yourself, I can't describe in words how great it sounds (even though I tried to in this fic lmao).

Mongolian long song - (Wikipedia) The long song is one of the central elements of the traditional music of Mongolia. This genre is called "Long song" not only because the songs are long, but also because each syllable of text is extended for a long duration. A four-minute song may only consist of ten words

Ertnii Saikhan - A Mongolian long song. Some researchers speculate that this was the first hymn of the Mongol empire, which is why I chose this song.

Ger - Traditional Mongolian home, a portable, round tent covered and insulated with skins or felt.

Tonoo - The upper ring/roof of the ger, which allows air to circulate through the tent, supported by two pillars (bagana). When cooking, the felt is taken off of the tonoo to allow the smoke out. When it's cold, the felt is put over the tonoo again to keep the heat in.

#Hwsasiaweek #Aph mongolia #Hws mongolia #Hetalia mongolia #Hetalia #hetalia world twinkle #hetalia world stars #hetalia world series #aph south korea #hws south korea #hetalia south korea #aph golden horde #hws golden horde #Hetalia golden horde

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alittleinkspill · 2 years

Text

High School Writing #3: Room Description

I felt the warmth of the doorknob in my palm as I twisted the sphere and swung open the door enough to get in without letting much of the warmth out. The heat was welcome compared to the blistering cold in the corridors of the house. My nearly frostbitten, bare feet stumbled off the dark oak floor and onto the plush carpeting covering the expanse of my room.

I shut the door behind me and stood there for a few seconds, taking a deep breath, the faint smell of burning logs filling my lungs, and allowing the warmth from the fire in the hearth to curl around me like the fuzzy dark blanket sprawled and distorted on my bed, the red sheets still marking where I laid a couple minutes ago, my novel open and upside-down on the bedside table between the two oak-wood single-beds, one mine and the other my brother’s.

My brother’s bed was painted a dark shade of brown, with gold-painted floral patterns carved into the wood. We both had the same patterns on our beds, but where his was normal oak, mine was dark oak; his sheets and pillows were a soft shade of red, mine were crimson; his blanket was covered with bright floral patterns, mine was plain, and a brown so dark it was barely distinguishable from black.

I detested the floral patterns carved into my bed, but in a couple months the beds would change, having lasted us three years already. I owe that change to my brother who played so aggressively on his bed that it now lays below our standards, and it was made of some really sturdy wood.

My brother was not in his bed tonight, the eight-year-old was snoozing soundly with my parents in their bed, cradled between the two.

I made my way around his bed over to my book through the dimly lit room, my feet sinking into the maroon carpet, examining the room as I went, the bright wood walls, the four metres on the left of my bed covered with bookshelves seven feet high. The wall in front of my bed was just closets built into the wall, blending in seamlessly except for the silver, metal handles.

The room lacked pictures, once again because of me, and it lacked a bathroom, that was not my fault, but part of the architecture. It was right outside my room, a door in the wall. I passed by the hearth, the logs cracking, a sound I found comforting. The cobblestone amongst the wood walls seeming odd but nonetheless remarkable. It had a very low railing, bright gold in the light of the fire. I moved past.

My gaze found the study tables, one for my brother, one for me. Modest tables, the flat top light brown and polished, while the rest was painted a dark shade of brown. It had no carvings nor designs. Two drawers rested in the table, one significantly wider than the other, the remaining bottom empty but walled on all three sides leaving the front. Our chairs were also identical, like the ones found in a computer lab, I always struggled with describing them.

The desks were set up parallel to the wall adjacent to the bookshelves, my brother’s next to mine, both desks currently bare.

As my hand now reached for the book, I looked up into the mirror hung flat against the wall, its base touching the table as though it was propped up on it. It was intricately made, with a wide top, narrowing as you went lower. The mirror, too, had no carvings nor designs.

I looked at the clear glass framed by the dark wood, and the boy stared back at me. He had dark, rough hair, and sunken eyes, once a bright, blue ocean. There was a light stubble on his chin, and his lips were completely dry. Light acne dotted both of his cheeks.

‘Teenage,’ I shrugged, and grabbed the book as I collapsed onto my brother’s bed, picking up where I had left off from between the around 500 pages. It was one of the novels I do not speak about, as I tucked my, now much warmer, feet into my brother’s blanket. They were aching from that bare foot expedition to the kitchen for a glass of water in the cruel rule of winter, but the ache was wearing off.

As I read on, I made a mental note of wearing my slippers the next time I felt like braving the cold.

- 29/08/2019

#high school writing #writing #short story #my writing #description #descriptive writing #descriptive #essay #room description #school writing #creative writing

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ratsoh-writes · 3 years

Note

What do their bedrooms/living areas look like? I'm going to use all 3 of my asks to request this for all of the boys if that's ok! ❤

Man, I’ve had this one in my secret notes for a good while now!

Undertale:

Both the tale brothers live in a nice little gated community. Their house is one of the smaller ones and has the same layout as the one in Snowdin. The house is pretty basic with some cozy throws and wall tapestries to spruce it up

Sans: his room actually has a proper bed and frame this time. The sheets and blankets are still bundled up in a pile on the floor though. Sans also has his homemade trashnado in the corner. There’s a desk on the wall adjacent to the door which has his laptop. And several folders stacked next to it. Other than a dresser, there’s literally nothing else in there. Sans doesn’t care much about stuff

Papyrus: his room has bright orange walls. He left the race car bed behind underground but has a race car blanket to make up for it. His walls are covered in superhero and comic posters. He also has a display case for some old figurines and his comic collection. Papyrus’ desk is one of those nice fancy drafting ones where he can adjust it to tilt upwards. He has a ship wheel attached to his door for some reason.

Underswap

The swap bros home is only a few blocks from the classic brothers neighborhood. The only thing basic about it is the cream walls. All the furniture and decorations are bright colors. The kitchen especially is real nice. The oven and stove are top notch, and the counters are filled with mason jars full of goodies.

Star: his room can blind a lesser man when you walk in. The walls are bright yellow, the bed (which is a bunk bed by the way) is neon orange. Galaxy posters decorate the wall. Besides the clashing colors, the furniture is pretty basic. Only the top bunk actually has a mattress. The bottom bunk is used as a storage shelf. He also has a shoe rack by his door

Honey: you can practically feel the nerdy aura as you enter his room. The first thing you see is a display case housing some neat figurines of characters from his favorite shows. He’s also got a pretty nice bookshelf on the opposite wall that’s nearly full. Honeys bed has a curtain around it for extra privacy with a nice little wall lamp above the pillows

Underfell

They have a home a little closer to the city center but still far enough to be considered suburbs. It’s a very sleek and modern house with white walls, tile floors and sleek black and metal furniture. The only thing that doesn’t fit the rest of the theme is this nasty old patched up sofa in the living room. The thing is absolutely hideous but is sooo comfy.

Red: his room has soft grey walls and smells like miter oil. Makes sense since one wall is just a long basic table covered in machine parts that red tinkers with in his down time. He actually doesn’t have a bed. Instead he sleeps on this giant leather bean bag. He likes it that way. There’s a few car posters decorating the walls

Edge: he obviously put a lot of thought into his rooms decorations. Everything is pretty black marble or a sleek white wood. His bed covers are blood red with a nice geometric designs on top in silver. He has a beautiful black desk with some pretty jars filled to the brim with nothing but novelty pens. If you looked in his desk drawers you would find notebooks and even more pens

Swapfell

They don’t own a house and instead live in a two bedroom one bath apartment on the third floor of one of lords complexes. The furniture is pretty minimalistic but very nice quality. Most decorations are metal

Mal: the first thing you’ll see in his room is a large wooden drawing desk where pencils and watercolors are neatly arranged on the side. There’s also a vanity with a light up mirror and a nice collection of makeup. Also a huge slanted hunters knife. He uses it to make sure his eyeliner is extra sharp.

Cash: his bedroom is the perfect definition of organized chaos. It looks messy but for cash, he knows exactly where every thing is. There’s a small tv in there with some old game consoles hooked up to it. The bed is never made.

Horrortale

Their home rests in a neighborhood bordering the forest of ebott. The houses there all have a lot more yard space than most houses in the city. The horrortale home is super cozy with lots of knit throws and pillows scattered around. The back patio has a little dog door and there’s a 50% chance of seeing a chicken walk through lol

Oak: his room is also pretty basic. The bed however has so many blankets. Like way more than any person should need. Oak is a blanket hoarder. There’s a lot of notebooks stacked on his wooden desk along with a file of patterned paper for scrapbooking.

Willow: his room has a raised bed with a cute little ladder on the side so that his dog can jump up. You can tell a lot of the furniture has been homemade or refurbished. The room is larger and in the middle is a circular stone table that’s stained with paint. It’s usually housing his latest craft

Underlust

They used to live in the same neighborhood as the classic brothers but have recently moved closer to the inner city because of work. Their home is still in the process of being unpacked mostly, but their rooms are done! The house is actually pretty conservative looking with grey walls, white wooden furniture and soft pastel decor. They do have a stripper pole in the living room though lol

Charm: his room looks exactly how you expect from him. Dark walls with lots of bright rave type decorations. On his dresser is a large pretty cake display that stands out from the rest of the rooms theme lol. His room is always on a state of organized chaos with his desk and bed covered in nick knacks but the floors staying oddly clean

Sugar: his room has light lavender walls and black furniture. It’s a big difference from the soft feminine style people expect from him. Instead sugar has a more sleek modern style to his room. He also has a standard mannequin in the middle that always has a new dresses pinned to it.

Fellswap (red)

They own a pretty two story house only a block away from the two apartment complexes that lord owns. The front lawn/garden is in top shape with lots of those metal flower decorations stuck in the ground along the dirt outline. Inside the house is most worn but comfy looking furniture. Nothing special

Lord: his room is pretty basic with mostly brown and grey accents. He does have a large mostly filled bookcase. There’s also two white bean bags and a deep red rug that covers nearly the whole floor of the room.

Mutt: he actually has two rooms. The first is pretty simple with just his bed, a writing desk and a rack for some shoes. Also his bird cage for KFC (pet pigeon). The second room has a sink, and several cages and boxes for the injured animals that he rehabilitates. The second room is slightly larger than his actual room.

Fellswap gold

They actually live in a studio apartment above wines antique shop. The apartment used to be an unused storage static until wine bought the building and repurposed it. The living space itself is a little small, but they also have access to the roof which the gold bros use as a potted garden and dining area.

Wine: his room is very classy with silk curtains on the window and a silky cream canopy above his head. All the furniture is a dark grey wood with pretty carvings and designs. The walls are decorated with beautiful floral paintings from his brother. It’s a pretty well planned out room. Very cosy and luxurious

Coffee: he has two rooms as well. The smaller of the two is just his bed, dresser, closet and a tv with some consoles hooked up to it. The second room has shelves lining nearly every wall except for one which is just a big collab mural. On the shelves is various art supplies and projects. There’s one large sketch desk on one wall. And finally in the middle of the room is a tarp attached to the floor housing whatever piece of furniture coffee is restoring at the moment .

Dancetale

They also own an apartment, one of the flats in lords buildings on the ground floor. It’s the other building from the swapfell brothers. The walls are painted a cheery yellow and the house is mostly decorated with spring colors. There’s always a huge bowl of fresh fruit in the kitchen.

Pop: his room is mix and match of completely different furniture and gadgets. Pop isn’t someone who cares about themes so he will keep whatever catches his fancy. Instead of a bed, he has a hammock attacked to the ceiling with a pillow and some throw blankets casually tossed on top lol.

Rhythm: his room is pretty sparse with just his bed, a shoe rack, and a dresser. On the dresser are pictures of each of his face classes right before they graduate. Rhythm doesn’t really care all that much about decor so the walls are pretty bare too

Outertale

They live in the same gated community as the classic brothers! The outertale home has high ceilings and lots of windows. The living room is the real centerpiece of the home. It has several large antique bookcases and display cases. Inside the displays are various rocks and crystals and the occasional fossil. It’s really neat.

Pluto: his room is comprised of mostly blues grays and greens. He has a small bookcase on the side of his bed where he keeps the things he’s currently reading. There’s also a large fish-tank with an assortment of saltwater fish inside. Pluto’s room also has a large circular fluffy rug in the middle of the floor. The floor itself is hardwood

Jupiter: his room has a similar color scheme except instead of greens, Jupiter has gold instead. He has some exercise equipment stacked nicely on the side of his bed including weights. There’s a wall tapestry with a printed picture of the asteroid belt the outertale monsters used to live in.

Gastertale

The gaster brothers also live in the same neighborhood as the classic and outertale bros. They’re at the very end in the little cul-de-sac. The interior of the house is almost all white with cream carpet, metro grey walls, and white furniture. A few of the small decorations add a bit of color. There’s a lot of potted succulents.

G: his room is probably the only dark room of the house. His walls are a charcoal grey and the furniture is mostly jet black with a few mustard colored decorations. There’s a metal wire bookcase hanging on the wall. G also has a plastic anatomy dummy that he dresses up in his motorcycle gear when he’s not using it. G thinks he’s funny

Green: like the rest of the home, his room is also mostly white. He has a pretty pale green rack for all of his glasses on his dresser. Green also has his several degrees framed in silver on the walls. his room is always spotless

Farmtale:

The farm bros have an old Victorian home that they fixed up themselves. They’re home borders the acres of farmland they own and is about a 45 minute drive from ebott city. The inside is decorated with mostly wooden furniture. There’s like four rocking chairs on the porch lol

Peaches: his room fits the theme of the house with mostly wooden furniture and a lot of quilts and rugs to add color and soften it up. Peaches always has a vase of fresh wildflowers on his dresser. The walls have photographs of plants and animals taped to them that peaches took himself.

Rancher: this mad lad has a large moose skull hanging above his four poster log cabin bed. He also hangs his favorite hunting rifles just below the moose lol. His bedroom is mostly wooden of course but is also decorated with lots of red and orange plaids.

Horrorfell

They live in the same neighborhood as the horrortale and horrorswap brothers. Their home is literally right in between the two. Inside it’s decorated in a mix between sleek modern metals and frumpy cozy style. Somehow the horrorfell bros still have their original sofa from the underground. There’s a lot of little homemade staircases for their cat doomfanger who’s too old to claim on top of things herself now

Rust: his walls are painted a soft heather grey and have some basic wooden decorations that noir painted for fun. The furniture is pretty normal with the exception of a large treasure style chest next to his bed. Open it up and you’ll find a collection of drawings and gifts from the kids he’s watched over the years. Rust didn’t have the heart to throw them away.

Noir: unsurprisingly, his room is littered in canvases and paintings on the walls. It’s divided into two sides: the messy paint side and his nice neat living side. He even has a line of tape going down the middle to complete the divide. On his living side is his bed, closet, and a low bookcase that he uses as a second dresser. The actual bookcase is in the living room

Horrorswap

As y’all all know, their house is right next to the horrorfells and one house away from the horrortales. They like bright colors and have a sort of summery themed house. The best part is the back garden which is filled with garden boxes of veggies, fruit bushes, and fruit trees.

Lilac: his rooms main color is a pretty powder blue along with canary yellow and some bright green. He has a yoga mat on the floor in place of a rug. The walls have some neat sunrise posters

Basil: his room is pretty cosy with lots of knit blankets and fluffy pillows. He has a massive poster of Pixar’s ratatouille that rust got him as a joke. Basil has like five coconut planters, each housing a different herb plant making his room smell like an Italian restaurant

The Mafias (tale, fell, swap)

The mafia brothers live in an apartment complex masquerading as a warehouse. The ground and top two floors are working area while there were three secret basement levels. The mafia bros home consists of the whole bottom level with all their rooms connected to a hallway. At the end of the hallway is a living space and the kitchen.

Snipe: his room is the one closest to the living area. Inside is sage walls with a few house plants that can survive in low light. His bed is almost never made lol. If one was to tear the room apart, they would find at least six different guns stashed in hidden compartments

Bruiser: his room is the closest to the staircase. Inside the room somehow looks super messy but is actually spotless. Bruiser decorates the walls with all kinds of gifts people randomly give him during his vigilante escapes. Stuff from pocket mirrors, to foreign currency to even a small collection of sea shells. He drilled holes into them and hung them up on strings. Other than his walls, the furniture is pretty plain

Butch: his room is a mix of greys, blacks an silvers with the basics of furniture and a small black leather sofa. On the walls are some pretty hand melded metal decorations that butch made himself. He smokes in his room so it reeks of cigars

Boss: his room fits him perfectly with clean white plaster walls, sleek metal furniture and black and gold marble decor. Everything in that room has a specific place. If anyone moved his stuff, he’d know. It’s the only mafia bro room that doesn’t caught smell like smoke somehow. There’s a male model mannequin that he uses to practice designing clothes on

Ace: the most eye catching part of his room is a large vanity with several lamps attached and a very extensive makeup kit. I’m talking professional grade. Ace isn’t the spy for nothing. He also has an open closet so all his clothing is out on display. The main color of his room is mauve funny enough

Slim: his room is a drab grey and has a large desk taking up a whole wall. It’s filled with screens and monitors. He also has a few tv screens hooked up to the wall. It almost looks like a security room. On the other side is his bed with a canopy curtain for privacy. There’s a few anime posters on the wall as well

#undertale imagines #undertale headcanons #undertale #underswap #underfell #swapfell #horrortale #underlust #fellswap red #fellswap gold #dancetale #outertale #gastertale #farmtale #horrorfell #horrorswap #mafiatale #mafiafell #mafiaswap

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siriusmydeer · 3 years

Note

Hey! Could you do a Regulus fluff with the prompt 17. “This reminded me of you.”

from a boy, to a man

regulus black x fem!reader

summary: regulus finds his way back to you after destroying the horcruxes.

word count: 2.0k

warnings: mentions of self harm (bleeding, scratching, scabs), insinuations of depression, mentions of anxiety, self hatred, poor mental health/not taking care of ones self, angst-fluff

a/n: amelia amelia i wanna kiss u thank u sm for helping me baby @fives-cup-of-coffee

dark stygian swirls. the infinite markings submerged in his pallid sickly flesh that had healed prolongingly into a lustre of peach. but the black branding lay delineated, every curvature, every edge lay as detailed as when it had first been cursed into his complexion.

the relevance of scrubbing his nails against the dermis until it scalded the nerve endings in his left forearm had become insignificant. the carmine scabs fading over time but the reminder of his baleful past prompting his memory.

the branding was the only thing that could make him clutch his arm in a bashful sense. yet the only talisman evoking his senses to remain his strong demeanour was the minuscule silver-plated band that lay on his thumb tightly.

jewelry. it was your familiarity.

necklaces, rings, earrings, they all somehow coordinated with you, your essence. something complimentary to you complexion, soothing important to your family as they were heirs.

when strolling the corridors you received the compliments, it was rather flattering. it was something people began to notice over some time, but you never had owned a bracelet. it was common to own bracelets such as heirlooms but you had never received such an entity until the age of eleven.

august 28th, 1971

the sun was fading into the familiar evening hues of feverish vermillion and a slow fading shade of apricot blending into the sky. the prelude to dawn at its beginning while you gaped at it intensely, the fresh pricks of grass hitting your bottom under the shell-pink dress you had been dressed in as well as the small gusts of wind looming through the air as a small reminder of where you had been rather than slipping into your mind into an abyss of daydreams.

the wind began to increase, hitting the delicacy of your skin. the little nips at your skin producing a small shiver from the curvature of your spine to the muscles in your legs. the moment was serene, like something you read about in fairytale books about a princess awaiting her prince, almost silent. until a faint boyish voice had interrupted the tranquillity.

“’ve got a gift for you.”

your body slightly sprung at the sound interrupting the deep prolonged silence. You began to crane your neck behind you, a short boy awaiting for you to glimpse at him, your eyes were met with deep aquamarine irises that swirled in the hues of virescent green and cerulean blue. a small twinkle found carved into his irises in them at your attention.

“regulus,” you muttered, viewing as the boy sat next to you with something particularly large clutched in his hand.

he held up a gold circlet with intricate detailing that had been engraved in the brass item. as well as an emerald gem placed directly in the centre. the main focus of the bracelet, if you will. your brows began to force together into a pronounced frown, your optics glancing from his digits clutched around the object to his features, his shell-pink lips fixed into a quirk as well as a small gleam of virtue flaring in his irises

“what’s this for?” you began to query, taking the rather dense manacle into your palm and staring at it for a moment. “it’s a bracelet, i know that you don’t have any so i got you one.” he retorted faintly, a small sense of pride and adoration swelling in his belly. but he wasn't of age to particularly identify those feelings yet.

“think of it as a present, before school starts.”

your face steadily began to upturn at his endeavours, a scramble of letters trying to escape the cavern of your mouth in a enliven venture to thank him for his doting thoughts about you.

the memory becomes a slow fading blear as recollects his thoughts and narrows his eyes in a sneer at his maimed reflection. the caliginous imprint taunting regulus through the obstruct mirror, his hand beginning to clutch over the mantle flesh ensuing the laceration that had been flung under the downpour of searing water minutes prior.

he recollected every detailed moment of that night, the way your eyes glimpsed at the bracelet every couple of seconds in elation. even at eleven years old in a floral shell-pink dress, in the distance you looked so angelic. he didn't know as an eleven-year-old boy and now only loathed himself for realizing so much later in life.

following his departure, he had glimpsed down at the silver ring that was clung onto his thumb that you had gifted following the bracelet, a ring he had to move around several fingers till it fit perfectly again. this incident similar to a parallel between scenarios. the small band holding himself together in a way that couldn't be understood by another.

the girl he had loved, adorned, the girl that was now a woman who had let him weep into her shoulder, the woman who made sure that he would take care of his body to keep it in a healthy state, the girl that was now a woman that would cheer for him amid his quidditch games till her throat was raw, the girl who was now a woman whom he still had loved wasn’t there to clutch onto his arm and whisper to him that everything was going to be alright.

the subconscious that laid embedded into your skull was subsequently pivoting in rapid twists till it was firmly knotted without anymore pondering to be completed. the footprint of where the boy had once been subtly faded without a trace as to where, the boy who grew into a man with mangled black tendrils that sat in entangled twists, the man with a structured jaw whilst he was old enough to spew out curse words to his mother, the boy who was now a man who you loved had vanished beneath your fingertips without a trace.

the man that was once a boy had taken a vow that potentially concluded his life and vanished for, ‘your safety,’ as he pronounced before departing from your vapid figure. the last i love you escaping from his lips as a final message in case it would be the last time you would hear it from him.

then you became alone, all fucking alone.

he huffed whilst pacing almost becoming nauseated, crackling at his knuckles due to the submerging coarse of anxiety running thickly through his blood. it was enough to swivel into the crevices of his spine and sprawl into his brain like sporadically placed letters in an intense game of pool, his mind configuring ways on how to address you after almost a year of his blatant absence.

the minuscule of a second he had after the duration of his completed mission, regulus had ventured to find almost every piece of detailed information that had been absent in his mind for the last ticking days where he hadn’t spoken to you. almost as if he hadn’t played the recurrent memory of you laughing at his foolish jokes in the slytherin common room in the deep hours of the night following a few hushed whispers, in a recurrent loop to the point where he could recall every faint characteristic that you had worn with pride.

your thumbs were absentmindedly twiddling in an abyss-like daydream, similar to the ones you had as a young girl, the collision of decrepit wood and firm knuckles splintering the perpetuating silence that had sunken depressingly into your flat. a look of puzzlement contorted onto your features, you paused and speculated as to whom was at your apartment as you weren't used to having such visitors.

opting to leisurely trudge to the door in exhaustion, the door had revealed regulus arcturus black with an ivory box clutched in his hand and a nervous grin quirked on his lips. you stopped, taken back for a moment. a revelling thought peering into your conscious mind to ultimately shut the door closed and pretend this moment, the moment that you had dreamed of till the early hours in the morning wasn’t occurring. instead, grappling at his hand and pulling him into a close-knit embrace till you could feel like hast respires in his chest along with the palpitating beats of his trembling heart against your sternum.

he sighed in relief, his hands melding into the curvature of your waist. the tension in your frame gradually disentangling from the days that had surpassed without the boy who was now a man, a man with a sallow complexion and sickly carved features stood in front of you with now a tearful grin that was almost quivering awaiting forgiveness that he was frightful he would never receive.

“what have you done to yourself, regulus?” your hands melded into the sharp curvature of his cheeks, the balmy embrace of your hands warming his figure like a camper that had created fire without months of warmth. his optics began to gape at the floor of your flat, ignoring your question with the clearness of his throat.

“nevermind me, this reminded me of you.” he clarified while bringing the box into your viewpoint. “regulus.” you pardoned him but taking a grasp on the box and setting it down on the oak-wood table with a small ‘clink.’

“what’s happened to you— why didn’t you come back for me?”

“i was scared, i didn’t want to leave you. i promise you that, i just— i didn’t want to come back and you would hate me.” regulus confessed with a stutter, a mild nervous tic he had obtained when he was young. as well as when he ventured to drag his slender fingers between his swoop of curls but found it rather difficult as they were mangled together.

you frowned disquietly. the boy that had endured your whines, and your tantrums as to when a fifth-year hufflepuff had ticked you off rather irritatingly. the boy who was now a man, whom you had loved, and he knew you had loved. continued to think that you had hated him when that had been opposite.

"I don't hate you, reg. I never have, I don't think you can hate the person i love the most." his hands fell back in place to the contour of your waistline, the palms of his hands steadily dragging themselves in a comforting motion while your fingers delicately pushed into his hair.

“your hairs a mess, reg,” you observed with a sated smile, the smallest of a chuckle escaping his lips after his mouth had almost been sewn shut by voldemort himself. the thought of regulus laughing could’ve turned heads now because of how unusual and unfamiliar the sound was. but it was the same child-like giggle he expressed on the hogwarts train several years ago.

“yeah,” he chuckled again, louder this time. he felt the small indulging swirls coming up from his eyes, the downpour of tears almost cascading down his cheeks before he brought his digits to slide them across his sockets, “brush it for me? like old times?”

he wasn’t sad anymore, he didn’t feel dejected, he didn’t feel the urge to lay in a bed that was poorly made with creased sheets and never get up again, the tears threatening his face were delightful ones. they were tears of elation, that the girl who was now a woman had remainingly loved him.

he was home, an unfamiliar concept now wrapping him in an unyielding enclasp. regulus was home.

he sat upon a bench, looking at a reflection no longer splintered with guilt, or narrowing eyes. his eyes moved in an upward motion, his irises seeing the way you languidly dragged a brush through his tuffs and a small smile quirking at your lips.

“i love you, too. i didn’t want you to think i forgot.”

taglist: @fific7 @kittykylax @wisedreamcatcher @ronbrokemyheart @amourtentiaa @five-cups-of-coffee @serenitywilderness @i-love-scott-mccall @artemis1orion @miss-starkov @siriusbarnesslut @famdomhideout @hufflepogue @kirascottage @luvvninaz @miraclesoflove @black-like-my-soul @slytherclawbitch @90steaology

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blue-bird-kny · 3 years

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This took way to many days to write for absolutely no reason, but I liked it in the end so please, enjoy~Amanda

Warnings: N/a

Words: 2.4k+

↳{Fluffy first baths together are nothing short of what you’d expect with Inosuke}

The gentle pitter-patter of water droplets drizzling down bamboo shoots and swaying green leaves filled the otherwise quiet space. The welcoming scent of dew and greenery danced through the night air as you overlooked the outdoor bathing area, “absolutely perfect” you thought as your muscles cried in despair. You, along with your team of idiots and sweet Nezuko, had walked miles in search of a home bearing the Wisteria crest, everyone in desperate need of some rest, repair, and (hopefully) lots of delicious food. “Come in, young child, as weary as you may be, your body needs food to begin the healing process” a grainy voice beckoned. An elderly woman, just barely 5 feet wrapped in purple with shimmering silver hair, waited patiently beside the open door, “I think my husband was too excited to greet you all because he got carried away and made far too much food” she continued. “Oh don’t worry, my boys are very capable of eating you out of house and home, especially my boyfriend” you giggled while climbing the wooden steps to meet her.

You walked side by side to the dining room, the smell of beef stew and rice already reaching you, “Thanks again, to you and your husband, we’ve spent weeks running around and I know we desperately needed the break” she chuckled, “No need child, my husband misses the thrill of battle even in his old age, so we are thrilled to have you.” your eyes widened slightly but before you could ask the shorter woman of her husband's past, a loud crash could be heard behind the thin sliding door. Behind its papery protection was a scene that couldn’t be anymore hilarious; wrestling on the floor was an older man, thick and burley with round rims sliding down the bump of his nose, hovering over a wailing Zenitsu whose body was being forced into a backbend with his head held tightly in a choke-hold by the man’s hairy arms. Tanjiro stood beside the duo desperately trying to pull his friend out from under the other, trying to talk over the hefty laughter and screaming, while Inosuke stood cheering the man on as if this were some sort of cage fight.

You could feel the twitch in your eye act up, ready to pull them apart but before you could open your mouth the elderly woman cleared her throat, causing the wild bunch to freeze. Her husband's eyes slowly fell on hers as fear overcame them and as for the other three, they couldn’t help but shiver at the dead set look on yours. “What’s going on here?” the women commanded, her steel set tone sending the group scrambling into seated positions as she prowled into the room- you followed slowly behind her. Tanjiro croaked first, “W-well Mr.Shimura was telling us about his days in the force and he just wanted to show us some of his, uh, moves'' Tanjiro's voice wavered a bit at the end, not sure if ‘moves’ was the right way to describe assault. “Y/n! Please don’t let this man torture me anymore, he’s crazy!” the blonde rushed to your side with teary eyes and a tight grip on your arm. The women pulled her large husband up by his ear, “Don’t worry, you children enjoy your food, my husband,” she tugged on the lobe for emphasis, “and I will be off to bed” she turned to you, “I assume you’ll be able to find the bathing area and your room?” “Of course” you assured. The moment the couple became shadows behind the door, you could hear the wife’s grumbling- you couldn’t help but chuckle.

Unsettled by the silence, you turned to find all eyes on you, waiting for a reprimand you had no intention of delivering, “Oh ease up, eat before the food gets cold'' a collective sigh could be heard around the table, your hand gentle releasing the part of Zenitsu that was still clinging your clothes. The spot open next to Inosuke was as inviting as the mouth-watering scent of a hot meal that had been calling your name since further down the hallways. Your fingers faintly fell on the tuft of your boyfriend's hair, ruffling them a bit, before diving into your own bowl of rice and soup. While Inosuke felt your small act of affection and craved it a bit more, he only offered a messy smile as he shoveled spoonfuls into his mouth.

Ceramic dishes once filled with hand-cooked deliciousness were now cleaned empty, stacked into small towers all across the wooden table in some sort of toppling city. The room was almost empty too, Zenitsu and Tanjiro both eager to wash the wear away and to finally allow themselves to be consumed by uninterrupted dreams, had already taken off for the night. “I’m going to die,” the bloated heap on the floor cried, his duo-toned hair sprawled out around him and his robe strewn on the ground. You laughed, “No, Inosuke, you aren’t going to die” you laid on the carpet beside him, propped up by one elbow. As the man heaved and sighed as if he were going into labor, your nose caught a whiff of something salty and musty and earthy and gross, “I swear if you don’t go shower right now, my eyes are going to melt from my skull” you complained nasally as you pinched your nostrils shut; You were met with only louder moaning and heaving. “C’mon everyone else already-” you stopped yourself short, an idea too good to pass up crossing your mind. “Since everyone else is already tucked away, why don’t we bath together?” before you could even finish the question, Inosuke sat up faster than light, his eyes challenging yours as if saying “Are you playing me?”. “We never get to do anything just us so if you're up for it, I’m down” you concluded slightly smug as he clung to each word you uttered like a puppy waiting for a treat. You stood to leave, crouching down once more to balance your fingers below his chin, forcing him to face you, “But, no funny business”.

You didn’t even have to look to see Inosuke was following, his second set of steps echoing yours as if they were the thunder that follows lighting; two things equally as powerful, yet relied on the other for strength. Again, you were greeted by the soft flow of water streaming into the natural spring, the brilliant moonlight above lighting the large basin carved from polished rock that sat in the middle of the space. “Turn around” you asked, to which Inosuke surprisingly compiled too with only a tiny grumble. You slid your filthy clothes off layer by layer, the black garments piled together as you tip-toed into the warm water, the steam instantly feeling irresistible on your skin. “I-I’ll close my eyes so you can get in, too” you stuttered, the heavy realization of the intimacy that was to come next, an intimacy that had never been shared before. “Whatever you want, we’ll be naked anyways in the water” Insouke pointed out as he too discarded his smaller pile onto yours, however, you didn’t dare peek before you heard the breaking of water as he climbed in, didn’t dare breathe as he groaned in relief. Slowly, you uncovered your eyes, trained steadily past the demon slayer's face; awkwardly and in unusual silence, you two sat five feet apart, waiting to see who dared to move first.

Well of course it was Inosuke who shuffled through the water first towards you, “You can look at me, ya know” he said with a sort of want in his voice, as if your gaze offered an approval he sought from only you. Whether the pink that painted his skin was from the temperature or the heat of the moment, you couldn’t tell, but you didn’t dwell on it for long because other things piqued your interest. While the number of times you’ve seen Inosuke wear a shirt was almost non-existent, the steam rising from the water altered his scarred chest into something else; it was more chiseled, more tanned, each dip and mark was more perfect, the reflection below somehow glowed in a way that was more than you had every painted Inosuke to be and it took your breath away. “What are ya looking at?” he asked defensively, fidgeting in an almost timid way; it reminded you that you shouldn’t be nervous around him, “You, ya dummy”. He scoffed at your bluntness, grateful to hear the normal bite in your tongue instead of the disgust he feared you’d feel towards him. His stunning pair of green orbs watched as you leaned closer to him, arms stretched as you grew even closer, “What the hel-” he panicked slightly only to be fooled as you grabbed something that was behind him; two bottles waved in front of his face as you teased, “What? Afraid of some soap, piglet?”. He muttered a string of complaints, ‘tease’ and ‘mean’ being the only two you could work out.

You squeezed the white shampoo into your open palm, setting it down somewhere on the edge of the bath, “May I?” you asked, hovering your hands beside his head. He sucked on his teeth before mumbling a raspy “fine”, easing himself between your awaiting limbs. You worked the suds into his scalp, gently massaging his dark roots with the pads of your thumbs before working your way down to bunch his falling strands, lathering them in the floral-scented soap. As you worked to cover every last inch of his scalp in bubbles, Inosuke struggled to keep quiet; his half-lidded eyes fluttered with every circular rub, his mouth slightly agape as he relished in your touch and had to work at suppressing the purrs that threatened to escape his chest like a cat.

“Bend down a little, will ya” you pushed against his head till he was close enough to the water that when he tipped back, his long tresses would be covered. You rinsed his hair gently, taking your time to enjoy this rare chance with your loved one (along with the funny faces you knew he was making). Inosuke wanted to say something, anything would do really, but he just couldn’t put syllables together as if with every trail your fingers followed, you sucked away his ability to think. You had already rid his scalp from the soap, however, you weren’t ready to let go just yet; you ushered him out of the water so you could use your nails to push the soaked strands back, twirling them into a loose bun at the back of his head. Inosuke was so close, he was sure he’d make it out of this without any weird noises but the subtle scratching against his skin was too much for any man. A low rumble emerged from his throat followed by a relieved sigh, “If I knew all it took to tame this wild boar was a few head scratches, I’d have started a long time ago” you giggled, sliding your palms down the length of his neck to rest on his shoulders, “all done”. His brows furrowed at the weight behind his head and the lack thereof on his back, “It’s a bun” you explained, “Yea, well I feel bald” “Don’t knock just yet, it helps keep your hair from your face when you’re fighting, plus I think you look hot with it” you tightened your hold on him for a second as a blush crept its way onto his skin.

“It's getting late, you can get out if you want, I’m going to wash up” you reached for the same bottle of shampoo, tipping it over to collect its contents, but before the suds could touch your skin, Inosuke’s grip caught your wrist. “I’ll do it” he stated firmly, “You don’t have to-” “I’ll do it” he repeated, already taking the bottle. A glop of shampoo slapped against his palm as he rushed to spread it between his two hands. You closed your eyes, ready to be serenaded by his sweet touch when you were quickly reminded of who you were dealing with here- the furthest thing from sweet. Water splashed haphazardly as Inosuke drilled into your skull, roughly kneading your scalp. “Ouch! Stop it! Is that what it felt like to you?! Any harder and I’ll be the bald one!” you yelled, moving away from his hands still hanging above the water. Inosuke shrunk a little, visibly upset as he looked to his right at nothing specific. Instantly regretting your reaction, you acted to fix the situation, “Here” you gently placed his thick fingers against your scalp once again this time placing yours above his, easing them into a gentle, rhythmic massage. “See,” you sighed, “not everything in life is a race.”

Inosuke looked at the way your face fell at the feel of his fingers gently working against you, he almost had to double-take to make sure it was his touch that was providing you so much pleasure- in fact, it sort of inflated his already bulging ego. Although he spent less time washing and rinsing your hair as you had hoped (you could have sat there for hours) the water was growing cooler and time was nipping at both your ankles, reminding you of the sleep you oh so needed. Washed and feeling refreshed, you reached for his shoulders, using them to glide through the water until your chest was pressed against his, becoming more familiar with the feel of his warmth against yours. Your arms dangled over his shoulders with your head buried in his neck, while his large palms found themselves holding your waist, “this was fun” you whispered into his skin. Inosuke grunted, exhaustion creeping up on him too. “Let go to bed” you yawned ready to detach yourself reluctantly from the strong man when you were suddenly carried above the water, exposed and shivering you wrapped your legs instinctively around him. “What are you doing?” you asked embarrassed and flushed red. A wide grin overtook his face as he held you tighter, “Figured you’d be too weak to walk after I almost put you to bed with my magical fingers” he replied as he trudged through the water and out the bath, two towels already waiting to dry your skin.

Later that night as you both lay covered in cotton robes and silk sheets surrounded by the gentle buzz of the others snoring around the room, together on one futon with eyelids as heavy as stones, something occurred to you. “Hey babe?” you whispered, getting a half grunt in response, “you never took that bun out, did you?” the arm that was holding you securely to his side flicked you gently, “hush women” he breathed. You chuckled low, snuggling closer into Inosuke's warmth, falling effortlessly into a peaceful sleep.

Thank you~

Masterlist

#demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #kny #kny x reader #inosuke #inosuke x reader #inosuke hashibira

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cozycryptidcorner · 3 years

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To Train Up a King, Chapter 1/5

Note: For this story, I'm going to do something a tad different. Instead of a full 10k multi-chapter story or a single oneshot, I'm going to do about five episodic 1.5k chapters that capture very short snippets of these character's lives as an experiment. I'd like to see if I can pull off full character arcs with that kind of restriction. There will be smut chapters that are longer (I think, I have them planned anyways), but the bulk of their relationship will kind of be like tv show episodes.

Prince Naga/Assassin Reader

Chapter content: sfw, no warnings besides some innocent breaking and entering, and one decapitated head :)

He’s just as beautiful as the songs say.

This isn’t the first time you’ve crept up onto Shahira al-Malik’s balcony, flush with vines and florals, just to catch a glimpse of the famed bastard prince, but you’ve never done so intending to reveal yourself. Tonight, he’s hunched over a large, intricately carved and gold-gilded chest, silver-blond hair billowing out with the night breeze. You think he might be asleep, his scales glittering in tandem to the stars as you shift your view in the moonlight.

His room could easily swallow the entire apartment you hovel up in, large, sweeping ceilings with jeweled mosaics covering the floor and walls. Despite its majesty, you know it barely holds a candle to what the rest of the palace offers, a biting commentary to just how little he is valued in the family. Despite the bed being large enough to host a variety of characters, he seems to be satisfied with hunching over that chest, made of simple wood, an arm crossed over the top to keep his head off the distorted surface. His tail lays limply on the floor, twisting and crossing at odd angles.

Creeping around the capitol as natural to you as breathing, so even though you stand in full view of the room, he has yet to notice your presence. The bag hanging from your belt is heavy, you are careful not to drop it as you unstrap it from your waist, and even though your fabric rustles and your boots scrape at the floor when you shift, he still doesn’t raise his head.

Awkwardly, you clear your throat, and that catches his attention, head jolting up, body tensing. When he finally spots you looming over him, bag in hand, large, wicked knife at your hip, he slithers back, mouth opening to shout for help. Calmly, you raise your hand, showing you hold no weapons, and press two fingers to your mouth as a gesture of silence.

“Who are you?” He asks, but still loud enough to get attention from the guards he still thinks are posted at his door. Despite the low light, you can tell that he must have been crying, lips swollen, nose and the crescents beneath his eyes a deep purple.

“Do not be afraid,” you say, hoping to soothe his nerves with a neutral tone, “I am the assassin one of your brothers hired to kill you.”

His viridescent eyes widen with fear, his chest quaking as the idea of his shortened mortality reverberates through his soul. There are strange marks on the underside of his wrists as he raises his hands outward, as though trying to give you some wordless order. Instead, though, he’s yelling, “guards!”

He’s scared, you think, satisfied. His brother, the cocky thing, didn’t show the same fear even at his very end. “Your guards have been removed from duty for the night.”

He knows that you hold his fate in your hands, back pressing up against the chest as his tail folds itself out in front of him, as though trying to keep his vital organs guarded. As you watch him, letting him steep in that fear for just a moment more, he seems to accept the fact that he’s about to die. No whining, no pleading, a grim sort of terror keeping his body still, despite the fact you’re so much smaller than he, almost as if he’s well aware that you are so much more than your size and strength.

Satisfied that you place a healthy amount of fear in his mind, you throw the bag, and he flinches as though it might explode.

Keeping your tone soft and gentle, as though speaking to a child, you prompt, “go ahead. My gift to you.”

You don’t know what he might think is in there, but judging from his trembling fingers as he undoes the ties, you suppose that he might consider his death is inside. The moment he pushes the thick fabric open, though, his eyes widen and his chest heaves. Slowly, unsurely, he pulls his brother’s large head out from the bag, features so similar to his it could almost be like looking in a mirror.

His voice trembles as he asks, “why?”

“He wouldn’t give me what I wanted,” you say, taking a step back. “You can.”

“And what do you want?” He’s trying very, very hard not to allow his voice to hitch.

You pause for a moment, wondering how you’ll be able to put it into words. It’s a complicated thing, your desires- for you have many, and some are of greater importance than others.

“I will tell you later,” you promise, taking another step back. “This will not be the last time we meet.”

“Wait!” His voice trembles, traces of panic thick in his mouth. “How do I know this isn’t a trick? I- I could be the one to fall for his death.”

Ah, so his mind decides to start working again. You suppose you don’t blame him, you did catch him at his weakest, and you almost owe him some reassurances. Ensuring your movements are nothing like your usual quick and off-putting cadence, you tug at the scarf around your head and mouth. Just below your left eye, you have a large, gaping scar that almost looks like a cartoonishly drawn teardrop from a time when your reflexes weren’t as quick, and your sneaking skills weren’t as honed.

“How-” he starts, but you’re quick to interrupt.

“A knife,” you say, holding out your hands. “I will rid you of the head. The body will be found in the desert, plundered by bandits.”

It’s almost like a burden has been lifted from his shoulders, one much more severe than the thought of death. You know that his path to the crown is that much clearer; though the second prince would put up more of a fight than the first, it’s still one less that he has to worry about. When you take the bagged head back, he’s staring at your face, intently, though not just at the scar.

He’s trying to commit a murderer’s face to memory, you tell yourself, even though his quizzical expression looks more confused than focused.

As your fingers brush together, though, he blurts out, “you’re my age.”

You blink, almost taken off guard. “How do you know?”

“Your face,” he says, eyes roving over your features. “And voice. You’re not much older than I am, aren’t you?”

Everyone knows how old the princes are; even a crowned bastard like him gets fanfare and feasts when his birthday comes around, the bells in the mosques and cathedrals chiming once for every year he has been alive. You know you’re roughly his age, but your birthdays come and go without you even knowing the precise day, no fanfare, no gifts.

“I suppose,” you say, strapping the bag back to your hip, “though it doesn’t matter.”

“Everything matters,” he says, retreating back to a safe distance as though unsure of how much longer his good fortune will last. “I should thank you for not killing me.”

“You should,” you say, “that would have been the easier thing to do.”

“Then, why didn’t you?”

You pause for a moment, not entirely sure of how to put into words why you didn’t. Defiance, maybe, you never did like how pompous and sure of himself the first prince acted. It is definitely not self-preservation; this is possibly the most foolish thing you’ve done since you broke into that knife-obsessed banker’s house.

Finally, you settle on a simple enough statement: “I’ll tell you later. Goodnight, my prince.”

You hear him follow you as you leap from his balcony, watch him search for you in the shadows. From your perch among the trees and stones, pressed up against the outer walls of his small garden, you wait until he retreats back into the safety of his room.

#naga/reader #exophilia #monster boyfriend

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pretendingboyfriends · 4 years

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A/N: it’s finally finished!! after over a month!!! i’m so sorry this has taken so long but y’all know me, i’m terrible at time management and i’m mentally ill so nothing is ever consistent <3 BUT it’s here now and it’s finished and i hope u love it. thank you to @sunflowers-styles and @friendlyneighborhood-mendes for beta reading and giving me ideas for when i was stuck. i’m nothing without my betas <3

Warnings: explicit language & sexual tension

Word count: 6.5k+

previous part . fic masterlist . fic playlist . taglist

Your heart is racing in your chest with every lingering moment that passes as you watch Deidre finish getting ready for the day. Her plan is to spend the afternoon with Jeffrey and then the two of you would meet back up and have a movie night (plus Harry, if he’s up for it). And you, well, you have your own plans.

“Do you think this looks good?” She asks, spinning herself around in front of the vanity mirror in the corner of the bedroom.

You glance up from the book in your lap to see that she’s wearing a loose, white spaghetti strap dress that reaches just below her knee, pastel pink bikini peeking from beneath the fabric. You smile, “I think it looks great! What shoes are you wearing?”

She bends down to the floor, quickly grasping a pair of tan, strappy sandals. “These?”

“Yeah,” You nod. “Those are perfect.”

“Okay,” She smiles, leaning down to slide her feet into the sandals and strap them securely onto her feet before she grabs her tote bag from the bed with a sigh. “Okay, I’ll see you later! Meet back here at 5:00?”

You nod in confirmation, giving her a small smile and wave as she nearly skips through the bedroom door and down the hallway. As soon as she’s out of your sight you freeze, waiting for the familiar rumble of Jeffrey’s car to take off down the road with Deidre inside. Once the glorious sound kisses your ears, you’re leaping from the bed, frantically tearing the sweatshirt and sweatpants you’ve been wearing from your body to change into a tank top, loose-fitting jean shorts, and a pair of Doc Martens (bathing suit underneath, of course).

You’re brushing a few coats of mascara onto your eyelashes after taking a record breaking 2 minutes to change into your clothes and shoes when you sense his presence in the doorway.

“You look nice.”

You slide the applicator into the mascara container and screw the lid shut, turning your head to look at Harry as he leans against the doorframe with his hands behind his back. His hair is still slightly damp from his shower, framing his face and shoulders in thick, shiny curls. Your eyes travel south, dropping to his floral, short sleeve button up, unbuttoned partially to expose his inked chest and then flickering down to his skin tight, black jeans and tan chelsea boots. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

He smiles in response, dimples sinking into his blushing cheeks. “You ready to go?”

“Yep,” You sigh, grabbing your bag from the floor and walking towards the bedroom door. He allows you to pass him, following closely behind you through the house before tugging the front door open for you and beckoning you outside. The air is warm and humid as you make your way towards Harry’s car, the wind whipping against you gently.

Once you reach the car, Harry quickly beats you to the passenger side to open the door for you, flashing you a gorgeous smile as you slide into the seat. The expensive leather of the seat immediately sticks to your bare legs from the heat and humidity and you huff, lifting your legs to peel them from the material.

Harry slides himself into the driver’s seat, immediately cranking the car and fiddling with the air conditioner knobs to blast cool air into the stuffy, hot vehicle.

“So, where are we going?” You ask once he pulls onto the empty road lined with palm trees.

He keeps his eyes trained to the road, one hand on the wheel and the other on his jean-clad thigh. “I was thinking we could get coffee first and then I could take you to a bookstore I saw on my way in. But only if you’re okay with that,”

You smile to yourself, “I’m more than okay with that.”

A soft blanket of silence falls over both of you as Harry drives and you allow your gaze to wander his figure, from the god-like curve of his jaw to his perfectly chiseled hands. The sparkling glint of his rings in the noon sunlight catches your eye and you tilt your head slightly to get a better look at them. On his left index and middle finger are two silver rings, one with a rectangular, teal gem embedded into it, the other with a line of tiny dancing bears carved into the metal. Then, on the middle finger of his right hand, a lone silver ring with the word “peace” etched directly in the middle. They are simple pieces of jewelry, but enticing nonetheless.

Your mind wanders as your gaze does the same, falling to the curve of his plush, pink lips. It’s been a few days since you’d kissed him on the beach, tumbling into the sand like children, and you’re slightly embarrassed to admit that you haven’t stopped craving his lips since you parted ways that evening. The agreement you had made was to wait until after at least a few dates to kiss again (mainly to keep yourselves as contained as possible) but both of you are finding it increasingly hard as the time goes by. You just can’t seem to stay away from each other.

After a bit of light conversation and a 10 minute drive, you’re finally pulling into the parking lot of a little coffee shop named “Bikini Beans”.

You chuckle as Harry parks the car directly in front of the small building. “Quite the name, huh?”

He breathes a chuckle to himself. “It was the only coffee shop I could find within 30 miles of the beach house.”

You sigh sarcastically, “I guess it will suffice,” Harry shuts off the engine, pulling the keys from the ignition before jogging around to your side of the car to, of course, open the door for you. You smile at him as you step onto the pavement, tugging your bag from the floor of the car and slinging it over your shoulder. “Thanks.”

The two of you step into the quaint coffee shop, your senses immediately overwhelmed by the pungent odor of freshly brewed coffee mixed with a hint of sugary baked goods. Taking a moment to observe your surroundings, you find that the shop is nearly empty, save for the girl sitting in the back corner typing frantically at her laptop keys, brow furrowed, hair up, coffee cup empty. You follow Harry to the register where a young boy stands, waiting for the next customer to approach the counter, which just so happens to be you and Harry.

“Hi, welcome to Bikini Beans, how can I help you!” He smiles, placing his hands on the edge of the register as he looks up at you.

You smile back at him, shaking your head and motioning to Harry. “He can go first. I still need a moment to decide.”

He nods and looks at Harry. He clears his throat, “I’ll just have a small, iced black coffee,” The words roll off his accented tongue like a sugary glaze. “And a blueberry muffin.”

The boy takes a moment to type his order into the register and then looks up again, “Will that be all for you today?”

“That’s all for me, but make sure you include her order with mine.” He specifies, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet.

You smile to yourself as you peruse the menu, quietly mouthing the names of the different kinds of coffees and treats before deciding on what to get. “I’ll have a small cold brew with almond milk, sweetened with vanilla, please.”

“Is that all?” He quickly types your order into the register before glancing back up at you. You nod and he presses a few more buttons. “Alright, so I’ve got a small, iced black coffee; a blueberry muffin; and a small cold brew with almond milk and vanilla sweetener?” He looks back up at the two of you and both of you nod to confirm. “That’ll be $9.23.”

Harry – having already taken a few bills from his wallet – hands the boy a crisp $10 bill and then promptly shoves another $10 into the tip jar beside the register. The boy smiles and thanks him for his generosity as he gives Harry his change. Without hesitation, Harry drops the remaining coins into the tip jar, thanks the boy, and stands to the side to allow the people behind you to step up to the register and order.

“Trying to impress me?” You smirk, nudging your shoulder against his.

He smiles, “Not if you don’t want me to.”

You chuckle and shake your head as you follow him to the end of the counter where another barista quickly prepares your drinks, sliding Harry’s muffin towards him.

You turn to him,“I’ll go save us a table, okay?”

“Okay.” He smiles, watching you walk off towards the small table by the window, dropping your bag into the seat across from you to save it for him.

Within five minutes, Harry is walking towards you with both your drinks in one hand and the giant mountain of a muffin in the other.

“Was not expecting this muffin to be so big,” He chuckles as he hands you your bag and slides into the seat across from you. “You wanna split it?”

You take a sip of your coffee through the straw, the sudden grumbling of your stomach interrupting your train of thought. You hadn’t realized how hungry you are. “Oh, sure.”

He nods, slowly peeling the paper cupcake holder from the edges of the pastry before attempting to break it in half with his hands. “I guess that’ll do.” He chuckles at himself, dusting the crumbs from his fingers.

The silence that falls between the two of you is filled with nervous glances and flustered smiles as you sip your coffee between every few bites of the muffin. Your hands graze against each other occasionally when both of you reach for the muffin at the same time, causing breathless giggles to emit from the backs of your throats.

After a brief moment of silence, you drop your hand on the table in front of you with your palm facing up. “Give me your hand,”

“Quite demanding there, babe.” He chuckles, taking another sip of his coffee.

You roll your eyes at him, ignoring the flutter in your tummy that’s caused by the casual use of ‘babe’ in regards to you. “Just- I wanna look at your rings, so can you please give me your hand?”

He smiles, placing his large hand into your palm which allows you to lean forward and take a closer look at the rings adorning his long fingers. “Where’d you get them?” You ask as you gently brush your fingers against the cool metal.

“Mm,” He grunts, squinting his eyes in thought for a moment. “A few friends have gifted some to me, but I also bought some myself.”

You nod, humming in acknowledgement. “I would’ve never guessed when we were younger that you’d grow up to be a jewelry guy,”

He chuckles, “And why’s that?”

You drop your hand away from his, leaning back in your chair, “I don’t know. I mean, I thought you were cool, but I didn’t think you were really capable of being this type of cool, you know? I’d always known you as just ‘Harry’, my best friend’s kinda dorky older brother who’s also good at singing.”

“You thought I was cool?”

“Yeah, sorta. You were cool in the sense that you were always so kind and loving towards Deidre, even when you were trying to be annoying. But then you became famous and this whole new level of cool happened that made me kinda sad, if I’m being honest.” He frowns at that, sipping his coffee once more. “I mean, it wasn’t necessarily a bad type of cool, but it just made me realize that you weren’t just my best friend’s older brother anymore. You were Harry Styles, heartthrob of the century, everyone loved you and nearly everyone knew who you were all of the sudden.”

“Do you think I’ve changed a lot?” He asks after a brief pause.

“I thought you did for a while. I’d see tabloids about you every week talking about how much of a ‘lady’s man’ you were and who your newest ‘fling’ was and I didn’t know whether to believe them or not because from my perspective of you, you weren’t like that, but I also hadn’t seen you in quite a long time so I thought that maybe it was possible that you really did change that much.”

He shakes his head. “I hate how they’ve portrayed me. I hate that they’ve made me out to be some bloke who’s only in it for the money and the girls because it’s really not true. I especially hate that you’ve had to see me like that because I don’t ever want you to see me that way.”

You smile to yourself slightly, “Don’t worry, I don’t see you that way. Not anymore, at least.”

“Good,” He sighs, smiling shyly as he takes the last piece of muffin from the plate in between the two of you and pops it into his mouth.

“I do think you’ve got a bit of an attitude problem, though.” You hum sarcastically, watching his expression twist into feigned shock.

“An attitude problem??”

“Mhm,”

“I resent that.” He huffs, pressing back against his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

“There it is!” You giggle, tilting your head to the side in a mocking manner.

Harry rolls his eyes playfully, holding back a smile as he stands, snatching his coffee cup from the table along with the plate where the remains of the muffin you’d just shared lie. “Come on, let’s go. I’ve got more planned for us.”

The soft jingle of a bell sounds as the two of you step into the small book store wedged between a consignment shop and a beach souvenir shop. The song “Yesterday and Today” by Yes plays quietly in the overhead speakers as the lone employee places new books on the shelves, humming along. She looks up from her place at the shelf and smiles at both of you shyly but doesn’t say a word when you smile back, opting to continue her restocking.

Your eyes flit around the small space that’s cramped with shelves, overflowing with books and you begin to wander aimlessly. Harry follows behind you quietly, watching as your fingers trace the spines of each book you pass.

“Do you read a lot?” He asks as you slide a paperback book from its home on the shelf just slightly above your height.

“I try to,” You hum in response, gazing down at the open book in your hands. “But it’s difficult most of the time.”

He nods, “I understand,” He watches your fingers sift through the delicate pages of the book, the bold, typewriter text of each page, melting into each other to form a jumbled cloud of letters. “What book is that?” He asks, stepping closer to you to get a better look at it.

“The Philosophy of Andy Warhol,” You smile, glancing up at him as you flip the book over to its cover, displaying the iconic red and white soup can design.

His eyebrows raise in surprise, “Andy Warhol? Really? Wasn’t he a terrible person?”

You chuckle, “Yeah, he was the worst, but he’s dead now and I like to think we can separate the art from the artist, don’t you?”

“I guess so...” He nods in response, shrugging slightly. “I’m assuming you’ve read this, then?”

You shake your head, “Not fully, just bits and pieces. I can’t really afford to buy books for pleasure at the moment.”

He frowns to himself at that but doesn’t say anything else, just watches as you place the book back onto its home on the shelf and begin to step further into the depths of bookshelves. Harry doesn’t move from where he’s standing, though, he watches you step further away before he takes the book you had just showed him from the shelf and casually holds it behind his back as he steps closer to where you are.

He follows you around the shop as you slowly and silently observe various different books, occasionally expressing your desire to read them after flipping through each crisp page. And, again, with each book you touch, he takes them from the shelves and collects them in his arms without a single word, hoping and praying that you stay distracted enough to not notice the growing pile of books in his arms.

Finally, the two of you have made your way through the entire store and are now standing near the register as you bury your nose into another book. Harry mumbles something to you about buying a book that he wants and you barely even acknowledge him, too engrossed in the words that flow across the pages. It isn’t until he’s back by your side that you finally lift your head to look at him, finding his dimpled, mischievous smile reflecting back at you.

“Ready to go?” He asks, eyebrows lifting in question.

You look up at him with a smile and a nod, closing the book in your hands and placing it back in its home, completely unaware of the paper bag he’s holding behind him. He leads you out to his car, subtly tossing the bag into the back of his car without you noticing before sliding into the driver’s seat and taking both of you to your next destination.

Eventually, you find yourselves on the beach, sitting comfortably on a blanket Harry provided along with a few containers of food from a local restaurant. There’s a decent amount of people walking around you, yet no one seems to notice Harry. Too caught up in their own vacations to notice the literal celebrity in their midst. You aren’t complaining, though, because after a few girls approached him with a request for a photo and a hug, you’ve started to grow a little jealous. But Harry doesn’t need to know that.

“How far d’you think I’d have to swim until my feet can’t reach the bottom?”

You turn your head to him as you stab your plastic fork into a particularly juicy piece of orange chicken. “Mmm, I’d say about-” You glare out at the people in the water, holding your hand over your eyes to shield them from the sun, “five feet past that guy in the lime green shirt.”

He turns his head to look at where you’re referring to and tilts his head to the side. “I think it’d be a little further than that, I’m pretty tall.”

You shove the piece of chicken into your mouth as you continue to stare out into the water and shrug. “The only way to really find out is if we go out there,”

He turns his face back to yours, “Let’s go, then.”

Immediately you drop your fork onto the blanket, frantically tearing your tank top from your body as you stand and begin to unbutton your shorts. “Race ya.” You breathe through a grunt, kicking your shorts off of your bare feet and legs to reveal your black bikini. He scrambles to his feet at that, nearly ripping his shirt from his body, but you’re already taking off in a sprint towards the water.

Harry is quick to catch up with you after a brief moment of struggling with his jeans to reveal his tiny, yellow swim shorts. He tackles you into the water, quickly wrapping his arms around your waist and taking the both of you under in one giant splash.

“Asshole!” You screech through a giggle once you resurface, swatting at his bare chest as he cackles. You turn around with a huff, trudging forward through the water with Harry hot on your tail.

“Hey!” He calls after you, nearly hopping through the water to catch up with you. “Hop on my back, it’ll be easier.”

You smirk, turning to face him as he stands almost waist deep in the water. He crouches down to allow you easier access to wrap your arms around his shoulders and you roll your eyes at him, giving in to his persuasions nonetheless.

Once your legs and arms are wrapped around his waist and shoulders, he stands fully and starts walking forward again. The feeling of your warm breath against his neck causes goosebumps to litter his bare, wet skin and he tries in vain to ignore the feeling of your breasts pressed directly against his back.

“Feet still touching the bottom?” You ask, leaning your chin against his shoulder. It comes out much shakier than you’d intended, breathed directly into his ear and you can feel Harry shutter beneath you.

“Uh- yeah, yeah, but it’s starting to get a bit deeper.”

At this point, you couldn’t care less about the bet you’d made with him, too distracted by the warmth of his muscular back against your embarrassingly sensitive nipples. You can tell he’s partially lost interest as well, judging by the way he grips your thighs tightly as he wades further into the water.

You’ve passed the man in the lime green shirt by now, the water slowly inching up to his shoulders which indicates your possible victory. But suddenly, he takes one more step and the water is at your own shoulders and nearly over Harry’s head completely. He’s sputtering dramatically as he stumbles backwards, finding his footing once again.

“There’s a fuckin’ drop off!” He growls, bringing his hand up to wipe the salty water from his eyes.

You’re giggling uncontrollably as he coughs and grunts, hands leaving your thighs so that he can push his hair out of his face. You slide off of his shoulders and onto the sand beneath the water, cackling to yourself at his grumpy frown.

You smile up at him. “I win.”

He frowns, “Well, that’s not fair! How was I supposed to know there’s a drop off?”

“Doesn’t matter,” You tease, drawing out your words as you turn back to the shore. “I still won!”

He grumbles to himself, turning to follow you. You glance back at him, chuckling at his creased brow and arms crossed over his bare chest with his bottom lip protruding into a pout. “Still don’t think it’s fair,” He huffs in frustration.

“Okay, well, if you really want a way to redeem yourself,” You start, turning back to him and waiting for him to catch up to where you are. “Race me back to shore.”

His frown melts into a devious smile. “Oh, you’re on.”

Immediately, both of you are diving into the water head first, swimming as fast as you can until the water is shallow enough for the two of you to stand and bound through the water that splashes around you. Luckily, Harry’s not much of a swimmer so you’re automatically a few feet ahead of him once you start running and before you know it, you’re crashing into the towel the two of you had laid out earlier, sand kicking up in clouds all around you.

“And she wins once again!!” You cheer, sprawling out on the towel as he trudges towards you in defeat.

It’s nearing 4:00 pm once the two of you return back home, stumbling through the doorway giggling and playfully nudging each other with your elbows.

“I’m gonna go take a shower before Deidre gets home,” You sigh, tossing your bag on the couch and turning to saunter towards the bathroom. Harry catches you by your hand before you can walk away, though, tugging you back to him gently. The suddenness of it nearly knocks the breath out of you as he pulls you into him, one hand coming up to cup the side of your face.

“I had a really good time today,” He hums, eyes flickering between yours and your lips.

You take a deep breath, taking a moment to glance down at his lips before speaking. “Me too.”

“S’it alright if I kiss you?”

“Yeah,” You breathe, taking another small step forward so that your chests are pressed together.

He smiles at that, leaning in and slowly capturing your lips between his own. His other hand finds its place at the base of your spine, holding you against him as your arms wrap around his shoulders.

The kiss is slow and gentle, his lips suckling yours ever so softly with each tilt of his head. Small, labored puffs of air leave your nose as you stand pressed against each other, each kiss building the fire within you.

Finally, Harry pulls away, breathlessly grinning down at you and gently brushing his thumb along the skin of your cheek. You smile back, taking a long, shaky breath in an attempt to regain your thoughts before leaning in once more.

He meets you halfway, tugging you into him again with a surging passion as he presses his lips to yours. He starts walking forward towards the wall, causing you to trip on your own feet a few times before he has you pressed firmly against it, knee wedged between your bare thighs.

“Wanted to kiss you all afternoon,” He breathes between kisses, fingers digging into the supple flesh of your hips.

You whimper quietly. “Why didn’t you?”

“Didn’t know if you wanted me to,”

“I always want you to kiss me,”

He pauses at that, pulling away to look at you with a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” You nod, biting back a smile. “Haven’t stopped thinking about the other day on the beach.”

“Me neither.” He huffs, lunging forward to capture your lips again.

He kisses you for just a moment longer, both hands cupping your cheeks gently as your own hands grasp his wrists. Then, he stops, slowly allowing his lips to part from yours and stepping away from you with a smirk.

“Don’t take too long in the shower, I wanna take one too.” He winks.

You watch him walk away after that, acting as if nothing had just happened as he disappears down the hallway. You’re breathlessly leaning against the wall, mustering every bit of strength inside of you to push yourself off of it and walk on wobbly legs to the bathroom.

What the fuck?

It takes nearly everything inside of you not to scratch the proverbial itch of desire whilst your hands wander your naked form, but you only intended on taking a quick shower and you don’t want to raise any suspicions. So, reluctantly, you rinse yourself off beneath the steady stream of hot water before turning off the faucet and stepping out of the shower to perform your skincare routine.

Soon, you’re scurrying into your bedroom with a towel wrapped tightly around your body, calling: “Shower’s open!” to Harry before slamming the door shut.

As you’re pulling an old t-shirt on, you notice a brown paper bag sitting on your bed and you frown, reaching into it. It’s filled with books. A smile brims at the corners of your lips as you take each book from the bag. Every single one of them is a book you’d talked about wanting when the two of you had walked through the bookstore earlier and you can’t help but feel a small tug at your heart at the prospect of Harry actually listening to your ramblings and taking note of all the books you’d talked about wanting.

You tuck the bag away with your things before tugging a pair of sweatpants on and stepping out into the hallway. You find yourself wandering into the kitchen, swinging the fridge open and grabbing a soda from the shelf before swinging it back closed. Just as you crack open the can of soda, the door opens and in waltzes Deidre, tossing her bag to the side.

“Shit- Is the shower open? Really need one,” She says to you, running her fingers through her damp hair with a huff. Her dress is thrown over her figure haphazardly, damp from the wet bathing suit beneath it, indicating that she must’ve just returned from the pool or beach.

“Harry’s in there right now, but I’m sure he’ll be done soon,” You shrug, taking a sip from the can of soda. “Did you have a good time?”

“I had an amazing time,” She smirks as she tugs her sandals off and lets them tumble onto the floor. “I’ll explain everything later, though.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Oh?”

She wiggles her own eyebrows suggestively, snickering with a devilish smile before disappearing into the hallway. You saunter over to the couch, taking a moment to grab the TV remote before collapsing into the cushions with your legs tucked beneath you.

The steady stream of the shower comes to a nearly screeching halt and 5 minutes pass before the door to the bathroom swings open and out comes Harry, soaking wet with nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around his waist.

“Y’lookin’ for a movie to watch?” He asks, fingers gliding through his sopping curls as he stands in the doorway.

“Uh-” You swallow the lump in your throat, trying in vain not to let your eyes wander to the loose edge of his towel. “Yeah. Got any requests?”

He shrugs, “I love a good Rom-Com, but I really don’t mind anything.”

You nod, “Alright, I’ll keep that in mind.”

You watch as he steps into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him quietly and leaving you alone in the living room. Moments later, Deidre bounds out of your shared bedroom and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her with a snorted giggle.

Scrolling through Netflix on the TV, you land on the Rom-Com section, taking a moment to look through it. Harry’s door swings open and he walks through, towelling off his long, wet hair as he saunters into the living room. He’s wearing a tight, black t-shirt and a loose pair of shorts that allow his tiger tattoo to peek through ever so slightly.

“Find anything yet?” He asks, wrapping the towel around his neck before plopping himself down on the couch beside you.

You shake your head, glancing in his direction briefly before continuing to click through the limited options. The smell of his shampoo wafts into your direction and immediately you’re overwhelmed with the urge to tackle him on the spot, smothering him with your own mouth against his. His presence brings an animalistic side out of you and it takes everything in you not to give in, especially with the way he’d kissed you only just an hour before.

“You alright?” He interrupts your lustful train of thought, nudging his shoulder against yours.

You clear your throat quietly, shaking your head a little. “Uh- yeah, sorry. Got distracted,”

He smirks to himself, staring straight ahead to hide his tickled expression. “You gonna choose a movie or am I gonna have to take that remote from you and do it myself?”

You whip your head in his direction, gaping at him as a smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “I’d like to see you try.”

He giggles and lunges forward, grasping for the remote in your hand but you move quickly, yanking your hand back behind you as you scramble to the edge of the couch. You giggle obnoxiously, kicking your feet at him to keep him as far away from you as you can, but his reflexes are just as quick as yours and soon he’s grasping one of your ankles to allow him just enough leverage to tackle you.

“Harry!” You squeal as he shoves his arms beneath you in search of the remote in your hand. He chortles down at you with a devilish smile when his nimble fingers find your wrist. Immediately, you tear your arm away from his fingers, throwing it above your head with the remote grasped tightly between your fingers.

“Fuck- you’re fast,” He grunts, taking a moment to shake his head in defeat. His tone and words prick a familiar nerve within you and you restrain yourself from squeezing your thighs together, bottom lip slipped firmly between your teeth.

“That’s what she said,” You retort, snorting loudly at your own joke. He rolls his eyes, pushing himself up more so that he can reach your hand, but you outsmart him once again, kneeing him in the hip and causing him to topple off of the couch and onto the carpeted floor.

“Fuck’s sake, babe. M’gonna be black and blue by the end of this,” He groans, sitting up as he rubs his elbow with a pout on his lips.

You roll your eyes at him. “Oh, please, I was barely even trying,” You allow yourself to relax back against the couch, scrolling through the movie options once again as Harry lifts himself from the floor but before you can even process what’s happening he’s swiftly yanking the remote from your hand and plopping himself beside you. “Asshole!” You gasp, reaching back for it frantically.

He’s chuckling devilishly under his breath, holding his long arm away from you and moving it every way you reach. “Gonna have to try harder then, I guess,”

You clamber over him, both knees landing on either side of his legs as your fingers grasp the remote over his hand. The compromising position the two of you are in is admittedly the last thing on your mind as you scramble for the remote, but when his free hand falls to your waist, gripping you gently, a breath catches in your throat and you pause. You make eye contact with him, your faces merely inches apart and suddenly the remote doesn’t really matter anymore.

He smiles a little, licking his lips when his eyes flicker to yours. The hand holding the remote falls onto the armrest of the couch, causing yours to fall with it.

“Are you gonna kiss me or just keep staring at my lips?” You mutter, bringing your hand up to the side of his neck.

“Gonna let me have the remote if I do?”

“Fuck the remote.” You grunt before charging forward, lips colliding with his in a searing kiss.

His arms are quick to circle your waist, pulling you flush against his chest as you hold his face between your hands, lips moving together in a symphony of uncoordinated movements. One of your hands slides down to grip his t-shirt, desperate to have him as close as possible and then suddenly, the bathroom door swings open and you’re sent leaping off of Harry, scrambling to the other end of the couch.

Both of you are breathless and flustered as Deidre walks in, whistling to herself and completely oblivious to the way you and Harry are practically shivering at each corner of the couch.

“Did you guys pick a movie yet?”

You clear your throat before sighing shakily. “Uh- no, not yet,”

“Jeez,” she scoffs, “been in the shower for at least 10 minutes what the fuck have you lot been up to?”

Heat crawls along the apples of your cheeks and you glance in Harry’s direction with a panicked look on your face. He’s flushed bright red, giving you a sheepish smile before you turn away again. Luckily, Deidre has wandered into the kitchen making herself a snack of some sort, oblivious to the way you two are looking at each other, flustered and slightly shaken by what she’d interrupted.

“I’m really in the mood to watch The Notebook,” Deidre calls from the kitchen, popping her head through the opening and raising her eyebrows at the two of you in question.

Harry shrugs, “I’m down,”

“Yeah, same,” You agree, clearing your throat awkwardly as you tuck your legs beneath you. Both you and Harry are suppressing sheepish grins, barely glancing at each other out of the corners of your eyes.

“The Notebook it is, then.” He concludes, clicking through the Netflix menu to find it.

When Deidre returns to the living room, she comes bearing a bag of microwave popcorn, a bag of cheetos, and three cans of soda (per Harry’s request). Of course, with your luck, she decides to plop herself between the two of you, leaving you and Harry to give each other subtle looks of distaste from across the couch. And, once the movie starts, you’re forced to act as if you hadn’t just been making out with your best friend’s older brother right on this very couch.

The movie goes by fast since it’s nearly your 4th time watching it, and for the entire 2 hour film you’re forced to sit across the length of the couch from Harry when all you want to do is cuddle into his side. A few spare glances are shared throughout the time and judging by the way his eyebrows lift, his feelings are similar to yours. Nevertheless, you persevere through the movie until the credits are rolling and tears are streaming down your face.

“You guys are seriously crying? I know you’ve both seen this movie more than once,” Deidre scoffs at both you and Harry as she turns the TV off.

“How are you not crying?” You sniffle, wiping the moisture from underneath your eyes with your hands. You glance in Harry’s direction to see the tears welling up in his eyes as he stares at her in disgust.

She looks at him and rolls her eyes. “Oh, fuck off, you’re both just big babies,” She stands from the couch, yanking the empty popcorn bag from the coffee table in front of the couch, huffing, “I’m going to bed. You two are ridiculous.”

You watch as she walks to the kitchen, chuckling to herself before you turn back to Harry who’s laughing through his own tears.

“We are pretty pathetic,” He snickers, pushing his hair out of his face and shaking his head.

“No,” You huff. “We just aren’t heartless like she is.” You stand from the couch, crossing your arms over your chest and sauntering down the hallway to your bedroom.

You find yourself getting ready for bed, brushing your teeth and performing your nightly routines just as you would every night. This time, however, the only thing on your mind is Harry. The way his hands held you so gently, lips drawing kiss after kiss from your own effortlessly as if he’d memorized every little thing that makes you shiver. The way he says your name when he speaks to you and maintains eye contact throughout every conversation, making it apparent to you that he’s listening to every word that leaves your lips. He actually cares about what you’re telling him and he speaks to you in such an attentive, selfless way. He makes you feel like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted to talk to. And, as much as you haven’t wanted to admit it to yourself, you’re beginning to think that this is more than just a crush.

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